LOG 013
[DOCTOR AMY BUCKLAND] AUGUST 18TH, 1997
BUCKLAND: STOPPED FOR GAS ON MY WAY TO THE PATIENT'S HOUSE. GOD WILLING, THEY'LL BE THERE, BUT IT WOULD BE A PHENOMENALLY STUPID DECISION ON THE KIDNAPPER'S PART. I HAVE ALL THE RECORDS FROM ME AND PHILLIP'S PATIENTS, INCLUDING ADDRESSES. I STOPPED TO GO BUY A MAP A BIT AGO, BUT THE CASHIER WOULDN'T STOP STARING. ITS LIKE HE HAD NEVER SEEN AN INJURY BEFORE.
...IT IS BAD. IT'S PRETTY BAD, HONESTLY. I HAD TO REMOVE THE REMAINING TISSUE FROM THE SOCKET AND SEW IT UP. I CAN'T AFFORD TO GET AN INFECTION, AND THE MILLERS ARE A BIG ENOUGH NAME AROUND HERE THAT I'M THE ONLY ONE LOOKING FOR THE PATIENT. THEY HAVE THE POLICE IN THEIR POCKETS. MY DEPTH PERCEPTION IS OFF, NATURALLY, BUT NOTHING SOME PAINKILLERS WON'T---
UNKNOWN: EXCUSE ME... YOU---UH, HI, I'M ADRIAN COSMOS. YOU'RE SPECIAL.
BUCKLAND: PARDON?
COSMOS: YOUR AURA, IT'S. *SNIFF* TROUBLED. BUT FAMILIAR!
BUCKLAND: WHAT THE HELL?
COSMOS: WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
BUCKLAND: I NEED TO GO. DON'T TALK TO ME.
COSMOS: WAIT, WAIT! AMY!
BUCKLAND: ...HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?
COSMOS: I'M PSYCHIC.
BUCKLAND: ...GOODBYE.
[BUCKLAND drives away]
BUCKLAND: WHAT?