D.N.A: Does Not Assimilate

Detective Gerald was sitting down in the chair at his desk on the left of the precinct, typing up a report for his latest arrest, Kane having gone to book the perp. The man would be doing hard time after robbing a slew of gas stations over the last couple of months, though it hadn't come without consequences. A mother of two and a middle-aged man had been gunned down, simply for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. His heart ached for the family members now mourning the death of their loved ones, innocent people who hadn't deserved this injustice.

For some strange reason the thought of the family members who'd lost their loved ones, forced him to think about another not-so-innocent victim. Against his better judgment, his mind dredged up the image of a teenage girl, with bright blue eyes and a flowing mane of blue-black hair. The Y'Fell double, not the actual girl. Her case had touched him deeply, deeper than he had ever allowed himself to get before. Something about the teenage girl called out to him, making Scott regret his decision to lock her away in Greenwood, simply for her beliefs. Although he knew he'd made the right choice, the girl was a danger to herself and the real Niyota Y'Fell, but that didn't stop the guilt and remorse.

God, he must be getting soft. "How's the Y'Fell case going?"

Immediately shoving those thoughts to the darkest recesses of his mind, exactly where they belonged, he glanced up and saw the captain standing at the corner of his desk. Scott rolled broad shoulders. "Not too well I'm afraid. Our Jane Doe has created a fantasy where she is Niyota Y'Fell. Greenwood medical staff is trying to help her come to grips and dredge up her identity, but no such luck so far."

"It's been two days," he protested.

He bobbed his head. "These things take time, sir."

"How much time?" he persisted.

Scott rolled his shoulders. "Time limits can't be placed on things like this. Depending on how deteriorated her mental state is and the traumatizing experiences that have led to this mental lapse of hers. It could take several weeks, maybe even months before there's a breakthrough."

Captain Morgan shook his head disapprovingly. "That's no good. There are more important cases we should be concentrating our manpower on, than some delusional girl."

"Captain," he protested against the thought. Even though he knew the captain was looking at this from a logical and even professional viewpoint, he couldn't bring himself to listen to him. Everything inside of him urged Scott that he needed to find out the truth of what'd happened to this girl, it was somehow important.

"Alright," he said, bobbing his head in understanding, not even having to hear him out to know what the man had been in the midst of saying to him. "Keep on it if you want, for now. If some break hasn't been made by next week, then I want you to drop this and move on."

Relieved that the man hadn't thought to order him off the case already, he finished up the report before him and climbed to his feet. "As it would have it I'd been planning on heading out there for a chat with the doctor. I'll let you know what I find out."

He nodded. "Taking Kane?"

"Nah," he denied the thought of his partner tagging along. "She's booking a perp." Scott failed to mention that the two of them hadn't gone too well together, for some reason Kane had developed an instant dislike for the girl. If only he could say the same. He wouldn't have half the problems he now faced, if he'd simply backed off of this case, leaving it to Greenwood to find out whatever had happened to the girl. Yet, he couldn't.

"Go," the captain ordered him.

Arriving at the hospital the guard immediately buzzed him through once he'd got a confirmation of his idea and he rode up to the tenth floor. Silently hoping that she'd been good in the days since she'd been transported to Greenwood, saving him from having to deal with unnecessary problems. Although Scott understood she wasn't of the right mind now and couldn't really be held accountable for her actions, some might not have the same comprehension. Stepping off the elevator when the doors came open, he started to approach the front desk, but was pulled up short by the nurse that came around. Scott frowned at her. "I'm here to see my Jane Doe."

She nodded. "Dr. Wenchell would like to speak with you."

Muttering under his breath at this, he followed the woman down the hall to where Dr. Wenchell was waiting for him, wondering what she'd done now. Though he hadn't come out since he'd dropped her off two days ahead, he'd made a point of frequently calling the hospital to check up on her. Every time he had called the staff had assured him he didn't have anything to worry about, Jane Doe had been a model patient. At least, as model as she was bound to get. Although she was still fighting her treatment, determined to believe the delusions that she was someone else, that was the extent of her resistance. She went to all of her therapy sessions and actually participated in them without any insistence from the staff, ate her meals and went to bed as told. Even took her meds like a good little girl.

So what had changed?

Immediately climbing up from his seat at the table when the man was escorted in by his nurse, Dr. Wenchell walked around the table and shook his head. "I'd been expecting you to come out eventually."

"What did she do?" Straight and to the point.

