The next stop was the hospital, and Sarah drove Fidelia there. Fidelia stepped out of the car and looked at the building ahead. This was not a place she liked to be — not since the foster home.
"Yes, yes, I'm here already."
"Good. Now go get a check-up and let me know after you're done," Mia's voice said through the phone.
"Yes, Doctor Mia," Fidelia smiled faintly and ended the call.
"I'll be right back. Just wait here," she told Sarah.
Maya nodded and went back into the car.
Fidelia walked toward the hospital entrance. The automatic door slid open, and the scent of disinfectant hit her immediately. Her stomach turned. This was why she hated hospitals — the smell, the sterile quiet, the reminder of sickness and blood.
After a short talk with the receptionist, she got directions to the psychiatry section and began walking there.
She made a turn, and a loud voice suddenly cut through the silence.
"Stop there! Hey, stop running! Stop that lady!"
Fidelia turned toward the voice and saw a tall young man in a white coat running straight toward her. He seemed to be chasing a patient who was trying to escape down the hall. The man dodged to avoid a nurse — and ran directly into her.
Her bag fell, its contents scattering across the floor. But before she could lose balance, he caught her firmly by the waist, steadying them both.
"Whoa, whoa, I got you," he said, breathing fast but smiling faintly as his eyes met hers. "Are you okay? Sorry about that."
Fidelia blinked, startled by how quickly he recovered. His grip was steady, protective. He looked young — mid-twenties, maybe — with sharp blue eyes and a charming, boyish smile.
"I'm fine," she said shortly, brushing his hand off her waist.
Behind them, a nurse finally restrained the runaway patient. "Dr. Scott, we've got him!" she shouted.
"Good work!" he called back, then turned to Fidelia with a sheepish grin. "A patient tried to escape again. Third time this week. I couldn't let her go."
"Oh, so you prefer knocking people over?" Fidelia said dryly, crouching to pick up her bag.
He laughed, kneeling to help her. "No, of course not. This was… unexpected. Just doing my job — saving people who don't want to be saved. I'm Scott, by the way. First-year psychiatrist."
She gave a noncommittal nod. "Good for you."
"And you are…?"
"Kate," she lied smoothly, standing and fixing her jacket.
"Kate," he repeated, like he was testing the name. "Pretty name. So, Kate, what brings you here?"
"Appointment," she said flatly. "With Dr. Thompson."
"Oh! That's my mentor," he said brightly. "You don't mind if I walk you there, do you?"
"I can find it myself," Fidelia said, turning in the wrong direction as she walked past him.
"Sure," he said, still smiling. "But you might end up in radiology. It's this way."
Fidelia stopped walking, exhaled deeply — half-frustrated, half-amused — and turned to follow him.
"So, what's your number?"
She shot him a look. "Are you trying to collect a patient's number?"
"I meant your patient number," he said with a grin. "We don't flirt on the job well, not unless the patient starts it."
"Twenty-one," she muttered.
"Nice. Last session of the day," he said, pointing toward a door with Dr. Thompson engraved neatly on the frosted glass. "Guess I'll see you around, Kate."
"No, you won't," she said, pushing the door open.
---
She knocked lightly, and a calm voice answered, "Come in."
The office was a relief the air smelled faintly of lavender instead of antiseptic. She inhaled deeply, grateful for the open window that let in real air.
A middle-aged man stood up from his chair, smiling with kind eyes as he walked toward the seating area, holding a notepad.
"Good afternoon," he greeted. "Please, have a seat, Miss… Crawford?"
"I prefer Fidelia," she said, sitting down and folding her hands neatly in her lap.
"All right, Fidelia. You can call me Harold," he said kindly.
"I'm sure you understand," she began carefully, "that my coming here must be kept completely confidential. No one is to find out what I'm being diagnosed with no matter what."
"I'm well aware," he said gently. "Confidentiality is part of my job."
"This is different."
"I understand. Everything you say here stays here. I assure you."
Only then did she relax, her shoulders dropping slightly.
"Good. Then let's begin," she said.
"Tell me everything that happened," Dr. Thompson said, sitting down across from her. "I need to understand before I can make any kind of diagnosis."
""All right. It started last night… or I think it did," she began quietly.
Dr. Thompson nodded, pen poised to write.
"But the strange part is…" she trailed off, frowning slightly. "I'm not sure if I'm the one who lived it… or if it was someone else."
The doctor froze for a second, then slowly lowered his pen.
"Someone else?" he asked.
Fidelia's lips curved faintly. "You'll understand soon enough."