THAT FALL

Patient Jack Geddies had accepted his position as no one. In his former life, Jack had appeared on NPR explaining his dark energy research for the oblivious, college-educated masses. Experts acknowledged his eleven peer-reviewed research papers as trailblazing. He regularly presented at conferences and served in the Princeton physics department. Michael Friedman, Robert Hofstadter, and even John Nash were friends. Jack once had a heated lunch argument with Ralph Nader over the cause of global warming. Before he had published his twelfth paper, Jack was someone.

His estranged, and admittedly long-neglected wife, Rebecca, used his twelfth and final paper as firm evidence of Jack’s incompetence. His peers, fearful of associating with Jack’s controversial theory, ignored pleas to defend Jack. His wife obtained guardianship, committed Jack to Longwood and took control of his sixteen patents and the associated residual income which she now used to fund her jet-setting lifestyle. During her obligatory monthly call, she waxed how skiing in Switzerland was glorious and forgot to ask after Jack’s wellbeing.

Marking his eight-year anniversary as a ghost roaming the halls, Jack admitted he would miss Longwood’s overlook of the town below. He would miss his morning walk along the tree-lined paths. Perhaps, he would miss the dismissed staff. Perhaps, moving to the main hospital would not matter as he marked his imprisonment by the color change of the oak and maple leaves he admired through whatever window he peered. He would much have preferred to mark his imprisonment by the stars, but his first-floor window did not offer that viewing angle. Occasionally, the doctor would permit Jack a precious hour outside with a child’s telescope borrowed from the local library. The telescope and the light pollution did not allow viewing distant planets with the clarity enjoyed from Princeton’s Peyton Observatory, but his medical captor’s occasional permissiveness allowed Jack a short foray into the memories of a life when he was someone.

As he enumerated these thoughts, he examined the vestibule through the thick plastic secured around the maw. The flaps to allow entry and egress admitted the October air which struck his skin through his thick robe. The security guard, who was unfamiliar and probably on loan from the hospital, was reading and had not noticed Jack. Not surprised at being disregarded, Jack ran a hand over the warped metal, avoiding the glass shards still attached to the frame. Allegedly, the repairs were to be made within a day, but according to Jack’s calculations, a Longwood maintenance day was six weeks. Jack smiled at such a clear demonstration of Einstein’s relativity. To the world, a day was twenty-four hours. To Longwood maintenance, a day was 1,000 hours.

Chilled, Jack continued to the elevator to report to the second floor for weekly therapy, not surprised the doctor had not postponed it until after the chaos resolved. Jack anticipated Doctor Antoine would have questions and the field trip would give Jack the excuse to snoop. How fortuitous to be assigned for therapy to the man making all the decisions. While Lansing continued to treat the others on the first floor, Lansing had not resisted Doctor Antoine taking Jack as a patient. And no wonder. Lansing had tired of Jack.

Lansing rolled his eyes at their last appointment and said, “I can’t release you, Jack. It’s a court order.”

“But you can testify that I am well, can you not?”

“I could if I found it to be true.” Lansing peered over his thick glasses.

“Well, what would help you make that finding?”

Lansing sighed. He asked, “Is earth still an outpost for an alien race?”

Jack smiled. “The correct answer for your report would be, ‘no.’”

“And what is your answer, Jack?”

Jack considered the evidence that aliens controlled the planet, and all governments were merely shadows. He had evidence that aliens had used wormholes to visit and now occupied earth. Pictographs. Vedic and Biblical texts. He considered himself a great thinker with alternative views. Doctor Martin Luther King had alternative opinions. Gandhi had alternative opinions. Jesus had alternative opinions. Jack reconsidered. Those were poor examples. Jack had not yet been shot or crucified. He wondered if Gandhi felt just as trapped when imprisoned as Jack felt at Longwood. “My answer is that I will be at my appointment next week, Doctor Lansing.”

