I Know Who Killed Me Page #3

Dying freaks him out.

I think she escaped.

The only answer

that makes any sense to me.

Hey, honey pie.

Sure did miss you.

We're gonna have you home in no time,

and we can put all this behind us.

Home?

Isn't that right, Doctor?

Aubrey's been very brave.

With any luck,

we'll have her out of the ICU tomorrow.

Who is Aubrey?

Who are you?

Who is...

- Who is Aubrey?

- No.

- Oh, my God.

- I don't...

I just, I don't...

Don't touch me. Don't touch me.

Please, don't.

Aubrey Fleming,

session number one, 10:30 a.m.

I'm not Aubrey Fleming.

Then what should I call you?

My real name would be nice.

Session number one, 10:30 a.m.

Dakota Moss.

Listen.

I know I may look a little like

this Aubrey chick, or whatever her name is,

but I'm not her, okay? I am not her.

Let's get some housekeeping

out of the way first.

- Date of birth?

- June 9th, 1988.

Social Security number?

I don't have one.

Look, when you're raised by a crack addict

who thinks the less

that people know about you, the better,

it kind of sticks.

I made up a Social Security number

when I needed one,

but I couldn't keep a job long enough

for that to matter.

A job? You're fairly young to be working.

Yeah, well, I didn't grow up in New Salem.

I grew up in the real world.

You mentioned your mother.

Dead.

How did your mother die?

O.D.

How long ago?

Six, seven months ago.

We weren't really what you'd call close

since she'd started using again.

But I could always count on seeing

the palm of her hand on payday.

When she didn't come around,

I assumed she was dead.

Wasn't too hard to see that one coming.

She was stupid.

Pathetic.

And a junkie.

Did your mother leave you anything?

Yeah. $11.

Tell me something. Why does a shrink need

your Social Security number?

I like to have it for my files.

You're fuzz, aren't you?

I don't want to lie to you.

I am a psychiatrist,

but I also do work for the FBI.

I f***ing knew it.

It doesn't mean I care any less

for the work we do here.

You know, you're wasting your time

because I've got nothing to tell you.

In cases like these, there are specific details

that we withhold from the public

to separate the serial confessors

from the serial killer.

The pattern of your injuries is identical.

Not similar,

identical, with another young girl.

A murdered girl, from New Salem.

Prove it.

Oh, my God.

Hello, Mrs. Fleming.

Hey.

Hi.

I brought some of your things

to make you feel more at home.

This is Mr. Gervais.

All right.

Look, I'm sure you're a very nice woman.

Really. But I don't have a home.

And, yeah, I just want to know

when I get to get out of here.

You don't remember Mr. Gervais

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