Domain by Steve Alten Page A

leans back against the wall. “May I call you Dom?”
    “Yes.”
    “Dom, solitary confinement can wear on a man. I’m probably suffering from sensory deprivation, and I might even scare you a bit, but I’m just as sane as you or Foletta or that guard posted by the door. What can I do to convince you of that?”
    “It’s not me you have to convince, it’s Dr. Foletta.”
    “I told you, Foletta works for Borgia, and Borgia will never allow me out.”
    “I can talk to him. Push him into giving you the same rights and privileges as the other residents. In time, I could—”
    “Christ, I can already hear Foletta now. ‘Wake up, Intern Vazquez. You’re falling for Gabriel’s famous conspiracy theory.’ He’s probably got you convinced that I’m another Ted Bundy.”
    “Not at all. Mick, I became a psychiatrist to help people like—”
    “People like me. Lunatics?”
    “Let me finish. You’re not a lunatic, but I think you need help. The first step is to convince Foletta to assign an evaluation team to you—”
    “No. Foletta won’t allow it, and even if he did, there’s no time.”
    “Why isn’t there time?”
    “My annual evaluation and hearing is coming up in six days. Haven’t you figured out why Foletta assigned you to me? You’re a student, easily manipulated. ‘The patient shows some encouraging signs of improvement, Intern Vazquez, but he’s still unfit to rejoin society.’ You’ll concur with his diagnosis, which is all the evaluation board needs to hear.”
    Foletta’s right, he’s good. Maybe he’s not as good when he isn’t controlling the conversation . “Mick, let’s talk a moment about your father’s work? On Friday, you mentioned four Ahau , three Kankin —”
    “Humanity’s day of doom. I knew you recognized the date.”
    “It’s just a Mayan legend.”
    “There’s truth in many legends.”
    “Then you do believe we’re all going to the in less than four months?”
    Mick stares at the floor, shaking his head.
    “A simple yes or no will suffice.”
    “Don’t play head games, Dominique.”
    “How am I playing head games?”
    “You know damn well the question as stated reeks of paranoid schizophrenia and delusions of—”
    “Mick, it’s a simple question.” He’s getting upset. Good .
    “You’re engaging me in a battle of wits to find weaknesses. Don’t. It’s not very effective, and you’ll lose, which means we’ll all lose.”
    “You’re asking me to evaluate your ability to reenter society. How can I do that without asking questions?”
    “Ask your questions, but don’t set me up for failure. I’ll be glad to discuss my father’s theories with you, but only if you’re really interested. If your goal is to see how far you can push me, then just give me the goddam Rorschach or Thematic Apperception Test and be done with it.”
    “How am I setting you up for failure?”
    Mick is on his feet, moving toward her. Dominique’s heart races. She reaches for the pen.
    “The very nature of your question condemns me. It’s like asking a reverend if his wife knows he masturbates. Either way, he looks bad. If I answer no about the doomsday prediction, then I’ll have to justify why I suddenly changed my opinion after eleven years. Foletta will interpret that as a ruse designed to fool the evaluation committee. If I say yes, then you’ll concur that I’m just another psycho who believes the sky is falling.”
    “Then how do you propose I evaluate your sanity? I can’t just skirt the issue.”
    “No, but you can at least examine the evidence with an open mind before you rush to judgment. Some of the greatest minds in history were labeled mad, until the truth came out.”
    Mick sits down on the opposite end of the bed. Dominique’s skin tingles. She is unsure if she is excited or frightened, or perhaps both. She shifts her weight, uncrossing her legs, the pen held nonchalantly in her hand. He’s close enough to strangle me, but if we were in a bar,