The elevator doors parted, and Jack boarded, pressing 2 and counting the seconds until the doors admitted him to the second floor. He listened to his slippered-feet padding along the sparkling tile. Perhaps repairs took forever because buffing the grey granite throughout the facility occupied maintenance’s time? Jack surveyed the large main room with its twenty beds, curtained off as makeshift rooms. Only Nurse Washburn occupied the main desk, gazing at the computer screen with raccoon-ringed eyes. She would not notice him. Jack slid past the desk and made his way down the hallway towards the administration offices. Sunshine poured in from the windows at the end of the hall. Jack closed his eyes and enjoyed the star shine bath acknowledging Jack’s existence. Even that star would betray as it expanded into a red giant and absorbed the fried Earth. Jack was confident he would be dead long before the seven billion years it took for the sun to kill. Not that any of that mattered considering this morning’s news.

He reached the end of the hall and entered Doctor Antoine’s expansive, but empty, corner office. The doctor had not even bothered to furnish or decorate his office for the short six to eight months they gave him to complete his directive. Empty file cabinets and a sole folding chair lined the otherwise naked walls. Jack lowered himself into the sole chair, and through the cracked door, could hear the doctor speaking in hushed tones to his assistant, Nurse Vasquez. Jack’s superior hearing, and the absence of any sound-absorbing furniture or decoration, allowed perfect perception of the conversation.

Nurse Vasquez whispered, “Federal agents? What does that mean, Andre?”

“I’ve no idea. We still do not understand why she wasn’t brought to Greenwood Memorial—that was the closest hospital to the university. Someone randomly drives her across the city, and she ends up at PRGH. And they, for who knows why, transfer her here. Look at that fax. Restraints, I understand, but no water? Oren said she had her little episode after having several cups of water, so who knows.” He exhaled loudly. “I guess I could call the agent on the fax. Merde.” Jack noted Antoine’s slip into French, a habit when stressed. There was a pause before Antoine added, “Read that second page. They want that state prisoner, too.“

“Reynolds? That’s odd. You might be right. Maybe some secret project or something?”

“And in the spirit of Longwood, we end up having to care for them….” A groan escaped the doctor that time. Papers shuffling. “She’s displaying signs of psychosis, yes. But superhuman strength? Absurdité. She must have pushed Oren. A big guy like him hit that old cement wall, and it just crumbled. Oren must have been tired. I’m tired.” He groaned. “C’est le bordel ici.”

“And that means?”

Another audible sigh with the doctor explaining, “It means that it’s a mess.”

“Let the government people do what they do. We just provide the patients care like always. Don’t pout. I’ll go with you when you examine them.” Silence.

“You didn’t see the wall upstairs.The Feds want me to do nothing. The Director wants answers. And what do I say? The patient levitated the doctor into the wall? Merde.” Papers slid across a surface. The doctor asked, “How about that other issue?”

“The investigation?”

“Yes. I hate that you call it that.”

“Don’t roll your eyes, Antoine. What else should we call it?”

“Makes it sound so… so serious.”

“Assaulting patients is serious.”

“I realize that.” More shuffling papers, then the doctor asked, “So, they questioned Josey?”

“Yes. She’s confirming the accusations, sorry to say. So, she’s another victim—”

“Purported victim.”

“—You can’t believe Victor could have done it, can you?”

“He’s been here a long time, Wanda. I don’t like to… to consider the damage he might have done. Or the damage that Longwood does to Victor if it’s all baseless nonsense from histrionic patients.”

“Well, the purported victim is only speaking through her attorney. We’ll know more next week. We should put Victor on administrative leave.”

“Yes. Do that.” He hesitated, adding, “But only when and if an official letter arrives. As far as we know this is all nonsense—and then Victor sues us for wrongful termination or whatever.” Jack heard the doctor toss a file. It slapped loudly against the desktop and the doctor grunted. “Do you have any good news?”

“I can focus on wrapping up last night’s paperwork on boomers while that little intern handles the cart run.”

The doctor said, “Make sure she doesn’t interact with patients. Don’t make that face. She’s not a doctor, and she oversteps. When she is not in that phone of hers.”

