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She's controlled by someone she thought she could trust.

Peebles, detective Powers and Vance. They looked on, spectators to Victria's and Melody's folly: in pain, in love; their lives deferred.

Between Vance and Peebles, once Victria had been talked into remaining calm and open to his perspective, they'd explained together how deeply Melody had fallen into depression. Peebles had suggested that Melody may have been manic all along. He described her catatonia as symptomatic of something else; likely either some post-traumatic stress, bipolar disorder or manic depression. Whatever it was in her past that served as the initial trigger, and then had been re-triggered during the robbery and then during the home invasion, had now bound and gagged Melody's mind with the silken cocoon of her fear and was sucking the very life out of her like parasitic insect.

Melody, for most of the last three weeks, had been in a perpetual state of stupor, her gaze fixed, her face frozen in astonished mute indifference. For those three weeks, she had not moved of her own accord. Her anxiety became so extreme, she had lost the will to speak. But then, gradually, Melody had manifested other brief flashes of symptom that Dr. Peebles tried to feel encouraged by because he considered them as more extroversive: communicative. There were unusual movements of her arms and legs, her imitating another's words, her visible agitation and the expression of emotional pain from normal physical movement.

Alone with Melody, Victria began to reflect on those conversations with her brother and the hospital's psychologist as she stared deeply into her lover's limpid green, yet unsettlingly vacant, eyes. She sat there for a moment, searching, studying, and her eyes darting away and back again. Presently, she began to paw gently at the lifeless hands on Melody's lap. Then, her own hands shaking, Victria took one, held it tight for a time before finally bringing it to her face. She closed her eyes, cupped Melody's palm against her cheek, pressed her nose against the heel of her lover's hand, and then drew in a few slow, deep breaths. A moment more, a slight shake of her head, her lips parting to speak, her eyes fluttering open, Victria began to softly weep.

"Oh Mel, "she cried, "I'm so, so, sorry. I didn't mean for any of this. I, I was just playing around, like a stupid little kid, you know, like taking the chance, out of sheer foolishness, swallowing pennies just because the first one just went right down."

Victria paused to wipe the cry snot from her nose.

"So now God, the universe, and the alien race that planted us here, I don't know, whatever it is, it's fucking with me. It, it wants me to break, to stop my wicked, witchy ways, to let go, but I can't, I won't. It still hurts so badly. So it's done it. It's got you. I mean, it's like the amazing person that you are has been crumpled up into a little ball and tucked into some little crawl space inside the back of your brain somewhere. What the fuck is this, Mel? What the fuck!"
Again Victria paused, wiped her face with her shirt, and then kissed Melody's palm.

"Well," she resumed, "I'm going to get you out. I swear; I'm going to take you back. You're mine Melody. I love you; here in the world, I love you, and I'm going to take you back, even if it kills me."

Vance, Powers and Dr. Peebles looked on as Victria began to sob. It was the detective that spotted Patrice re-entering the solarium, toting a basket of flowers. Powers tapped her shoulder. The young girl turned to see the woman beckon her closer. She mouthed the word "wait. Patrice turned to look toward Victria and Melody and stared for a moment. The girl turned then, understanding in her eyes, and then set the basket of flowers down by her side. The doctor's cell phone buzzed. He read the text, and then excused himself from the room. Vance moved closer to Powers, filling the space the doctor had left. Sadly, he regarded her. Looking back, her own expression tempered with concern, Cassie said:

"Am I to assume that the good doctor Peeb

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