There was a knock on the door but Ryan could care less. Taking another sip of her scotch; redundant she closed her eyes and wished whoever it was would just disappear.

"Miss Ryan." Someone asked, and opened the black door with the metal handle a bit. "Miss Ryan, can I come in?" the man with spiky blond hair asked shyly, and gulped when he met her cold stare.

"Now that your head's already in my office, why not bring the rest in?" Ryan put her glass down and watched him.

" I’m Calvin Rogers, your uncle assigned me to help you track down Adrian Bloom." Calvin stuttered and gulped when Ryan eyed him up and down.

Perusing him silently, Ryan took in the worn sweatshirt and his baggy pants. He didn't look like the typical buttoned down employee at the Facility with his punk hairstyle and hip hop clothes. She was pleased to note his tolerable taste in aftershave and use of deodorant, because he wasn't only nervous, he was sweating as well.

"You're Calvin, the network guy, aren't you?" she asked coolly, and he nodded nervously. “Yes, I’m the administrator.”

"I want you to bring me all the surveillance footage starting one week ago until last night. I want Adrian Bloom’s room, and the hallway, as well as every other way he might have taken to escape."

"Ok." Calvin nodded again.

"You can go." Ryan said and raised an eyebrow when he didn't move.

"Geek." Ryan stared for a moment at the door Calvin had closed behind him. She didn’t know if she should be amused or annoyed. Couldn’t her uncle have found her less young and less inexperienced? She swung her chair around and pursed her lips in thought. She tapped her keyboard, turning off the screen saver, and then accessed the employee database. ‘Hmmm… Rogers… Rogers…’ She found his file, and started reading.”

It seemed he had been working for the Facility for a couple of months now and was a genius, or that's what his profile said. "Well," she thought, "let's see if that's true. I can use all the help I can get. At least I can try to be nice to him before I find out he's as idiotic as the rest of the folks here.” Pulling up Adrian Blooms file, Ryan started her assignment.

Adrian Bloom had been brought to various psychiatric facilities over the years since he was six. With parents unknown he grew up as an orphan. Adrian was a real nutcase as far as she could tell, but she wasn’t a doctor. Two little kids who were in the same orphanage were found dead under suspicious circumstances and it later turned out that Adrian wasn’t as innocent as he looked. Youth welfare sent him from one psychiatric facility to another and wherever he went, people got hurt or worst. He always picked the weakest and even at his young age, he methodically mentally destroyed them. His odyssey ended when he was brought to the facility.

Reading further, Ryan took another sip of her scotch. The picture in his file was dated two months back, and while his age was twenty-four at that time, he looked no older than sixteen. His hair was a bit too long and falling in his face, which was a bit too round for his age. Only his eyes showed he was not a kid anymore. They held such hatred in a photo; Ryan wondered how they looked in person.

With a wry grin Ryan downed the rest of the alcohol. "I'm gonna find out soon enough."

+++

Sam's house

"Sam, I need your help." Tony held the mug with hot coffee in both of his big hands, and kept his eyes on the blonde.

He knew he had promised not to talk to her about work. He knew she had said finding the killer of Angus, her little brother was the last thing she would do for the police.

But he had no other choice. His back was against the wall, and she was the only person who could help him.

"Tony," Sam sighed. "I can't," she whispered and tilted her head forwards, the blond locks she kept tucking back behind her ears falling in her face.

+++

Pushing her hair back with both hands, Sam rested her elbows on the table and eyed her friend.

"I'm sorry." She said, and he laughed.

"I should be the one saying I'm sorry. Sam, I wouldn't ask you if I knew another way." If it wasn’t for Tony, Sam doubted she would have survived the months after Angus death. He and his family had done everything to not let her slip.

"Is it about the Chief?" Sam had read in the online news that he had been murdered.

"Yes," Tony pulled a couple of photos out of the pockets of his coat which was resting on the chair beside him.

They had been making small talk and eating apple pie until Sam had finally asked what really brought him here.

Handing the pictures to Sam, he watched as she eyed them, afraid to touch them as if they would bite her. She spread them out on the table barely touching them.

They showed an older man with bald head, laying face down on his desk, a bullet hole in his temple. The other pictures were similar. A gun was below the chair, and it looked a great deal like suicide.

"And this was a reporter from the local newspaper." Tony spread out more pictures, showing another man, laying face down on a desk in which looked like an office. "This happened last night." Tony crossed his arms on the table.

"And the new provisional Chief is stressed out already." He took a deep breath and waited for Sam to say something.

"Somebody was very angry." Sam said, still focused on the pictures and then looked at Tony with big blue eyes. She'd been teased in school about her eyes, they always said she looked like a deer caught in the headlights all the time. Now the same boys who had taunted her would give an arm to go out with her.

"First we thought Chief Nevill had problems and shot himself, but interviews with his wife and the people from his office didn't give us one clue why he would have done that."

Sam looked at the photos more closely. His office was large and it looked expensive. On the large desk sat a computer flat screen with keyboard and mouse, a pencil holder with what looked like very exclusive pens and a telephone. That was it.

The reporter's desk was a mess. While it was way too small anyway, it was stuffed with all kind of papers, magazines, and a huge 17" monitor. The keyboard must have been buried under a stack of papers somewhere and the receiver of the phone hung to the floor.

"Did you check the incoming and outgoing calls?" Sam asked and Tony nodded.

"We're still at it. Someone manipulated the records."

“Good.” Sam replied absently while her mind focused on every detail on the photo. “Did you bring a personal item?”

Tony hesitated for a moment before he pulled a wallet from his jacket and handed it to Sam. “It’s Nevill’s.”

Sam watched it for a moment and mentally prepared for what could happen. Reaching out, she took it between her palms and closed her eyes.

It didn’t always work, but sometimes she could pick up feelings, see pictures of the crime. Sometimes it was just unimportant personal stuff she saw about the victims or the attacker, but sometimes she could even see how the crime happened.

It was emotionally draining, and it exhausted her quickly, but she believed it was her responsibility to use her gift to help those who couldn’t help themselves anymore, until Angus died. She had tried to read, to see anything but all the personal items she touched were filled with her own memories. Her own family and she wasn’t able to help solve the murder. All she could rely on was her professional training.

Tony watched as her eyes moved behind closed lids. When Sam opened them again she looked disoriented for a moment and dropped the wallet.