Saving the World by Gary Ponzo Page A

Bryant said.
    Sullivan leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s peculiar. There’s something missing and I’m still trying to figure it out.”
    “But why two voices?” Bryant asked.
    “I believe part of her mind was still working within the realm of reality, insisting she take the medication that would afford her relief. However, as the sessions continue, you’ll notice very little from the voice of reason.”
    Bryant wondered which was the voice of reason, but didn’t pursue it. He clicked to the next page and kept reading. Margo continually maintained the aliens were here to annihilate the planet and she was the only one who could stop them. She even suggested the Lord allowed her to survive so she could save the world. The poor thing, Bryant thought. So fragile, inside and out.
    Bryant let go of the mouse and pushed away from the screen. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve seen enough.”
    “Classic PTSD, eh?” Sullivan said.
    It was time for Bryant to make come clean. He needed more information and without full disclosure, he was only going to get so far.
    Bryant nodded. “I met her this afternoon.”
    “Really,” Sullivan sounded startled. “I was wondering what turned you around.”
    Bryant shrugged. Another pothole on the road out of Chandler. He pointed to Margo’s file on the computer screen. “Worst case of survivor syndrome I’ve ever seen.”
    This gave Sullivan some momentum. He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Yes, exactly. Can I ask where you saw her?”
    “St. Andrews.”
    Sullivan gave him a smug grin and Bryant immediately understood its origin. Many PTSD patients develop bipolar disorder. The mind is thrown into a constant state of stress causing the patient to have less desire for sleep and somehow kicking in the creative side of the brain. It’s the reason so many artists seemed to spawn from bipolar disorder. The overworked brain cultivates a fertile imagination, nurturing creative prose, paintings, even an entirely imagined world which might or might not include such things as invisible aliens.
    But that wasn’t the real reason Sullivan was now raising his eyebrows at him. It wasn’t uncommon for bipolar patients to became hyper-religious in their newfound frenzy. They generally had a vision, an epiphany which they wanted to share with the world. So the fact that Bryant had met Margo Sutter in a church only further cemented Sullivan’s diagnosis.
    “So you’ll recommend she take medication?” Sullivan said with enthusiasm.
    Bryant wanted to help Margo, but the road ahead of him was murky and these roadblocks kept popping up. First Jeff, then Margo, then the FBI. The longer Bryant stayed, the more complicated his life became.
    “Did you know that Margo and Jeff knew each other?” Bryant asked.
    “Of course.”
    “Did you know that Jeff drove his car into the bank yesterday partly because Margo told him to find a way to keep me here in Chandler?”
    “What? Why?”
    Bryant ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
    Sullivan leaned back in his chair and tapped the armrests with his fingertips. “You never answered my question about the meds.”
    Something else occurred to Bryant, “Why would the FBI be interested in Margo?”
    Sullivan shrugged and answered like he was responding to a knock-knock joke. “I give up. Why?”
    The rain came down harder now and the windows began to sing with needle-stick urgency. Bryant lowered his head and buried his hands into his face. He was hoping for answers, yet kept coming up with more questions instead.
    “I don’t know,” Bryant said, letting out a breath. “Nothing makes sense.”
    Sullivan’s voice hardened. “This girl needs help, Mike, and I’m going to do anything I can to help her. With or without you.”
    Bryant squeezed his eyes shut. This was precisely what he didn’t want to hear. Sullivan was going to take charge and pull out the