“I can’t police her and do my job, too. And I can’t wrap up the records and prepare the evaluations on the orderlies for you and do the cart run—”

Movement. A chair rolling across the floor. A sigh. The doctor said, “Don’t fret. We’re almost done. Way ahead of schedule.”

“I want to be done with this cesspool.” Wet kisses exchanged behind the closed door. Nurse Vasquez finally said, “I should get back to my rounds. I’ll make the calls after I talk with Washburn.” The sound of a finger tapping wood. “I’m not fretting, so don’t look so down. We’ll figure it out.” She giggled, whispering, “Don’t kiss me here, Andre—the staff will see.”

“Let ’em.”

“Stop.” A pause. Movement. Nurse Vasquez emerged from the office, spotting Jack. She said, cheerfully, “Oh, hello, Doctor Jack.”

“Nurse.”

“I hope you were not waiting too long.”

You hope I did not hear your conversation with your fiancé he thought, but said, “Here for my appointment.”

“Yes, Jack,” Doctor Antoine called out, “come in, come in.”

Jack entered the office, noticing more files than ever covered Doctor Antoine’s desk. Poor man looked harried with his black-circled eyes, jet black hair streaked with grey, and his five o’clock shadow.

“So, how’re you feeling, Jack? Sit, please.” The doctor gestured to the one chair in the room. As in the outer office, Doctor Antoine’s private office was empty but for a desk, one empty file cabinet, two chairs and a computer. No personal photos, no artwork, no books. The doctor knew he was a tourist, not a resident.

Jack appreciated the doctor’s professional demeanor and accepted the invitation to sit. He said, “I feel the same as last week, Doc. And the same as fifteen years ago. And figured you would cancel my appointment with all this other stuff going on.”

“Other stuff?”

“Doc? I’ve been here longer than you have.”

“Ah—I see. Yes, well, we’ve been busy.”

“So why keep my appointment? I’m here for life. You can see me next week. And the week after that… Why not put me off?”

“Regular therapy is vital, Jack. You know that.”

“Vital to what? To whom? My lifetime enrollment in the Longwood School of the Mentally Disregarded? You and I both know, no matter Lansing’s notes, and my wife’s opinion enforced by that court order in my file, that I need not be here. It’s all perspective, Doc. We both know, after these sixteen weekly meetings, that I’m saner than some staff members. You could have cancelled my appointment today. But you didn’t. So, you must want something.”

Doctor Antoine smiled. “You’re sharp, you know that, Jack.”

“Needless patronage. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

The doctor shifted some files on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I want to know what you have concluded these booms are. And the ships.”

Jack relaxed as if he and Antoine were old friends or coworkers. “Yes, well, that conversation would feed my delusion, would it not?”

The doctor shifted in his chair. “Yes, I suppose it might.”

“And I would need to know my response would not endanger my appeal to get out of here.”

“How about you tell me what you think, and I will start the paperwork for another competency hearing? How’s that?”

Jack smirked and said, “You and others have said that before.”

“I’ve tried before.” The doctor tapped his pen on his desk. “And you know that I respect you. And find you competent.”

That was all true. Three months ago, after meeting with Jack several times, Doctor Antoine appealed to the court. He even obtained a second opinion verifying Jack as sane and competent, with all the descriptors others rarely used to describe Jack anymore: rational, reasonable, sane, competent. The court refused. Jack’s wife testified that Jack was a danger to himself and others—and had shown promise before, but then always relapsed into manic research projects, including drawing formulas across the kitchen floor and walls. The court was to review its order in eight months. Good thing the court did not operate on the maintenance crew’s time.

Jack said, “The booms are sonic. Akin to those heard over the centuries in places like India. Planet-wide? Can only be extraterrestrial. The crafts making that racket must be immense and entering the atmosphere at light speed. Probably the crafts we witnessed uncloaking this morning. So, they’re probably colonizing. Or invading.”

Doctor Antoine rose, checked outside his office and closed the door. More amused than concerned, he asked, “Who’s invading? Aliens?”

“No. The Russians. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obviously aliens. And don’t play with me, Doc. I’m quite serious. What we’re hearing is like experiences in ancient India and the Middle East. It begins with thunder in the sky.”