He shook his head. "Oh no, it's nothing like that. I probably should've had Pamela be more direct on the matter. Jane Doe has been one of the most calm and complaint patients I've ever had the pleasure of working with, aside from the obvious. I wanted to talk to you about some disturbing information we'd uncovered."

Scott frowned. "Disturbing?"

Dr. Wenchell directed his attention to the video screen that had been pulled out for this presentation and with a touch of the remote in hand it came on. "These pictures were taken of Jane Doe during our physical exam."

Scott grimaced as the picture finally appeared on the screen, to see the bruises that had been concealed underneath the clothes. Something caught his attention, and he immediately stalked across the span of the conference room floor and stared intently at the picture. He motioned to her chest. "Is that an incision?"

"Yes," Dr. Wenchell promptly agreed, appearing at his side. "For the last couple of days, we'd been thoroughly examining Ms. Doe. She has several incisions like this one. Above both breasts, two more above her shoulder blade, on both hips and right above her ankles. The instrument had a sharp edge and the person knew exactly what they were doing. And these," he said, pointing out the holes down her chest. "There puncture holes from a needle."

"I've never seen a needle do that," he protested.

He bobbed his head in understanding. "Nor would you, I reckon. Normally a needle is in five seconds then it's removed and the hole is healed up within a couple of days, weeks at the most. That isn't the case with her. The severe bruising around it indicates that these needles were kept in for long periods of time. Several months long."

"Another hospital?" he suggested.

"No," the doctor denied before any of them had the chance to thoroughly examine the possibility. "Had it been a few here and there, then I could've believed that. Ms. Doe has five down her chest, on both sides and back. More were along her arms and legs. There were several more implanted into her skull. There is no procedure or hospital that would ever dare go to these extents."

He ranked fingers through his hair. "Then what?"

"I don't know," Dr. Wenchell admitted regrettably, just as frustrated as he was by the lack of answers they had been able to find. "And as far as she'll tell us, neither does your Jane Doe. But whoever did this to her had extensive medical knowledge. Look at the next one closely."

Curious about what the man had managed to find out, he stared at the video screen and waited for the man to clip to the next photo in memory. Immediately he realized that it was the scan of someone's brain, undoubtedly belonging to that of his Jane Doe, but stopped at something. He motioned to it. "What the hell is that?"

Dr. Wenchell clicked a button on the remote held within his grasp, that immediately had the screen narrowing on what the detective had seen. When the portion of the brain was doubled in size, zooming right on the area that gained their interest, both of them saw a circular object on the brain. "Your guess is as good as mine. Someone opened up her skull, to implant some kind of device right into her brain, connected to all her brain functions. We scanned it for hours. This device registers her thoughts, eating, sleeping, memories. Everything she does or sees, is implanted into this device."

"Is there such a device?"

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The doctor shook his head. "I've been researching this ever since we found it, yesterday morning. I even called some friends that I have at John Hopkins and in the medical field. No device of the like exists. We are decades away from this type of technology. So unless someone invented it, it shouldn't be possible."

"Are you sure about that?" Scott wandered, needing to know everything he could about what the doctor had uncovered, before he jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"From this juncture, nothing is concrete," he said after a long time, having given himself a moment to think about everything that entailed with the case. "The only way any of us will know for sure is if we open her up and see what's inside." His heart stilled. "Will she survive?"

A pained expression crossed his face. "That too I am uncertain of. By all evidence in the books Ms. Doe shouldn't have survived the implant being put in, but miraculously she did. Fate would have to be on her side."

That decided him. "Don't remove it."

"There's something else you should know," Dr. Wenchell continued on before they could get off the subject, clicking on the remote again, to bring up the printout of two DNA strands. "To help get to the bottom of this, I took a sample of Ms. Doe's DNA. With Mr. Y'Fell's permission, I got a sample of Niyota's that was on file and compared them."

"And?" he prompted.

"They're an identical match," he said, pressing on the remote, that brought them closer to his view so that both of them could observe the proof for themselves. "In every way, every molecule, these two DNA strands are a perfect match for one another. These two share every chromosome and gene. So unless she's telling the truth or she's an identical twin the father never knew of, this shouldn't be possible."

Which only served to complicate an already difficult situation. Rather than answering the biggest question of all, as he'd been hoping it would, the DNA results created even more questions. Thrusting fingers into his hair, Scott spun away from the screen. "Can you please keep this between us? No need to make her think we're buying into this fantasy of hers."

"Yes, of course."