Chapter Two.

By the time Elizabeth finally nodded off, it was after midnight. Happy birthday to me, she mumbled to herself, feeling her eyelids droop. But sleep was not the blissful oblivion she'd hoped for. Her dreams were plagued with faceless figures calling out her name, reaching out, grabbing her. She was running from eerie shadows, cornered in the abyss between reality and nightmare, likely induced by the suppressed memories that had resurfaced.

The young genius woke with a start, breathing heavily, her face prickled with cold sweat. Recognizing the surroundings as her room from the Institute, she relaxed slightly, trying to get her racing pulse down to a normal rhythm. The digital clock embedded in the control panel by the door blinked 5:27 AM, one and a half hours before lockdown was lifted. Elizabeth tilted her head at the camera mounted from the ceiling, wondering if the security staff watching on the monitors upstairs would come check on her. She doubted it; even with the worst of her nightmares, they never sent the on-call psychiatrist down.

Elizabeth slipped out of bed, shivering as her bare feet touched the cold concrete floor. She knew that there was no way she could go back to sleep, so she padded across the room and plucked a textbook off the shelf. She tossed it on her bed with a muffled thump and flicked on the small reading lamp. Smoothing out the rumpled covers, she lay with her back on the mattress, feet resting on the wall above the bed, and propped the book up on her stomach. Organisational Behaviour, 8th Edition. Ten pages in, her restlessness returned. Tossing the book aside, she glanced at the clock again. 5:42 AM.

"Ugh!" Elizabeth exclaimed to no one in particular. "This is ridiculous." The young genius glanced around the sparse room, wishing for once that she was upstairs in the dormitory with the others. At least with them, she surmised, insomnia wouldn't be as lonely.

With a quiet hmph, she scanned the room, desperate for some sort of entertainment. Her gaze rested on a mesh panel situated directly over her desk. No, bad idea, her conscience warned. But Elizabeth's less prudent side had the upper hand. She thoughtfully chewed at her thumbnail, wondering just how much trouble she would get in if she actually went through with the plan hatching in her mind. With a shrug- no entertainment is worse than bad entertainment- she waited until the camera panned away from the bed, then stuffed her pillow under the covers to create the appearance that she'd returned to sleep. Slithering against the wall to avoid the camera's omniscient lens, Elizabeth quietly climbed on top of her desk and lifted the hinged opening to the air vent. She hoisted herself into the hatch and replaced the cover, pausing for a few seconds to see if an alarm had been triggered.

Nothing.

With a tiny giggle of success, Elizabeth crawled down the hatchway, staying alert for any signs of discovery. She reached a juncture in the piping and turned left. Peering through the grating overlooking the room directly next to her own, Elizabeth frowned. The bed had fresh linens, several sets of clothing were laid out on the shelving unit, and a single large manual was placed in the centre of the otherwise empty desk.

For as long as she'd been on the sub-level of the Institute, she was the sole resident. A glimmer of hope rose in her chest- maybe she was getting a new neighbour! The excitement was short-lived by the soft ping of the elevator at the end of the corridor. She booked it back through the vent and slid the panel closed. She took a dive to the ground below the horizontal window slit embedded in the door that served as the one blind spot for any passing security detail. She held her breath as footsteps echoed against the cement floor and paused briefly on the other side of her door.

The walkie-talkie on the guard's belt crackled to life. "Subject 52287 is present and accounted for," he announced. Once the security station affirmed the guard's report, the footsteps retreated back toward the elevator. Elizabeth tiptoed back to the bed, her foot making contact with its leg as she stumbled in the dark. Crap, she mentally swore, bone striking metal with a loud clang. The footsteps of the guard ran back from the elevator, punched in the code to unlock the door, and burst in, taser at the ready. He lowered it slowly as the fluorescent lights came on with a flicker, revealing nothing more than a slightly bedraggled Subject 52287 sitting on the edge of the equally disheveled cot.

"Sorry, I heard your radio and stubbed my toe when I was getting some water," she quickly lied, holding up the pitcher with what she hoped was an innocent smile.

The security guard suspiciously glanced around the room. Elizabeth followed his eyes sweeping across the small room, noting with alarm that her desk chair was askew from being used as a step up to the air vent.

Please don't notice, please don't notice, she mentally willed him.

His gaze travelled across the wall and returned back to her, but she didn't dare show any sign of relief. "You should be asleep," he mandated.

