When Donnie awoke in the early morning. He was rather bemused by the fact that he couldn't see.
He was certain he wasn't blind, but he was still worried by this sudden lack of sight.
He rubbed his eyes haphazardly and pulled away a fifty dollar note.
Confused he sat up in his bed and ran a disconcerting blue eyed gaze around his ward. On the writing desk by the door was a thick roll of rope and three large pots of glue.
Getting up he walked over to it and examined the pots.
They were all empty.
He wondered if Frank had anything to do with this.
With a sigh, he peered out of the small window in his door and found himself surprised, for the second time that morning; to find it was open.
He soon noticed why.
Someone...most likely him...had smashed the door keyhole to pieces.
Yawning, he found the strangeness of the situation oddly comforting.
The trances, the not knowing where'd been or what damage he'd wrecked.
It reminded him of home.
He wandered down the empty halls, peering into rooms here and there. As he walked he past Dr. Taxier's office, by chance his eyes fell into the room and what greeted him was such a ridiculous sight that he simply had to stop and take a look. He pushed the open door further and some money fluttered down from the ceiling.
The entire room was wallpapered with money, wall to wall notes. In the center of it all was Dr. Taxier, bound into his revolving chair, a wad of paper stuffed in the center of his chest. Scrawled in familiar red handwriting were the words; 'READ ME'
The Dr glowered at Donnie, lost between feelings of fury, humiliation and...fear?
Donnie couldn't be sure.
What he was certain of was that, this entire bizarre scene was his doing. He slowly backed out of the room, as he did, a group of people pushed past him and wandered into the office.
He watched from the doorway, quiet, unseen, unnoticed.

“Dr. Taxier! What is going on? The police are here...they said something about an anonymous tip...what happened to you?” exclaimed one of the nurses

Dr. Taxier, gagged with black tape; was unable to reply. Instead he made angry muffled sounds and tried to shrink away from one of the orderlies who had reached for the wad of paper.

“What is this? Who wants us to read this?” said the orderly as another stripped the black tape from the Dr's mouth.

Donnie heard the painful rip of tape and the doctor's furious growl as he tried to stop the crowd reading the stapled bunch of paper.
He decided to leave, but not after he saw the growing looks of horror and realisation on the group of nurses and orderlies faces as they read what the papers had to say.
Donnie made his way to the canteen and helped himself to some food. He'd be leaving soon and he didn't want to leave on an empty stomach.

---

Bobby ran his fingers along the map, pausing on each red dot, scribbled on the page. A red light at each crime scene. The mystery killer or the 'Hobo Hacker' as the press had so fondly nicknamed him; was still at large. The last so called 'lead' that he or Eames had, was that Darko kid.
And that itself had turned out to be a simple coincidence.
Still, he was glad to be shot of him.
He didn't want to admit to any fears, any weaknesses. Certainly not any superstitious ramblings...but there was something ominous about Donald Darko.
Bobby rubbed his eyes and drew back into his full height, he felt his back creak. The department was largely empty, the stragglers from the graveyard shift were just leaving, and the early risers were just arriving. He was neither. He'd spent the entire night there, his brain had gone into meltdown and he'd been unable to think straight.
He'd fallen asleep and dreamt of dancing, laughing girls. One with flame red hair and a knife. She'd winked at him and pointed at a tunnel, gleaming with bright white light.
Then the faces had changed and all he could see was red. Red as blood, red as the girl's hair. She melted into the colour but her knife stayed.
This dream, although disturbing was not a stranger to his sleep. It came to him often, and often in thedream, a man with dark hair would stand in front of the glowing, startlingly bright tunnel; shaking his head. It was a warning.He would look at Bobby but his face remained a mystery. A blurring of words and noise. Yet, there was something familiar about it all.
Deja vu.

---

When Bobby awoke he had wished he was a drinker, perhaps that would explain his dream. Give him a reason to dismiss it as a hangover's nightmare.
Bobby began to shake his head.
He was losing it.
He needed to get some sleep.
How could one person bemuse him so?
There were worse things to be scared of. Not nightmares after a lack of sleep and proper food. Those were for the ordinary man on the street. Bobby Goren was not that man.

“Why do you keep shaking your head?”

He jerked around and found Eames studying him, a tray of Starbucks coffee's in her hand.

“Nothing” said Bobby and she didn't push it.

He was...eccentric, to say the very least, but she understood him. She let him get on with whatever thought he was running with and sooner or later he would reveal his ideas to her. It didn't do to push him.

“Looks like you spent another night in Chez One Police Plaza” she smirked and set the coffee's down on a table

Bobby glanced at the coffees. “Thank you, but you know how I feel about Starbucks”

She rolled her eyes as she took a swig from a coffee “Oh yeah, big disgusting multinational corporation, etc”

He chuckled faintly but it was half hearted “Sorry”

Eames shook her head “Its okay. I'll hand them out around the office. In the meantime, I think you should take a look at this...”

She retrieved the day's newspaper from her black bag and held it in front of him. A headline screamed out at him about the arrest of a crooked doctor at a psychiatric facility. He scanned it and shook his head.

“I don't get it”

Eames sighed “Look closer”

Bobby read the paper and sighed “So, our friend Donald has been released. He was one of the...many that were involuntarily and falsely placed there. He looked over the paper at her “Why are you showing me this”

Eames smiled “Well, its to soften the blow, that and the coffee...because guess who's waiting for you outside?”

Bobby's eyes narrowed and she nodded in confirmation.

“Your new fan wants to see you. He says he needs to talk to you”

Bobby raised his eyebrows, and walked towards the door. He peered around it, Donnie was sat on a leather chair staring into space.He did not look dazed or confused but focused andfaintly smiling,rather as if there was something fascinating.
Bobby inwardly shuddered.
He was still unnerved by Donnie.
That didn't mean he was about to show it.

---

A/N: THANK YOU Dybdhal and Delightfully Wicked. Your reviews are keeping me going, especially Mr. Wicked. Although I did get paranoid about some of the problems you pointed out, and as I am prone to shelving stories due to one bad chapter, I almost did that with this! But, if I ask for constructive critisicim then I'm going to have to learn how to use it, and not panic about my writing. Please continue to comment, it really does help and I hope you see that I took the advice on board. I think I should watch the movie again, just so I get the 'feel' of the film back. Again, thanks for the reviews, both of you. The title is homage to the scene where Donnie commits a similar 'random' act of destruction.