Jamie clutched the new note pad and pen to her chest as the nurse wheeled her down the hall. She stopped at an office door and pushed Jamie's wheelchair inside, closing the door behind them.

Dr. Ellison looked up from a stack of reports she was reading at her desk. She took off her reading glasses and smiled tiredly at the pale girl in the wheelchair sitting across from her.

"Hello Jamie, feeling a little better now? She asked. Jamie opened the pad to a clean page and wrote something. She held it up for the doctor to read.

Everything still hurts.

Dr. Ellison nodded sympathetically.

"I'm afraid it will for a little while. But it should be better in a week."

Is Michael here yet? Jamie wrote.

"No, not yet Jamie. But in the meantime I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?"

Depends on the answers.

"Well for starters, could you give me your full name?"

Jamison Roxanne Scott.

"That's a pretty name," commented Dr. Ellison, as she wrote it down, mostly for the sake of conversation.

It was my great-grand mother's.

"Your age?"

20.

"And you live in North Carolina now?" said Dr. Ellison checking her records.

Yes but I was born here.

What are you studying in school?"

Dance.

"Do you enjoy it?"

Of course.

The slight cheek in the last answer made Dr. Ellison do a slight double take as she wrote it down. Jamie was already getting over her ordeal enough to sass her authority. She hid a slight smile. Jamie put down her pen, waiting for the next question.

"Could you tell me about what happened last night?" The reply was swift.

NO. Jamie glared at Dr. Ellison from behind her pad. She might like the doctor behind the desk and trust her enough to examine her bruises, but she wasn't going to talk about what happened yet. Her mouth set in a determined line.

"Why not? Don't you want to put them in jail?"

Not ready.

Dr. Ellison leaned over the desk, looking at Jamie.

"Jamie. I know you had a rough experience and I understand you are scared of reliving everything. But the sooner you tell us everything, the better chance we have of catching them, and the better chance we have of making sure that they don't attack anymore innocent girls like you."

The comment stung slightly but Jamie just pointed at her pad again for emphasis.

Not ready.

In afterthought Jamie added, Shouldn't the police be asking me these questions?

Dr. Ellison nodded. Why was she doing this? It wasn't any of her business. Her job was to examine the victim and if she happened to talk about the incident she was to be advised to repeat it to a police officer. The truth was...she had come to be rather fond of Jamie in the few short hours she had met her. There was a resiliency in the girl hiding under the surface that showed as she glared up at the doctor from her wheelchair.

Jamie had written something on the pad and now she held it up.

Can I see Michael now?

Dr. Ellison sighed.

"Won't you consider bringing in a report once you are ready to talk?"

Jamie scowled and scribbled something, then held up the pad.

Not now. Later.

"Promise?"

Fine.

She snapped the pen cap on and looked at Dr. Ellison expectantly.

"Thank you Jamie. You may go see your boyfriend now."

A slight flush rose in Jamie's cheek and she wrote quickly, he's not my boyfriend!! before the nurse wheeled her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Michael was waiting impatiently in the waiting room, thumbing distractedly through maternity magazines that he wasn't interested in anyway. A nurse passed by, clipboard in hand, off to some important mission. Another rolled a wheelchair up next to him and let the patient climb out, taking a seat on a nearby sofa. He glanced at his watch wondering how much longer he was going to have to wait.

"Mr. Campwell?" inquired the nurse and Michael looked up startled.

"Yes? Is everything alright?"

The nurse gestured to the huddled figure on the couch.

"We have finished our examination of Miss Scott. She is free to leave with you now."

Michael glanced at the person sitting next to him. The hair was a tangled mess so he could hardly see the face, just the hands clutching the note pad and pen to their chest. The person looked up and he did a double take. Jamie looked horrible. She sat nervously on the sofa, as if it was a time bomb about to explode, and her eyes flickered everywhere, jumping at the slightest noise.

"Jamie?" he asked, and her pleading brown eyes locked with his puzzled blue eyes. He was startled to see how scared she was; startled at the pain and fear reflected in them when usually they were so full of life and fun. She picked up the pen and pad and began to write, then held it up so he could see.

Can we go now?

It was then that he realized she couldn't talk.

Emma was still fast asleep when they reached his apartment. Michael closed the door to the bedroom, thinking longingly of how much he would rather be curled up under the warm covers then awake.

Jamie prowled the living room, closing the blinds and locking the windows and doors securely. She was calmer then she had been in the waiting room surrounded by noisy and bustling nurses and doctors, but she still flinched when he touched her on the shoulder and asked if she wanted tea or for him to make up a bed for her on the couch so she could go to sleep.

Tea please, she wrote to his disappointment, and he went to the kitchen to put some water on to boil.

