D.N.A: Does Not Assimilate

Greenwood.

Niyota had heard a lot about the place-mostly from stilted conversation and gossip-since construction had begun a couple of years ago. As she received her first good look at the medical facility, it wasn't anything that she'd been expecting to find.

Almost an hour later Detective Gerald parked in front of Greenwood medical facility, almost a good forty minutes outside of town. Immediately cutting off the engine, he hurriedly lumbered out of the car and walking around to the rear passenger side, the door came open. He motioned to his passenger. "Time to get out."

She took a deep breath to brace herself for what was to come.

Then swinging legs out of the car door, planting feet solidly on the cement ground. Niyota carefully shifted her body out of the car, difficult to do in handcuffs. "Don't bother," Niyota protested when he offered his help, backing up from him. "I'm not some invalid. I can do it on my own."

He instantly backed up. "Whatever you want."

Yeah, right. If he truly thought that way, then the man wouldn't have brought her to this awful place. To be locked away like some nutcase to be hidden from the rest of the world. Detective Gerald would've come to terms with the reality that she wasn't lying to him and arrested the look-alike for daring to take her life. But as Niyota had come to realize years ago, life wasn't always fair. She knew that better than most.

Steadying herself on her feet again, she took a couple of steps away from the police car. Confident she wouldn't fall over Niyota used a foot to kick the door closed. Hands combed hair out of her eyes. "Alright then, detective, let's get this show on the road."

Immediately appearing at her side, grabbing a hold of a muscular bicep, Gerald steered her towards the front entrance of the hospital. "You are mighty shippers for one that claims they're innocent. I'd think you'd be more distressed." "I have to be," she told him.

He cocked a brow. "How so?"

Niyota stopped and turned around, looking him directly in the eyes. Showing the man how serious she was, so he'd better understand her. "Because if I don't laugh and smile and try to find the humor in this god-awful situation I've come to be in, then I would be crushed beneath my pain and misery and would never survive."

"Good survival technique," the police officer mused.

Yeah, it was. One of the best there was, if she was being honest. And one of the many life lessons that she'd been taught over the years, at the hands of Lance. In his estimation Niyota was far too headstrong and serious of nature, wanting to teach her to loosen up and live a little. Even when things were really bad-and right now definitely categorized under bad-to find the humor in every situation.

Early on Niyota had thought him completely nuts. How on earth could anyone find humor in a bad situation? How could they laugh when all they wanted to do was cry? But over the years Lance had shown her the truth of his philosophy. That it was only through laughter that a person could truly overcome all the odds.

Niyota was hurriedly guided up the front steps of Greenwood Psychiatric Center. The detective never gave her the time to react, as if he believed she'd be up to some funny business.

Shaking her head at the beliefs this man had, she finally looked up at her surroundings. And frowned. Definitely not what she'd been expecting to find.

When Niyota had first heard of the place which was three years ago-five years after actual construction began-she'd imagined an old spooky building, that made strange noises at night, bars on the window and creepy medical staff. Though she wasn't certain about the medical staff-she hadn't met any of them so far-she hit the nail right on the head on the barred windows. But that was all that closely resembled her thoughts.

Greenwood consisted of three buildings, placed right next to each other, the rooftops leveled out almost like stepping stones. The main building looked more like a business on Wall Street, made out of fancy stone, inlaid by wood, wide expressive windows on each floor.

The second building that was positioned right next to it, was a story or two higher, made out of a studier kind of stone and all the windows were barred. It definitely had a spooky feel to it, but not nearly as bad as she'd been expecting it to. The spookiness was more out of the fact of what the place was than what it looked like.

The third building, two stories higher than the second, looked like the old foundation of historical buildings. Windows again barred, security lights and guards atop the roof. Off to the side, Niyota noticed some kind of courtyard, benches and tables, but instincts assured her that the area wasn't meant for the patients. Merely the use of the employees.

On the opposite side of the building was an Olympic-sized pool, another commodity for the hospital employees' use. The whole property was closed off by fifty-foot-high wired fences, lights were posted every twelve feet and a guard post at the front.

