She tucked the file under her arm and walked to her office. Upon opening the door, the noticed that her office held visitors.

    Officer Thompson and Commissioner Kross sat in the chairs that were usually reserved for patient visits. It was obvious that they were talking before she had interrupted them, probably about her new patient nonetheless.

   "Officers, do I have to ask why you're here, or is the reason laying in recovery right now?" She said, closing the door behind her.

   "Dr. Hollande, glad to see that you are well. How's the patient?" Kross asked.

    "Skipping the formalities, are we?" she mumbled, crossing the room and sinking into her brown leather chair. She plopped the heavy file atop her desk and gave a weary sigh.

    "In all due respect, Commissioner, I don't very much appreciate your choosing me for this mans care. You've made me a public target, and I don't think that I'm willing to take any farther ridicule on this mans behalf. " her lips were pursed into a very thin line. Her words mirrored her feelings. She didn't like taking the rap for anyone, not for the patient, not for the police force, and certainly not for the city of New York.

     "We understand your distress, Dr. Hollande, but we want, not to mention need him alive for questioning," Officer Thompson interjected. "There are still missing persons out there, persons that might still be alive. We need to know what he knows"

     She shot him a glare that would challenge glaciers on the subject of cold. Holding this gaze for only a moment, one would realize how intimidating she could be. She sighed once more and sat back in her chair. Commissioner Kross had seen Dr. Hollande like this before, and it was quite amusing to see the rookie beside him quiver.

   "I suppose it is my job, isn't it? To save the lives of those who face death?" she asked no one in particular. 'This just means I will have to view the patient as just another human being, not the monster that everyone knows he is.'  she thought. Closing her eyes, she cursed the words that she felt forced to say, "He is safe with me."

    Commissioner Kross stood up, hands in his pockets. "That's a good thing, Dr. Hollande. We'll leave you to your paperwork. Expect plenty of visits from us soon." He and Thompson then departed, leaving Dr. Hollande with their haunting promise.

   She groaned deeply, slamming her head into her hands, her elbows resting on her desk. She stared at the photo on the cover of her patients file, a black-and-white mugshot, which captured his insanity beautifully. His smile was a huge tear across his face, his hair a disheveled mess, and his eyes held a gleam that, even on paper, was hard to look at for long.

   A frustrated tear rolled down her cheek and plopped on his photograph, creating a blob on his already beaten face.

   It was always her who had the rotten luck.

The End

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