Jamie scurried into a seat in front of the TV, but didn't turn it on. The silence that prevailed throughout the room was stifling, and he wished that she would start talking in her usual animated way, chatting about school and classes and how she hated Math and thought someone in English had a crush on her like she used to. He'd known her since the first day of high school, when Jamie and her bouncy ponytail sat in front of him in Spanish class and had said hello. Even after six years, she had always had the ability to brighten up his day and make him laugh, but now she just sat, staring blankly into space, completely lifeless.

Michael pulled two cups out of the cupboard and set them on the counter, letting the small door where they were kept slam closed. Jamie's head snapped up like a deer caught in headlights and she looked around wildly. Realizing what had made the sound she slowly relaxed, sinking back into the chair to stare at nothing in a zombie-like trance.

Michael felt the start of a headache starting to form and he went to go quietly search for an aspirin. "It's going to be a long weekend," he thought.

She was tied to the bed again, but this time she couldn't move at all. She felt them all around her, knew that the pain would start soon, but this time it would never end. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Then someone grabbed her shoulder and she flailed wildly, connecting with something soft and warm.

"Oow! Jamie, it's me!"

Jamie opened her eyes and looked around. She was lying on Michael's couch, blankets tangled up around her legs and what had been a cup of tea smashed on the floor. Michael eyed her warily, wincing as he rubbed his solar plexus.

"Another bad dream?" he asked tiredly, and she nodded, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She had barely gotten any sleep the night before, and she kept nodding off throughout the day. Grabbing her notebook she wrote, 'I'm sorry for hitting you. Are you okay?'

" I'll live," he said, forcing a smile. "At least you didn't hurt me as much as the tea I was drinking." He indicated the puddle on the floor.

I'll clean it up. She wrote.

"Nah, you're the guest. Stay here and I'll get a sponge."

They won't leave me alone.

Michael's face became serious.

"Who is "they" Jamie? Your attackers?" She remained silent. Her mouth closed firmly. "Jamie, you need to talk about this."

NOT NOW.

"Yes now! Jamie, you've been like this all night long!"

Angrily, Jamie picked up a pillow and whacked him with it. It was bad enough that every time she fell asleep she kept dreaming of what happened, but now Michael was nagging her to talk about? She glared at him, and for a second he saw his old friend from high school shinning through. Then it was replaced with the vacant, impassive face he had become used to seeing and she curled up on the couch, turning her back to him.

"Jamie..." he said softly, putting a hand on her sleeve. She flinched and pulled herself in more, ignoring him. Sighing in irritation, he went to go get the sponge to clean up the tea on the floor.

Emma called as he came back from tossing the broken cup in the dumpster outside. After a night of Jamie battling her nightly horrors they had agreed it would be better if Emma went back to her house for the weekend. Besides, it was easier on Jamie without strangers in the same house with her.

Emma was a "little" annoyed. After all, it was supposed to be their weekend together, just her and Michael, alone for two whole days with no interruptions...

"So, how is she?" she asked. "Think she'll be better anytime soon?"

"Still plagued by whatever happened to her whenever she falls asleep, and still won't talk about it."

"So her voice come back yet?"

"It either hasn't or she won't use it. I don't know."

The phone crackled as he heard Emma sigh.

"Maybe it's permanent. I remember hearing about some people who go through traumatic events and never get over it."

Michael felt a tingle of panic. Jamie, never able to laugh or dance again?

"She'll get better." He insisted.

"Well, at least you only have to watch her for another day." Emma said, "do you think you'll be alright until then?"

Michael felt the frustration of the last 24 hours sweep over him and he gave vent to it.

"If by alright you mean I am constantly at the beck and call of a paranoid zombie who wakes me up in all hours of the night with her stupid pad and pen and keeps hitting me in her sleep when she has nightmares and is always jumping and hiding from her own shadow then yes, I'll be alright. In fact, I'll be terrific," he finished sarcastically. "I am already exhausted, I'm getting bruises from all the times she's hit me-"

"Too bad she's there." Emma said slyly. "You might still have bruises, but I'm pretty sure you'd be happy getting them." Michael felt a surge of desire that was almost immediately quashed by guilt.

"Next weekend." He promised.

"You don't want to hear how I'll give you bruises?" Emma asked, sounding hurt. Michael wrestled with his conscience and lust. On one hand, he should check on Jamie. On the other hand.... In the end, conscience won.

"Maybe later."

"Okay..." Emma sounded sulky. "I love you."

"Yeah...me too," he said, slightly distracted.

"Just hang in there, sweetie. One more day left! I'll see you soon."

" Bye." He said, and heard her hang up, feeling more depressed then before. Forcing a cheery note into his voice he walked into the living room.

"So Jamie, how about we watch a movie and..." his voice trailed off as he noticed the blankets were thrown back and the couch was empty. A quick check through the rest of the rooms showed they were just as empty. No Jamie.

Walking back into the living room he noticed for the first time a note on top of the blankets. In Jamie's handwriting was scrawled, 'going for a walk, be back soon.'

Michael swore. He wasn't going to let her be outside by herself. He'd have to go look for her. Luckily, he had an idea of where he might find her.