The Good Doctor (Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow)

II.

The weekend passed by in a blur of nurses, blood draws, and half stale meals. Every event seemed to repeat the next day on a loop with only the slightest variances on the pattern.

There were no televisions in the infirmary, only cracked and peeling minty green paint staring back at her as she tried to make sense of the entire day she had lost.

By Monday morning, she was no closer to believing what had happened to her life than she had been the moment Doctor Crane let her in on the big cosmic joke; she still couldn't remember anything even close to what she had been told she did.

Her bandages had come off around five that morning, the burns superficial and healed over to a shiny pink finish. They were still somewhat awkward feeling, but obviously not too worrisome.

After the early morning check over, she allowed herself to drift back to sleep.

She had barely opened her eyes when a heavyset woman in a guard's uniform made her way into the room.

"Rise and shine, princess," she ordered dryly, tossing an orange jumpsuit on the bed. "Your time in medical is over. Change into this and let's get you up to the C wing."

She looked down at the outfit that had been presented to her — 14532. That was apparently her new name, as boasted by the stencil on the left breast of the jumpsuit.

She eyed the guard warily, uncomfortable changing in front of a stranger. The unsympathetic look she recieved in return said she had no choice.

She turned her back and slipped the bottom up under her paper medical gown, quickly doing up the top portion of the outfit.

"What's C wing?" she asked over her shoulder, fumbling with the snaps.

"Category C is for patients still under observation, pending trial," the guard explained, her chewing gum smacking loudly as she spoke.

There was that dose of harsh reality again; Astrid was having a difficult time thinking of herself as a person in a mental hospital, awaiting trial for a felony.

A felony she couldn't even remember committing, at that.

"Breakfast has five minutes left and you're set to see the doc in ten," the guard warned. "You might wanna hurry up."

Astrid nodded. The prospect of food, even the sub par hospital food they Asylum served, was enough to get her moving.

By the time they made it up from the infirmary and to the cafeteria, trays were being emptied into the trash. She was too late.

"Can I at least grab something?" she pleaded with the guard.

"No food or eating utensils out of bounds, honey. It's by the rules," the woman replied, shaking her head ruefully.

"Please, just an apple or something. I'm practically starving," she begged.

She watched as the woman's face relented a bit. Maybe it was how young she was. Maybe it was the dark circles that marred her pale skin, standing out like bruises beneath her eyes, but something changed her mind.

"Get an apple. One time thing, you hear me?" she warned, eyeing the room as though one of her superiors was going to be looming over her shoulder.

"Thanks... Charlene," Astrid noted from her name tag, quickly making her way over to snag a piece of fruit before the kitchen staff swifted them away.

She made a mental note of Charlene's kindness; if her charm had worked once, perhaps it could again sometime down the line. If it were not already Elisabeth, Manipulative could have been Astrid's middle name.