When the CD came to an end, Jamie was too lost in thought to notice.  The pop notes of Lady Gaga playing low over the loudspeakers had formed a dull white-noise letting him drift through his museum of memories.

The silence took over just as he was deep in study over Glen's face in the umber light of a setting sun.  They were lounging in the outdoor bar on the aft deck, while the cruise ship pulled away from the Ft. Lauderdale harbor.  Two tall pilsner glasses of beer sat on the teak tabletop in front of them.  Only a sip had been taken of both the beer and the vacation.  Glen was smiling watching the hotels and condo buildings slip past, the stress of everyday life draining from his features.

Jamie broke from his reverie unsure of how long he had let the stillness go on for.  Amy didn't seem in any hurry to break it either.  She sat in her wingback chair hugging her knees.  Her government-issued white nightgown was pulled up to the top of her shins. She stared off, looking beyond the cage at some point in her own past. 

"Alright," Jamie said quietly, feeling strangely parental.  "I think you should get some sleep."

"Can't we talk some more?"

The dim nighttime lighting was on in the enclosure and most of the room was lost in the murky illumination.  The antique lamps in the psychiatrist's office filtered through the window and lit the small girl's face.  She was sleepy – it could be seen in the narrow slits of her eyes and the way her head slouched towards one shoulder.  It could also be heard in her voice, which hovered nearly at the level of a yawn.  But under the fatigue, there was desperation: going to bed would mean being alone again.

Jamie relinquished.  How could he not?  "Alright, Amy, but just for a little while.  What's on your mind?"

She thought about this.  Jamie expected her to ask for more music.  They had spent the last three hours listening to the CDs he'd smuggled in.  Security was much laxer about bringing things in than taking things out, and all he had to do was conceal them in the pocket of his sports jacket.

It was a collection of albums that Amy loved and ones she was anxious to hear – ones that had only come out after she'd been imprisoned.  Jamie also added a few of his own favorites to the mix.  It had only taken a few minutes of trial and error for him to figure out how to play them on one of the computers and route the sound into the bedroom's intercom. 

With the music absent, there was only an eerie buzz of the microphones, while he waited for Amy to answer.

"Umm.  I don't know.  Tell me something."  She shifted, putting one leg underneath her.  She seemed to grow excited at the prospect of Jamie telling a story or sharing a secret.

His heart crumbled. 

It could have been Nadia talking.

Whenever he was home, she would ask him to tuck her in.  She never wanted him to leave, never want to have to go to sleep.  There was always an attempt to delay.  Read me one more story.  Sing me one more song.  Tell me something.

Of course, she had been much younger at the time.  Would she still stall at bedtime?  She might if she had to sleep alone in a sterile prison.

About a million things popped into his mind of what he'd like to say to Nadia.  But coming up with something for Amy was more of a challenge.

Some things seemed too personal, others too sad.  Also, he had to be careful about what he said to her.  Just continuing these visits was playing with fire.  When he started his shift, Maxwell had let slip, "We hired you as a geneticist, not Benning's replacement."

It was a less than subtle goad to pressure him to get the revised version of his report in on time.  But it was obvious, Wiley knew about these clandestine visits.  Surprisingly, he hadn't put a stop to them.  If anything, it seemed that he was letting them go on, so long as they didn't interfere with Jamie's duties.

However, if Maxwell Wiley knew, then there was little doubt that every word was being recorded and listened to by him or some surveillance team.  They'd be going over the tapes waiting to see if Jamie revealed some sensitive piece of info that might be interpreted as abetting her escape.  They would hang him with his own words if they could.

"Dr. Horus will be back tomorrow."  It was the banalest piece of bunker gossip he had.  The words felt like a cheat – like he had selected truth over dare and then lied.  He should have told her something about himself.  But he justified it as being news she would want to know about.  "So you'll have him to talk to again."

"Why can't I keep talking to you instead?"

"I'll still come by.  But you'll have Horus here too.  Don't you like him?"

She expelled a breath that pushed her lips out.  "He's okay.  He's nice, I guess.  But I like you better."

"I like you too, Amy.  But I can't always be here.  Sometimes my job forces me to work in my lab."

"Is this just a job?"  Amy looked down, bringing her knees back to her chest, and folding herself into a smaller parcel.

Her words rasped against his guilt.  Doing his job was at complete odds with being her friend.  It was almost as though every minute outside of this little office, he was betraying her with his every thought and action, whether he was logging her observed behavior in the OC or scanning her DNA to prove she wasn't really human.

Being as honest as he could, Jamie said, "Watching you is my job.  Talking with you and listening to music isn't.  I do that because I want to."

She looked up with a wisp of a smile – grateful and sorrowful at the same time.

"So even if I talk to the Doctor, you'll still come and visit me tomorrow night?"

"I can't tomorrow.  I'm sorry.  Tray has been scheduled.  I couldn't get it switched.  Do you like Tray?"

"Who's Tray?"  She cocked her head reminding him of the old spaniel Glen used to have.

The others didn't communicate with her.  Jamie had known it, but somehow never fully believed it.  It seemed too callous for anyone to spend hours alone in the OC ignoring her.  But it would be just like Tray to sit in front of the monitors all night long like he was watching TV, and there wasn't a real person on the other side of the glass.

A deep worry began to fester in his thoughts.  Was she safe with Tray watching her?  If she were in distress – sick or dying – would he do anything for her?  Or would he just follow procedures: enter it in the log and give Gracie a call.

Could she suffocate or bleed to death in that cage with him just sitting there watching?

Jamie pushed those horrible images away.  He was overreacting.  She was young and healthy.  She was pale but that was because she hadn't seen the sun in over a month.  She had circles under her eyes but that was because he'd been keeping her up at night.  They monitored her health on a daily basis.  Nothing was going to happen to her.

"Tray is another worker here," he said.  "He works nights when I can't and makes sure nothing happens to you.  He's a nurse and a very nice man."  Jamie thought Tray was selfish, whining, jerk, but seeing as Amy would probably never speak with him, he decided to bend the truth to comfort her.  It was better she thought someone kind was looking over her, and not some dick.

Amy looked unconvinced.

"I'm sure he would talk to you too, but sometimes people are afraid to break the rules.  I guess that's why you're stuck with me."

The faint smile returned to her face.

"I'm happy to be stuck with you.  I could stay up all night talking to you."  Her eyes closed sleepily and a small yawn escaped her mouth.  "You're a lot more fun than that woman.  She's mean."

Mean?  Jamie back went rigid, and he sat up at attention.

"What woman?  Dr. Gracie?"  Good God, hadn't that monster done enough damage?  "Has she been bothering you?"

Amy looked up, alarm in her eyes from the realization of what she had said, as though the words had drifted out from a dream. 

Her face scrunched up with a look that fell somewhere between fear and disgust.  "No, not her.  But I don't like her either."

"If not Gracie, who?  Let me know who's been cruel to you, and I'll talk to them."

Her gaze drifted off to one of the dark corners of the bedroom like there was another presence there.  The answer was slow to come to Amy's mouth.  "The woman in the forest.  I don't like it when she yells at me."