Start the song in the media. It's Castle by Halsey. 

Jenna sits on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the lobby of the station, waiting for someone to come help her. She picks at her rounded nails nervously, anxiety washing over her. Finally, a young female officer stands in front of her.

"Ms. Black?" the officer asks, shaking Jenna's hand.

"Dr. Black, yes."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the brunette says, a light blush rising to her cheeks. "The chief isn't in today, family issues, I think. We do have a transfer from another department here, if that's okay?"

"As long as they can give me jurisdiction over a piece of evidence, it's fine."

"Yes, he's the chief-in-training over at Columbus One-Seven. Really nice guy, I'm sure everything will run smoothly. You'll just want to walk straight ahead, the office he's in is the third one on the left, I believe... you can't miss it. It's the only room with a window."

Jenna thanks the officer before following her directions, taking steady steps and measured breaths to compose herself. Soon enough, she's standing outside his door. After taking a final deep inhale, she knocks lightly on the warm faux wood.

"Come on back," a voice calls, and when she opens the door, Jenna is met by a short, brown haired man wearing thick black glasses. His hair quiffs unprofessionally and his smile seems too friendly for the workplace. Regardless, Jenna feels a lot less apprehensive in his presence. He stands from his seat behind a desk. "Hi, how's it going?" He juts his hand out. "I'm Brendon Urie, it's nice to meet you."

"Jenna Black."

"I'm sorry that you had to talk to me instead of Hoppus, but I hope I can help you out."

"I'm sure you can," the blonde says, sitting in a plush chair across from the young officer. "I'm a state defense attorney and I wanted to file a request for a copy of the 911 call made by Madison Joseph on March 22nd of this year, please."

Urie looks at Jenna, his once friendly demeanor now replaced by a look of utter contempt. "You're defending him?"

"I am," she replies, shifting skittishly under his scrutinizing gaze.

He scoffs. "I don't understand how any decent woman could defend someone who killed his family like that."

"Look, sir," Jenna says, her voice laced with venom. "I came here to put in a request, not to be judged for my occupation. I could say the same about a cop, bringing in people when you have no evidence against them just to put a case to rest. You don't know as much about this case as you think you do, and I'll be happy to see you at the trial when he's acquitted. I appreciate your time, I know it must have been so difficult, you know, with your busy schedule and all. I wish you the best at One-Seven." She stands, extending her hand for Brendon to shake once again, which he does. Once he's again seated, he runs his left hand through his already unruly hair, mussing it further.

"Why do I have this strange feeling that you're actually gonna win?" he asks when Jenna is already halfway through the door.

She smirks, her back still turned toward him. "I hope you're right."

:.:

"Why me?" Mark asks Jenna as the two are seated in his office.

"Because I trust your judgement," she replies. Her tone turns from slightly hostile to pleading. "Mark, he's not... all there, you know? He could be schizophrenic, there's definitely something wrong with him. I need you to prove it. I need you."

"If you're so sure that he's sick, why didn't you just go to any old psychologist?" he reasons. "You're making it personal."

"No, I'm-"

"Yes, you are. Jenna, you know I hate working on the judicial side of psychology because there's no exact yes or no. Every person is different. I can't prove what's going on in someone's head to a jury. If I did, I would have taken the job at Belle Reve two years ago when they asked me the first time."

"I know, Mark, but I-"

"But you're stubborn," he cuts her off again. "You know I don't want to, but you don't care because you need something. Just like always."

"Now who's making it personal," Jenna mumbles. "This has nothing to do with what happened between you and I. It's about a client that I have that I care about very much. And I'm telling you, he's sick and the voice inside his head is trying to ruin him. And if he rots in prison for this, I'll never forgive myself. He doesn't deserve that. He needs help. And I thought maybe you could be the one to make him better. You're still the only person I trust, even after all this time. Just... don't write him off because of the situation. Don't see him as a number in the system, look at him for what he really is: a boy who has a problem that he can't solve on his own."

"Jenna-" the doctor sighs.

"Come on, Mark."

Dr. Eshleman rests his head in his hands. "Okay," he says, caving. He throws his hands up in defeat. "Okay, Jenna."

"Oh, thank God. So," she says, clapping her hands, "I'm going to see him tomorrow and I think you should come with me-" Jenna is cut off by her phone ringing. "One second." She holds the device up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Dr. Black, Jenna?" A familiar heavy west coast accent flows through the speaker. "It's Gerard, Dr. Way."

"Oh, hi, hello," Jenna stammers.

The man on the other end seems just as nervous. "I don't... Jenna, there's a problem."

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you, not over the phone." The man sighs deeply. "You need to get to Belle Reve, now."

"Oh, my God, what did he do?" Jenna asks, gathering her notebooks and purse frantically.

"I can't tell you, Jenna, just get there, okay? There's been a situation."

Jenna hangs up, pocketing her phone. "I have to go, I'm sorry."

Mark stands. "Should I come, too?"

"No!" Jenna refuses loudly, then takes a breath. "No. Something's happened... I don't know what he's gonna be like."

"Well then maybe I can help, I am a psychologist for crying out loud-"

"Mark. No. I'll call you soon, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Jenna leaves the doctor's presence, making a beeline for the exit then to her car. Her shaking hands clutch the steering wheel tightly, beginning to sweat lightly. It crosses her mind that she's never cared for a client nearly as much as she does Tyler. She pushes the thought out of her head, attempting to put her brain on autopilot as she makes her way to Belle Reve; as she makes her way to Tyler.