you’re more than capable of violence when something sets you off. I don’t think it’s out of the question to ask if you ever thought about acting on your hatred.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
“This is very important.”
“I’m not a killer!”
People are looking at us now. Even the doctor in the corner looks up from her therapy session.
“I’m not a killer,” I hiss. “They’re the ones who are following me—I’m the victim here!”
“Whoa,” says Kelly, her eyes going wide, “you say they’re following you? The Children of the Earth?”
I grumble and shake my head, feeling the nervous flurry rising in my chest. “Not them, it’s … I’m not crazy, okay? All I wanted was to get away. I didn’t hurt anyone, I just left, and I need to leave again before they get what they want—”
“What do they want?”
“I don’t know!”
“Excuse me,” says a woman—the doctor from the therapy session—“is there a problem?”
“I’m fine,” I say, struggling to calm down. I can’t let them see me like this—I’m not crazy. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t we go to your room, alright?” asks the doctor. She helps me to my feet. “You’re doing great, Michael, you’re not in any trouble, we’re just going to have a little rest.”
“I don’t need a rest.”
“I know you don’t, but some of the other patients do, and we don’t want to disturb them with shouting.”
“Wait,” I say, “I have one more—”
I turn to ask Kelly a question, but she’s gone.
SIX
THE DRUGS, AS FAR AS I can tell, do nothing. It’s been a week now—seven days—and I’ve had no more visits from Lucy or the reporter. I’ve tried to contact my secret ally, whoever he is, but he doesn’t answer. I’m alone.
They give me oatmeal, they give me pills, they come and they go. The doctor who took me back to my room, Linda Jones, invites me to her therapy sessions, but I’m too smart for that. She’s just trying to get me into the corner where the TV can mess with my head.
I’ve cataloged every electronic device in the secured wing: a computer and a TV in the nurses’ station, an electric lock on the gate, a TV and an analog clock on the commons room wall, a digital clock in every bedroom, two security cameras in the main hall, two smoke alarms in the main hall, and another smoke alarm in the restroom. Every angle is covered; every corner is filled. There’s nowhere They can’t see me.
When I pour water on my digital clock they replace it; that’s how I know that it worked. If I ever need to disappear again, I can kill the clock with just a little cup of water.
On the seventh day I’m standing in the hall, watching Devon on the far side of the room. Is he watching me? Is he real—is his face real? He smiles, and the muscles move believably under the skin. Another nurse walks past me toward the gate, and I turn to watch as she types in the code on the keypad: 6, 8. She shifts to the side and I lose my view; the gate clicks open and she walks out, closing it firmly behind her. 6 and 8. How many more numbers are there? The nurse turns a corner out of sight and another form steps into view—a Faceless Man, tall and straight in a slim gray suit, standing just beyond the gate. He looks at me—even with no eyes I can tell he’s looking straight at me, his face a distorted blur. I don’t move, and neither does he.
Something touches my shoulder and I spin around, frightened, but it’s only Devon.
“Someone’s here to … whoa, Mikey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“There’s someone there.” I spin back, pointing at the Faceless Man, but he’s gone, and in his place are two men standing just beyond the gate, their faces calm and normal, their suits black instead of gray. “He was right there,” I say, stepping forward anxiously. I try to see behind the men, but I feel the buzz of the computer monitor and shy back. I look at Devon. “Did you
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
“This is very important.”
“I’m not a killer!”
People are looking at us now. Even the doctor in the corner looks up from her therapy session.
“I’m not a killer,” I hiss. “They’re the ones who are following me—I’m the victim here!”
“Whoa,” says Kelly, her eyes going wide, “you say they’re following you? The Children of the Earth?”
I grumble and shake my head, feeling the nervous flurry rising in my chest. “Not them, it’s … I’m not crazy, okay? All I wanted was to get away. I didn’t hurt anyone, I just left, and I need to leave again before they get what they want—”
“What do they want?”
“I don’t know!”
“Excuse me,” says a woman—the doctor from the therapy session—“is there a problem?”
“I’m fine,” I say, struggling to calm down. I can’t let them see me like this—I’m not crazy. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t we go to your room, alright?” asks the doctor. She helps me to my feet. “You’re doing great, Michael, you’re not in any trouble, we’re just going to have a little rest.”
“I don’t need a rest.”
“I know you don’t, but some of the other patients do, and we don’t want to disturb them with shouting.”
“Wait,” I say, “I have one more—”
I turn to ask Kelly a question, but she’s gone.
SIX
THE DRUGS, AS FAR AS I can tell, do nothing. It’s been a week now—seven days—and I’ve had no more visits from Lucy or the reporter. I’ve tried to contact my secret ally, whoever he is, but he doesn’t answer. I’m alone.
They give me oatmeal, they give me pills, they come and they go. The doctor who took me back to my room, Linda Jones, invites me to her therapy sessions, but I’m too smart for that. She’s just trying to get me into the corner where the TV can mess with my head.
I’ve cataloged every electronic device in the secured wing: a computer and a TV in the nurses’ station, an electric lock on the gate, a TV and an analog clock on the commons room wall, a digital clock in every bedroom, two security cameras in the main hall, two smoke alarms in the main hall, and another smoke alarm in the restroom. Every angle is covered; every corner is filled. There’s nowhere They can’t see me.
When I pour water on my digital clock they replace it; that’s how I know that it worked. If I ever need to disappear again, I can kill the clock with just a little cup of water.
On the seventh day I’m standing in the hall, watching Devon on the far side of the room. Is he watching me? Is he real—is his face real? He smiles, and the muscles move believably under the skin. Another nurse walks past me toward the gate, and I turn to watch as she types in the code on the keypad: 6, 8. She shifts to the side and I lose my view; the gate clicks open and she walks out, closing it firmly behind her. 6 and 8. How many more numbers are there? The nurse turns a corner out of sight and another form steps into view—a Faceless Man, tall and straight in a slim gray suit, standing just beyond the gate. He looks at me—even with no eyes I can tell he’s looking straight at me, his face a distorted blur. I don’t move, and neither does he.
Something touches my shoulder and I spin around, frightened, but it’s only Devon.
“Someone’s here to … whoa, Mikey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“There’s someone there.” I spin back, pointing at the Faceless Man, but he’s gone, and in his place are two men standing just beyond the gate, their faces calm and normal, their suits black instead of gray. “He was right there,” I say, stepping forward anxiously. I try to see behind the men, but I feel the buzz of the computer monitor and shy back. I look at Devon. “Did you
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