I Know Who Killed Me Page #2

- Now, I think what we should do...

- No, no, no. No comments, no leaks.

Aubrey Fleming is still missing

as far as the world's concerned,

- and I want to keep it that way.

- Everyone at the hospital's

been threatened with dismissal

and obstruction of justice charges

if they leak a word of this. We clear?

Plausible explanations. Okay.

Number one, he was done with her.

He left her on the side of the road to die.

But he didn't count on her will to live.

I don't buy it.

He wasn't done with Aubrey Fleming,

not by a long shot.

He only had her for what? 17, 18 days?

The sectioning was just getting started.

Her leg wasn't completely off.

And why the hell would he sew her fingers

back onto her hand,

- and her hand back onto...

- But wait a minute.

Remember, Jennifer Toland drowned.

I mean, now, it's too early

for an accurate profile but...

I think the cutting is about punishment.

And when the punishment is over,

he finds a way for the death to happen,

so he doesn't have to be there.

Now, he doesn't like the dying part,

but he's got to make sure it happens.

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

and sleeping with him?

Nope.

And this is some of your...

Some... Some of Aubrey's favorite music,

on that.

Now, where are... Sh*t.

How could I forget the earphones?

This was the most important thing in here.

You love your music, and, you know,

they use music to help

people come out of comas.

Do I look like I'm in a f***ing coma?

What else you got in the bag?

What's that? Is it a picture?

Yeah.

Dr. Mancuso to the ER.

Dr. Mancuso to the ER.

Here.

Where...

Who gave you this?

Is something happening?

When I was a little girl, I...

You were seven.

We all went to Hawaii for Christmas.

The pictures are almost the same.

My bathing suit was different,

the water wasn't blue.

It was brown, actually.

And my mother took me there

as if it was some sort of treat or something

to watch freaking garbage float.

What is it, honey?

A lot of little girls look alike, I guess.

What's this?

You've got to understand that we are trying

- to help your daughter, Mrs. Fleming.

- This is what you call help?

- This isn't help. This is just more torture.

- I have full authority

- to conduct this investigation...

- Don't!

...in any way I see fit.

- You do not have full authority.

- I'm trying to prevent it happening...

- Hasn't she suffered enough?

...to another girl and mother...

- Are you just trying...

...because it will...

...to prolong our pain?

...Mrs. Fleming. It will.

- My God, where is your sympathy?

Your daughter is lucky to be alive,

but she will not be safe

until whoever did this to her is behind bars.

She's not safe.

Dakota, this is Julie Bascombe

and Phil Lazarus.

Yeah, I've seen them around.

Two of my prison guards.

The security measures are all

for your own comfort, Dakota.

Dakota, who cut you?

That's all we want to know.

Look, once he finds out you're still alive,

he's gonna come after you.

Now, we've done everything we can

to keep this out of the press,

but it's bound to get out sooner or later.

So, you're gonna use me as bait,

unless I cooperate.

Is that what you're saying?

Dakota, help us, please.

You saw the pictures of Jennifer.

The same person who cut her cut you.

You can't deny that.

What do you remember

about the past few weeks?

Everything.

Everything? That's unusual.

Dakota, who did this to you?

I don't know.

- Were you blindfolded?

- You were locked up?

It doesn't matter

if it doesn't make sense to you.

We'll put the pieces together.

All right, so I got this new job. Night shift.

What kind of job?

A hostess.

At a gentlemen's club.

Don't care how old you really are, kiddo.

Your ID says you're 21,

you're f***ing 21 to me.

An exotic dancer,

that's what the hostess job turned out to be.

He could've been there

the first night I danced. I don't know.

Everything about him was just...

I don't know, was intense.

I never really got to see his face.

How do you know it was the same guy

from the club?

- I just knew.

- Was he tall? Thin? Stocky? What?

He was wearing blue gloves.

- The rubber kind that doctors wear.

- Are you sure?

Look, I'm not sure about anything, okay?

What about when he cut you?

You didn't see him then?

- No.

- Look, he gave you drugs, Aubrey. Okay?

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