“You’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

“Sanely?”

“Very.”

The doctor frowned, asking, “Can’t it be some supersonic jet traveling around the world? And the video of the ships just a hoax to scare people?”

“Yes, if the whole planet did not contemporaneously hear the sound. If the ship were traveling, we would hear it, then those in the middle of America, then Nevada, then California, Japan. And so on. This is one sound. A sonic boom everywhere.” Jack paused, adding, “And I don’t think the ships are a hoax.”

“Ah. And you think an invasion? The one you predicted?”

“It’s anyone’s guess. The videos over the Louvre and in Egypt show massive transports. The others, smaller, but still impressive. I would imagine, many massive transports are entering the atmosphere. Just like I’m guessing the patient upstairs is not human. Or crazy.”

“What patient upstairs?”

“Doc, doc, doc. For years I’ve roamed these halls. I may be invisible, but that’s to my advantage. Lansing’s injuries are enough to be suspicious, but the Feds want to take her into custody. And they want that guy on three, too. Very curious.”

“Yeah,” the doctor said as he picked up Reynold’s file. He pulled out the only sheet of paper from the file. “I have nothing on this guy. Just a transfer order.”

“Can I see that order?”

Doctor Antoine hesitated, holding the sheet of paper between his fingers. “I would say no, but you’ll just sneak it at some point, won’t you?”

“Probably.”

The doctor handed the paper to Jack, grunting. “Patient confidentiality means nothing in this place.”

“Not for me, no.” Jack scanned the order. The doctor had probably never seen a prisoner transfer order, but Jack had seen quite a few. He handed the sheet back to the doctor and said, “It’s forged.”

“Just a coincidence…”

“Maybe. But don’t say that it isn’t a coincidence, because you’ll end up in the room next to mine.”

The doctor organized the folders on his desk indicating the appointment was over. He said, “I would prescribe you the same meds, but you won’t take them.”

“Nope.”

“Then, all things considered, we can meet same time next week.”

Jack stood, extending his hand to shake the doctor’s hand. The doctor accepted. Jack said, “Until then. Or until you have more questions. You know where I’ll be.” He left the doctor’s office and found Nurse Vasquez and Nurse Washburn at the nurse’s station chatting over computer charts while the television blared the news in the background. The intern, Lindsey, hovered over the nurses as if she could be helpful. Jack loitered, dividing his attention between eavesdropping on the women and watching the news.

Nurse Vasquez explained the cart rounds to Lindsey, warning her not to have patient interaction. “And don’t let me see you with that phone, Miss Dempsey.”

The intern unconsciously placed her hand in her smock pocket. She said, “I know the rule.”

“You know, but I catch you taking pictures. Do I need to explain patient confidentiality law to you? Again?” Nurse Vasquez asked using her most directive tone.

Nothing new in that conversation, he concluded, and turned his attention to the television. Constant reports about the Booms, the theories behind the Booms, reports about the spaceship videos. New videos of spaceships over Mexico, the Sahara, and Tokyo. When the truth emerged, Jack would become someone again and could resume a life in the real world. Regretfully, Jack’s paper had predicted there would be no real world to which to return.

He took the stairs to the first floor, moving as quickly as his damaged leg would allow. Mentally, he enumerated the remaining long-term patients: Himself, Josey, Brian, Katie, and that Bergstrom woman. On the third floor: The two psychopaths, plus the woman and Reynolds. Jack would not need to visit the sedated psychopaths locked away in their cells. Brian was severely mentally disabled and, although observant of certain things, like people’s shoes, not observant of what Jack needed to know. Katie suffered with Alzheimer’s. No help there. And Jack avoided Bergstrom. She was a pain in the ass.

