Outside the Lines by Amy Hatvany Page A

have a generalized personality disorder, but he never stayed on his meds long enough to find out which ones worked the best, so we’re not really sure what was going on with him, to tell you the truth. We just know his moods and behavior were all over the place and it got progressively worse.”
    “Mental illness can be tricky to diagnose.” She cocked her head toward her shoulder, but her prickly hairstyle didn’t move. “And how old were you when you last saw him?”
    “Ten.” I leaned over her desk and pulled out a copy of the same snapshot I’d given the hospitals from my purse. She took it and I watched her take him in.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could say I recognized him. Kind of a tall fella, isn’t he?” Just as she said this, her office door flew open and a man appeared at the threshold.
    “Have the front doors been locked?” he asked Rita, then noticed me sitting in the chair on the other side of her desk. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had company.” He was on the shorter side with cropped black hair and an average build. He wasn’t what I would call handsome—he seemed rougher around the edges than that. His overall slightly rumpled look told me he probably didn’t care if he hadn’t shaved for a few days.
    “No worries,” Rita said. “And yes, the doors have been locked. Sam was out there giving poor Eden a bad time.” She gestured toward me. “Eden, this is Jack Baker. He’s the crazy bastard who runs the joint. Jack, this is Eden West.”
    Jack nodded in my general direction. “Nice to meet you.”
    I smiled. “You too.”
    “Eden’s looking for her father,” Rita said, handing Jack the picture she still held. “He’s been in and out of institutions and living on the streets.”
    Jack regarded the photo a moment before handing it back to me. “Sorry, I don’t recognize him. But we get a lot of faces around here.”
    “I’m sure you do,” I said. I pushed the photo back at him. “Would you mind putting this up somewhere? In case somebody else knows him?”
    Jack hesitated before answering. “I’d prefer not to,” he finally said.
    I sat back in my chair, unable to hide my surprise. “You don’t want me to find him?”
    “I don’t think that’s what he meant—” Rita began to say, but Jack held up his hand to cut her off.
    “I can explain it to her, Rita. Can you go make sure the lights are out in the bunk room? The natives are getting restless.”
    Rita gave me a quick apologetic look and then excused herself, shutting the door behind her. Jack took her place behind the desk. “Look,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
    “I think I’m more confused than offended.” I straightened in my chair, tried to look as confident as possible.
    “Let me try to explain,” he said. “Our population here is very mistrustful. And rightfully so, most of them. The system has screwed them over time and again. So much so that they’re hesitant to even give up their real names.”
    “Rita told me that, but I don’t see why—”
    He held up a single finger to stop me. “I know you don’t, and I’m trying to clear it up for you. Can you give me a minute?”
    I pushed out a breath through my nose. I could see that he wasn’t that much older than me, but he came off with a surprising air of authority and entitlement. It sort of made me want to hit him. I crossed my legs and started shaking one foot impatiently.
    He didn’t seem to notice my irritation, which irritated me more. “Okay. So. We’re a newer facility. I’m trying to build relationships with my clients so they can learn to trust me. If they start seeing pictures of their friends on the walls, they’re going to go off the deep end about my reporting their whereabouts to the government or some such bullshit and I’ll lose credibility. What I do here is very important to me. These people deserve their privacy as much as you or I. It’s not that I don’t sympathize with what