Tough luck, guys. No pistol this time, but she still managed to come up with a convincing substitute.
She didn't look any saner than she did the last time. Now, though, she finally had what she'd come for. She had her daughter. Could it be that Kristen was about to be liberated? Had the world come full circle?
"No." The voice belonged to Winston Bartlett. "I want her with me."
"You 're the prick responsible for this." Katherine whirled on him, brandishing the scalpel.
"Mrs. Starr," Van de Vliet interjected, eyeing the sharp metal, "you can't take Kristen away now. She's at a very delicate stage of her procedure."
"I seem to be doing a lot of things I can't," she declared turning back. "I'm not supposed to be out of my room, but I am. And now I'm getting us both out of here. We're going through that air lock and onto the elevator. So whose throat do I need to cut to do it?"
Winston Bartlett was edging away, and his eyes betrayed he was more concerned than he wished to appear.
"Look at her," Katherine Starr continued shoving Kristen— who was completely disoriented her eyes blinking in confusion—in front of Van de Vliet. "She doesn't know me; she doesn't know anything. She's acting like a baby. What in hell have you done to her?"
"She had the procedure she wanted. At the time I warned there might be side effects we couldn't anticipate."
"She's lost her mind. That's what you call a side effect?”