Meredith hated hospitals. The sterile, white walls; the cacophony of medical equipment beeping and hissing; the vague yet distinct odor of what could only be defined as 'illness': all of it made her stomach turn. Though, nothing stuck in her psyche more than the inherent vulnerability that accompanied a stay in the hospital. That very same sense of vulnerability brought a smile to her face, however, as she eyed the man in the hospital bed.

"Oh, poor Stevie," she muttered under her breath as she looked away from the poor bastard, inspecting her cuticles. Her wake-up call came a half-hour earlier than she expected - when Sayors' sad-sack intern called to let her know that their scheduled follow-up interview would have to be postponed, on account of "Mr. Sayors' condition," as the intern had put it. It was a comedy of errors by all accounts, the intern had said: a drunk couple knocked on Sayors' hotel room door, mistaking it for the door to their room. In response, Sayors panicked and tried to "escape" his predicament by jumping out of a window.

The rest, was history.

Meredith was Sayors' first and only visitor.

Sayors' eyes slid open weakly before snapping wide open, darting around the room with a sense of bewilderment. Meredith's smile stretched wider, her lips almost invisible, as she watched the creeping revelation fill Sayors' head. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh as the lightning of shock subsided, replaced with the rumbling thunder of smoldering rage. She knew that in Sayors' head, the official story for his hospitalization would never be enough. Some place in Steve Sayors' head, the idea that she was responsible on some level would always persist.

The beauty of the 'official story' was the fact that it didn't have to convince the victim: all it had to do was convince everyone else.

"Good morning, Stevie."

She made no effort to disguise her amusement as Sayors' attention turned to her.

"Apologies, I shouldn't be smiling."

"You shouldn't be here."

"Now now ,no need to be rude! After all, I took time out of my day to see you. You're not exactly flushed with visitors now, are you?"

"You're the reason I'm here."

Sayors' voice was weak. Gravelly.

"Don't hurt yourself - any more, at least"

"Psychopath."

For a single, solitary moment, the smile on Meredith's face faded. Her nostrils flared and she pushed herself out of her chair, scowling before catching herself. Her smile returned immediately as she made her way to the bed.

"Sticks and stones, Stevie."

"What are you doing here?"

"I want you to know one thing, Stevie, and then I'll be out of your hair. You came close - you really did. If I hadn't caught you when I did, then who knows what you might've seen. Well, I know but that's neither here nor there. You should be proud: you almost got a peak behind the mask, as it were.

"Of course that means I can no longer maintain any kind of working relationship with you. In admitting this to you, I'm sure I've only inspired you to dig even deeper so if we're to have any fun with this little game of cat and mouse, you'll have to work a bit harder. You're a clever man, I'm sure you'll manage.

"Though, I want you to ask yourself something - and I don't want you to tell me the answer. I'd rather be surprised.

"Do you want to see the real me?

"Do you, really?"

She looked down at the broken man and shook her head.

"Remember, you're only here right now because I love a good challenge."