[center][h3]Jeremiah Dupree[/h3]
Physical state: Alert
Mental state: Rattled[/center]

Dupree watched the student go, and then approached the door. There was a script he could follow. One to prevent the patient from becoming overly excited, one that might grant Dupree answers yet, one that might allow him to know what he needed to know. One that would fill the missing gaps of the puzzle strewn across an off-white wall. Introduce himself as Jeremiah - a humble teacher, teaching a class about culture. Perhaps this patient would like to contribute, come speak to his class about what her life had been like. Everyone had a story to tell, he could reassure her if she seemed hesitant or unsure, and surely her story was worth sharing simply on the account of being from a perspective no one in his class had ever experienced. Slowly push for why she had ended up here. Why the doctors had skipped her over as if merely an empty cell, a vessel awaiting something new to fill it. Be gentle, be cautious, be determined. Something so simple hardly deserved the title of a 'plan', but it was what he intended to follow as his guide.

His guide fled, panicked, into the darkness of the asylum and through the cold walls like a spectre, when the knocking resumed. He knew it was no coincidence, no madman banging their head against the door. It was a summons, and he would answer. He approached the door, the introduction lost from his tongue and resting likely somewhere near his shoes now. Before he could retrieve it, the voice [i]spoke[/i].

Somehow, her human qualities only made it worse.

[color=9e005d]"Dr. Jeremiah Dupree. Born 1882, same year the German discovered tuberculosis, and a man of great importance for America was born in New York."[/color] Wait, who? Jeremiah could think of perhaps a few professors, but 'importance to America' was a stretch than anyone without their ego could hardly support. [color=9e005d]"They call you "The Collector" and "Jerry","[/color] Ah, yes, a nickname Jeremiah kept failing to shake. There was always that one person in every group. [color=9e005d]"-but your true name only you know."[/color] The acid in his stomach chilled and settled into a block of ice that radiated its cold outward and made him sick. He wanted to protest but, right now, he was just as afraid that speaking would dislodge the ice into his throat and choke him to death, with no one to miss his disappearance. [color=9e005d]"You have kind eyes and smile, reflecting your soul...your mind. You saw him jump from that tower, Dr. Atkins, didn't you? You and your friends, you seek answers, but you do not realize the dire implications your quest for answers carries...The boy will come back."[/color] The boy - the student. Jeremiah had to act fast, faster than his brain was going right now. The script was gone, scribbled out in angry black ink at its uselessness. [color=9e005d]"Mr. Colombo sent word of you, I'm sorry it disturbed you, but it was needed. And now you're all coming here to talk, to seek answers. So while we wait for your friends, ask what you can only ask through this physical barrier, Doctor."[/color] As she wished. He picked out the few questions visible through the wet ink.

"Who are you? Why are you in here? Why did the doctor act like you didn't even exist until Arthur asked?" A stream of questions, and he doubted he would get complete answers before the boy returned. The ice in his stomach shifted, and he pressed his forehead against the cool metal door, half to regain his composure, half to better hear the answers she would offer. "And who is Mr. Colombo?" And why had he apparently known so much about the professor, even what he desperately sought to keep secret? [color=292929]Emilia Dupree died in her senior year of her boarding school. Jeremiah Dupree had simply sprung forth from her corpse with no regrets.[/color]