Elizabeth responded with a shrug. "I will. Thanks for checking in on me."

With a glare of utmost authority, the security guard reached for his walkie-talkie and closed the door behind him as he returned to the elevator and back up to the security station.

That was too close. Elizabeth flopped onto her back, adrenaline rushing through her system. Way too close.

Two hours later in the executive suite of the Institute, four of the five doctors on staff sat around the large conference table, waiting for the special session of their weekly planning meeting to begin. Twice a year, the Institute held a visitor's day where parents or guardians could observe their children's behaviour modification and see just what their astronomically high checks were paying for. Most of the residents of the Institute were sent by their families who paid top dollar for behavioural rehabilitation that was assured to produce "mentally sound, well-behaved young adults," as the publicity brochure spelled out. Others, however, were there by court or state order. For some of the more serious cases, the Institute was a sentencing alternative to juvenile detention, usually for offenses like truancy or possession of controlled substances.

Even more rare were the kids under guardianship of the state, admitted to the Institute only because there was no other place for them to go. It was less than likely that the children from the latter two classifications would be visited, which resulted in the necessity of a modified schedule for the day, and absolute chaos for the staff.

"I'm going to guess that we're going to have no less than three incidents today," Jennifer Charbonnet, clinical psychologist, lucky enough to oversee the group containing the majority of juvenile delinquents, said over her cup of steaming earl grey.

"I'm going to go with five," said Marissa Elliott, child psychiatrist, tasked with the youngest residents of the Institute. "Tommy the Terror was out of control yesterday, and I have no doubt his attitude will be contagious."

"Five sounds about right," agreed Michelle Stamatis, passing a cup of coffee to her younger colleague before sitting across from her. The Assistant Director turned to the psychiatrist sitting next to her, meticulously going through his pile of files. "Et tu, Doctor?"

"As the eternal pessimist of the group," said Julian Burai, the fourth voice in the assembled company, "My expert opinion is eight."

"I'll take side bets that it's my group cited for the majority of incidents," said Jen Charbonnet, pulling off her Warby Parker glasses and rubbing her fatigued eyes. Six thirty in the morning was not a favourable time for a staff meeting.

"There'd better not be any incidents today," said a cultured voice from the doorway. Patrick gave his colleagues a tired smile as he came into the room. He tossed his own files on the table, sinking into the plush leather seat at its head. "But that, I know, is wishful thinking." He passed around several folders. "Let's get started, shall we? Today's program starts at nine, after the continental breakfast. With any luck, we will have everyone out of here by twelve thirty."

"And the clinical interns will be leading the program?" Marissa asked.

"Yes, the entire cohort of Ph.D. students was called in for today," Patrick answered, referring to the schedule in the folder. "All… except for Claudette and Amanda," he said, referencing his own doctoral interns. "They have a different assignment."

"Oh?" Jen shot him a quizzical look.

"I just got off the phone with Blue Cove. We will be playing host to a contingent from the Centre this afternoon." Patrick's normally calm air was slightly ruffled as he straightened the files in front of him.

"What do they want?" Marissa asked with evident disdain.

Patrick cleared his throat and tugged at his tie, worn just for the occasion. "They are coming to evaluate Elizabeth's progress."

Julian leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "Which, let me guess, affects the future of our funding, and any of our current grant requests to Blue Cove for our own research projects?"

Patrick affixed a steely look at his colleague. "Possibly. Which is why this visit needs to go off without a hitch. Michelle will be Acting Director today so I can court the Tower. If there are no objections, let's make this short so we can get to rounds this morning. There's still a lot to do."

"No objections here," said Jen. "Here's my quick update for you all. I've got 3 of my kids on their second warning, and Coulter was caught trying to make a shiv out of a pen cap, toothbrush, and staples. Needless to say, he's in isolation for the next three days." She looked to her left to pass on the proverbial baton.

Marissa passed Patrick her status report from the previous week. "We got a new patient on Friday, a six year old girl named Molly. She's here on the recommendation of her teachers, who think she is autistic, and the school district doesn't have the resources to give her an Individual Education Plan. Parents are virtually non-existent and she was raised by an aunt who is convinced she is possessed by the Devil. Non-communicative thus far, but she's scheduled for testing tomorrow. From what my interns have said, she reads at a very sophisticated level. I'm guessing her full scale IQ will be within the gifted range, maybe even above that."