Perhaps calling her a pain in the ass was uncharitable. Bergstrom had had a difficult life. Sure, she was on the hospital board and she was rich. And she used Longwood as a cheap vacation. But, widowed very early in her marriage, she had also lost her eldest son. The only reason the surviving son granted Bergstrom any attention was because Bergstrom was wealthy and owned the home the son and his wife now occupied. And, as Bergstrom was an accomplished and intelligent woman, the owner of a successful chain of clothing boutiques and jewelry stores, Bergstrom was painfully aware she was merely a bank account. In fairness, she had every right to be a pain in the ass, but, wrapped in her own anxiety she was little help to anyone.

Josey would be most helpful. Like Jack, she was a ghost who roamed the halls overhearing all manner of tidbits. She and Jack often snuck into the kitchen for snacks at 3 am when the night staff was tired and too busy with paperwork to police the patients. A good thing for Jack and Josey; a bad thing for that young woman who drowned in the pool. Jack was sorry he had not learned her name until the coroners pulled her body from the water. He was also sorry Josey had returned to Longwood, although he honestly could say that he was glad for the company.

Jack reached the first floor, strolled down the hallway, and found the Orderly Victor in Josey Nordstrom’s doorway. That would not do. “What’s going on here?” Jack asked, pushing past Victor and finding Josey standing facing the door, her lamp in her hand.

Victor mumbled, “Just checking on patients…”

“Yeah. Sure, Victor. Get going.” Jack raised his thumb and signaled like an agitated hitchhiker.

Victor sauntered down the hall sending Jack a quick sneer and mumbling some choice characterizations about Jack, Josey and Longwood. Such a friendly guy.

Jack regarded the frightened girl, asking, “Again?”

“Not this time. I was going to electrocute him.”

“That might work if you kept the lamp plugged in. All you would have given him is some glass in his eyes. Which would be nice to see and earned.”

Josey regarded the unplugged lamp and threw it onto her bed. “So much for my cleverness.”

“Just report him.”

“Why don’t you report him?”

“Who says I haven’t?” He walked past her bed to the window. “You should say something.”

“I did. They don’t care.” She plopped into the chair and fiddled with a jigsaw puzzle she had strewn in front of her. “And he doesn’t try too often after I scratched his eye with my pen.”

“That was a good one.” Jack took the other seat at the table. Standing after hustling all over the building and jogging down those stairs was uncomfortable since his knee surgery. Soccer is a foolish thing to do in college, he mused. “Just don’t slash your wrists and end up back here, kid. That solves the whole issue.”

“Yeah, well, the world doesn’t like me.”

“Or is it you who doesn’t like the world?”

“Same difference,” she said.

“Is it?” Jack toyed with the deck of Tarot cards Josey had strewn across her windowsill. “I always mean to ask you, although I think I can guess the answer. Serious or game?” He held up the card with a lovely angelic figure, reading the title: Temperance.

“Serious.”

“Ah. You know, the occult association is recent. The cards were a game—like Bridge.”

“They tell me the future.”

“I’m sure you think they do.”

“I predicted this alien invasion,” she said.

Jack almost blurted that he had, too, but he pressed his lips together and said instead, “I’m sure you think so.”

“Well, they did. I knew about it weeks ago.”

“If you read Carl Jung—which I strongly suggest—you would understand that the cards are archetypes. You see in the symbols aspects of what is otherwise unconscious in you. Beautiful artwork in these.” He examined several cards, asking, “The shrinks don’t mind you having those cards?”

“It’s religious freedom.”

“Ah. Good Wiccan that you are.”

“I practice the craft, yes.”

“The craft is another word for science. You and I are not so different, young miss.”

“You don’t believe in God—or anything?”

“That’s not exactly true. Don’t roll your eyes at me! I believe in science. In facts.”

“And aliens.”

Jack hesitated, knowing he had never mentioned to her his foray into ancient alien theory. “I see you’ve become a master snoop.”

“Not this time, dude! While I was emancipated, I read your paper.”

Jack could not control the sheepish smile that spread across his face. “I’m surprised you found it. I figured it was censored.”

She bent her legs, bringing her feet onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her shins. “I just brought it up one afternoon on the bookstore database. Spent a few hours looking up terms.”

“Terms?”