"If you're thinking about escape routes, don't bother," Detective Gerald warned in a lethal tone, looking out of the corner of his eyes at his teenage prisoner, a hard and uncompromising expression on his face. "No one has ever escaped Greenwood."

She rolled her shoulders nonchalantly. "Whoever said that I was thinking about escape, detective? I was merely taking the opportunity to enjoy the scenery of the place." Cocking a brow questionably, Niyota looked up at him. "Or is there some crime in that, that I'm not aware of?"

"No," he grumbled.

Electronic automatic doors instantly came open as they came to stand on the mat and Detective Gerald escorted her in through the doorway. Hurrying her along as the doors closed behind them, as if he feared her making a sudden break for it, he came to stand before the front counter. "I'm Detective Gerald," he explained to the security guard on the other side, showing the man his badge. "I'm transporting a prisoner." "Confirmation number?" the chubby man asked.

He held out a paper. "That's all I have."

Bobbing his head as he read whatever was written down on the slip of paper, handing it back to the police officer, the guard picked up the phone. "Dr. Wenchell," he greeted the person who'd answered on the other end of the line. "I have here a Detective Gerald. Claims to be transporting a prisoner."

There were a couple of moments of conversation, mumbling and murmuring from the guard, before the man put the phone down on the receiver. Pressing down on a button on the other side of the counter, the caged door off to the side immediately swung open and he motioned them on. "Go on ahead. You can take the elevator to floor twelve."

"Thanks," the officer said.

Forced to catch her balance when he tugged-none too gently either on the bicep in his grasp, she shot daggers at him as he steered her in the direction of the door. Controlling her impulse to jerk her arm out of his grip, knowing that it would only be construed as resistance on her end, complicating an already difficult situation. Not what she wanted to do.

Cringing on the inside as the door snapped closed behind them, all chances of escaping this place slamming along with it, Niyota followed him. Stepping onto the elevator at the end of the corridor as the steel doors came open, she walked to the back of the wall, while he pressed the button for the twelfth floor.

When the doors came open again on the twelfth floor, they were greeted by a man in his middle twenties in a sterile white lab coat said he was a staff member. Beside him stood a woman, graying brown hair, a decade or two older than him. He extended his hand in welcome. "I'm Dr. Steve Wenchell. I'll personally be spearheading this unique case."

He shook his head. "Detective Gerald."

Shit colored brown eyes shifted away from the detective, to land on the handcuffed prisoner that the man had been escorting upstairs. A smile curved up his lip. "This must be your Jane Doe."

"Niyota," she immediately corrected the man, hating that neither of them had thought to label as a non-person name. Just because no one believed her didn't mean she didn't have a name. "I'm Niyota Y'Fell. Detective Gerald is just too stubborn and blind, to see the truth right in front of his eyes."

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"Ah," the doctor said. "I see what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't," she snipped sarcastically.

Grimacing at the condescending tone in the teenage girl's voice, letting him know that she wasn't the least pleased by her situation. Dr. Wenchell motioned to the woman standing at his side, who up to this point had failed to say anything. "This is my personal nurse, Pamela. She'll take you to your room."

"Hello," Nurse Pam greeted.

Blatantly ignoring the woman's greeting, she turned around to face the detective and held up her chained wrists for his view. "Do you plan on removing these, detective? Or am I to go about the rest of my life, wearing them like some prisoner?"

Using the key from his front pocket to unlock the handcuffs, the silver bands were immediately hooked onto his gun belt and he stared down at her. "Be good," Gerald warned her. "I don't want to receive any phone calls to find out that you're causing trouble."

She gave a pretend gasp. "Me. Never."

"I mean it," he insisted.

"So do I," Niyota immediately shot back, raising her gaze to meet his own. "I'm not the one that you need to be worrying about. It's that leach you've allowed to steal my life and family, that you should be worried about. One day you're gonna regret that decision."

"I don't think so," Gerald denied.

She smirked. "We'll see about that." Then leaving him there to ponder on what she had said to him, Niyota stepped away from him and allowed the nurse to lead her away.

The instant that the girl had walked off with the attending nurse, Detective Gerald immediately switched his gaze to the doctor. "I want you to place her on twenty-four-hour watch."

His brows furrowed. "Is she dangerous?"