Patrick nodded, glancing over the intake report with some relief. It could easily serve as a bone to throw at the Centre to keep them from breathing down his neck. "Excellent. Blue Cove will like this very much. Keep me posted with her status. I want her test scores ASAP."

Marissa jotted the note down on her legal pad. "Will do, Boss."

"Julian?" Patrick turned to the far end of the table with a raised brow.

The proud graduate of both institutions in the Oxbridge system cleared his throat and leaned back in his leather chair. In his late twenties, Julian Burai was highly ambitious, a trait he made no effort to mask. The Directorship of the Institute was a coveted position he wanted to get his greedy hands on, and he didn't care whom he stepped on in the process. "My patients are progressing quite smoothly. All have been attentive and participatory during Group, and I believe we are making progress with each one during their individual treatment. I hope to remove three of them from all meds within the next two weeks," he added smoothly.

Patrick was not the head of the psychogenic research department for nothing. He saw straight through Julian's act. "Excellent. Since things seem to be going well, you won't mind getting a new patient added to your caseload." It was a statement, not a question. "We received a call from the Madison County Courthouse that an Abigail Blankenship is scheduled to go through intake tomorrow."

The anticipated objection was put forth immediately. "Doctor Charbonnet is the juvenile justice rehabilitation specialist here, I don't see why-"

The attitude from his colleague was just about enough to send Patrick over the edge. It was time to remind Doctor Burai exactly who was in charge. "In case you didn't hear Doctor Charbonnet's report, she has her hands full. We have already assigned her four interns and twice the number of orderlies and nursing staff as anyone else. We work as a team in this department, and since your load appears to be manageable, the new case is being assigned to you. She arrives at eight in the morning."

Julian's mouth thinned at the mandate. "Very well."

"Good." Patrick looked at his watch. "Michelle, anything to add?"

"Nothing that wasn't in my weekly. I'm still taking your group for the afternoon so you can give Raines and Parker the dog and pony show?" Beneath her calm exterior, Patrick could see masked concern in her face.

"Yes. Excellent. Anyone else have anything for the good of the group?"

Grateful that all responses were in the negative, Patrick dismissed the meeting.

Handing off the master list of visitor's day preparations to Michelle, Patrick stood before the elevator bank, trying to collect his thoughts on how he was going to break the news of an audience to his young protégé.

Jennifer Charbonnet came up beside him en route to her own office and adjusted the armful of files she was carrying.

Patrick reached out to grab a batch that slid out from the pile. "Let me give you a hand."

"Thanks. How is our young prodigy?" She asked as they pushed the buttons for their respective floors.

"She's been progressing very well," Patrick replied. "Today is her seventeenth birthday. It's hard to believe she only has a year left with us."

Jen nodded. She knew the terms of the project. Upon reaching the age of majority, Elizabeth would be transferred to the Centre, possibly even taken to Triumvirate Station in Africa, if the Powers That Be determined it the best course of action.

As a scientist, Patrick outwardly tried to remain impartial, but he- and everyone at the Institute- knew that there was an undeniable level of affection for the girl. Not only was she was the closest thing he had to a daughter, but she was the centre of his academic and professional career. Her genius was the subject of numerous scholarly articles and lectures, making him one of the world's foremost experts on the psyche of the highly gifted.

When the project was first announced, back during the time Patrick was finishing the last year of his residency in the Psychogenic Research Department at the Centre, he submitted his name for Project Coordinator on a whim, never fully believing the Tower would give such a young psychiatrist the opportunity of a lifetime. But someone had faith in him, and with the assignment of Elizabeth came the promotion to Assistant Director of the Institute. Michelle Stamatis had been Director at the time, but stepped down three years into Patrick's tenure as AD to spend more time with her husband and son. Patrick was promoted to the Directorship, a further unprecedented move, especially at a mere thirty-two years old.

"I've got the on-call cell phone, so let me know if you need anything before I come down at nine o'clock," said Patrick as Jen reached her office.

"Will do. Good luck."

I'm going to need it, was the unvoiced reply echoing in his mind as he continued up to the third floor. Definitely going to need it.

A/N: I hope everyone has thoroughly enjoyed Rebirth so far... there will be some tie-in to the novel as things progress in Yunasa. And fear not, MP and J will play large roles in the future. I had to split my planned update into two since there was too much ground to cover. Sorry about that! Next up: chaos in the Institute, a Sim gone awry, and finally an appearance by some familiar faces!