He shook his head. "No. Not as far as I can tell anyway. She's been pretty compliant with everything she's been told, but I don't want to take any chances with her. In case I'm wrong and she's conning us all. So until we know more about her, treat her as if she was."

"Yes detective," Wenchell agreed.

"Keep me posted."

"Will do."

Aware there was nothing more to be done on his part, now it all was up to the Greenwood medical staff and the mind of one confused girl, Detective Gerald made his goodbyes and left the hospital.

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The nurse escorted her down the narrow corridor, dark and quiet at three in the morning. Most of the patients were still abed for the night. At least still in their rooms. Turning to the left at the end of the hallway, she walked down to the fifth door on the left hand side and opened it up. "This will be your room during your stay here."

For however long that was.

Walking through the doorway when the woman had stepped off to the side, she took a good look at her surroundings. Obviously decoration wasn't one of their stronger suits. The room took sparse to a whole new level.

The bedroom was twelve feet by twelve feet-that was her best estimation anyway-with a twin-sized bed pressed up against the wall to one side of the room. Directly across from it was a desk and chair and a wooden cupboard where clothes could be stored for her.

Too bad she didn't have any.

"You have this room all by yourself," the nurse ventured to tell her, deciding to get down to explaining what life at Greenwood would be like for her. "On the foot of your bed are some clothes. You'll have them on by breakfast time." She bobbed her head.

Nurse Pamela sighed in relief when she voiced no complaints, apparently she was used to patients fighting. "Life here at Greenwood will be comfortable for you, as long as you adhere to the rules and regulations. Wake-up call will be at five- thirty and breakfast is at six, followed by meds. From eight to ten is group therapy. Ten to eleven you will remain in your rooms."

She bobbed her head. "Okay."

Nurse Pamela continued. "Lunch is at eleven thirty, followed by an hour of yard time. Between one and four you will be called for one-on-one therapy. Four to five is quiet time in your room. Dinner is at six. For those of you that earn the privilege, can watch television in the commons afterward. You will be in your room by nine and lights out at eleven."

She'd say one thing about these people, they definitely knew how to schedule out a day. They'd managed to arrange everything so perfectly together, there was no void between activities. No wonder no one had ever escaped. They were all too busy adhering to the scheduling of their days, activities and therapy, there wasn't much time for anything else.

"Okay," she agreed.

"We're here to help you," Pamela told her, sadness filling her eyes as she watched the teenager walk around her bedroom. Pitying the girl she believed to be a mental case. "So should you need anything or talk to anybody, then come ask for me or Dr. Wenchell at the front desk. If we're unavailable, we'll come to you as soon as we can."

"Okay," she repeated. Well, what else could she say? If she attempted in informing this woman she wasn't a nutcase, but was the victim of switched identity, she wouldn't believe a word of it. Rather the woman would have it written down in her file that she was being uncompliant with her medical testing, stepping her back from being "cured". There'd be plenty enough of that later.

Pamela checked the delicate golden watch on her wrist. "It's three-twenty now. I'd advice you to catch what little sleep that you can, before wake up call. You have a busy day ahead of you."

Waiting until the door quietly closed behind the nurse, she immediately crossed the cold linoleum floor and climbed up onto the bed. Ignoring the clothes that were stacked up at the foot of the mattress, aware that she would be needing them in the coming morning, Niyota laid her head down on the pillow. As the quiet of the hospital ward enveloped her, only the occasional noises from outside of the door to intrude upon the silence, she fluffed out the pillow. Promptly closing her eyes, deciding to take the woman up on her suggestion of catching a couple more hours of sleep, Niyota burrowed into the mattress.

Yes. Sleep.

She needed sleep.

But sleep was impossible for her at this point. Orientated and alert, too on edge after the day's events to so easily fall back into slumber, she accepted that her chances of sleeping were gone. Muttering in frustration as she reached this conclusion, Niyota immediately rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling overhead. As she lay there in the quiet of the hospital bedroom, almost counting the dots above her, she thought back on all that had happened. Definitely not what she'd been expecting when she had walked through the front door. Being locked away inside of a mental facility, everyone believing she had gone crazy, wasn't on the list of possibilities Niyota had.