“You have a lot of terms I didn’t know in that paper. Like foo fighters. I thought you meant the band, but you meant the World War two pilot reports of UFOs. And you made references to material I’d never read. So, I read those, too. That paper was more like a book. Took me a few weeks to get through it and all the books you referenced. I liked Hynek’s work. Not vonDaniken’s so much.” She paused, thoughtful. “And that Icke guy. He’s a wacko.”

“David Icke is an extremist, yes.”

“He scared me. Reptilian aliens? Running the world?”

Jack did not want to touch that discussion considering the ships hovering around the planet. He said, “You would have made a good research assistant.”

“Thank you!” She beamed and asked, “So you believe what you wrote?”

“I don’t like the term belief. I know. What I stated was factual with logical conclusions.”

Josey hugged her legs tighter. “So, there’re aliens living on this planet?”

Was she genuinely curious or mocking him? He noted her sincere affect and reflected she had no sociopathic tendencies in her file. But she could be effectively manipulative. He remained silent.

She probed. “And they’ve been visiting?”

“You read the material and can make your own conclusions.”

“But in the vastness of space, wouldn’t it be almost impossible for aliens to reach us at all?”

Jack lost his self-control, excited by the prospect to discuss his material. He said, “Ah, but that assumes other races have not identified alternative means of travel.”

“Like wormholes?”

“Precisely.” He tapped the table with two fingers, concerned again that Josey was baiting him. She seemed engaged and sincere. She wasn’t using the little nonverbal tricks she used when she was trying to get an extra dessert or time in the garden.

“So, that’s how those ships got here? Yesterday?”

Jack tried not to nod but did so, anyway. “I would presume.”

Josey let her feet drop to the floor. She leaned forward putting her elbows on the table and cradling her face in her upturned palms. She asked, “Do you think those lizard-aliens are running our government?”

Jack groaned. “I never said anything about reptilians in my paper.”

“No, you didn’t. But what do you think?”

“I don’t know. I was more interested in alien influence on earth technology. The unusual advances made at certain periods of human history…” He pursed his lips and changed the topic, asking, “Why don’t you explain to me what went on here in the middle of the night. Because I’m sure, you, young lady, were in the thick of it.”

“I knew something was going to happen, so I lurked. Like a good ghost, no one noticed me until Doctor Lansing had nothing to keep his weaselly mind occupied.” She crossed her legs again, squishing herself into the chair, childlike. Fresh and wonderful and so proud of her tricky-self, she stopped telling the story.

Jack probed. “So, what happened?”

“Oren was dealing with all those anxiety cases. Boomer Patients, they’re calling ’em. I went back to my room after the third crying chick rolled in. Dave ate his dinner here and then had to go back to work. He had a killer headache and wasn’t very chatty. I was alone and reading and I hear all this glass breaking. I thought a car drove into the front of the building. I ran down the hall and saw Oren racing towards the paramedics. The entire entrance area was all blown up, like, like by a bomb. Like a freaking big-budget action film.” Then she added, “That new patient got out of her strait jacket. Smelled like roses.”

“Roses?”

“Yeah. Really strong.”

“Probably the smell of burned metal–”

“No. It was roses. Just as I get to the end of the hall, the boom hit and threw me against the wall and down on my butt.” She paused and rubbed the spot on her butt where she must have fallen. “When I got up, I saw Oren running to the parking lot to check one of the paramedics. It was crazy.”

“So, the vestibule exploded before the boom?”

She nodded. “Then I heard Oren and Lansing talking about the woman—the one on the gurney. She had like a twenty-two pulse.”

“Twenty-two?”

“Right. And some weird thing about her blood pressure. And then that other guy came in the with the state police.”

“What other guy?”

“The guy from the prison. They took him up to three. He was unconscious the whole time.”

Jack frowned, asking, “One state police officer delivered the guy from the penitentiary?” She nodded prompting Jack to ask, “What color was the officer’s uniform?”

Josey pursed her lips. She said, “Brown, I think. A state officer uniform.”

“And it was just one state police officer?”

She nodded, saying, “Yup. Had a patch on his eye. And he was a big guy, too. Hairy. Like he hadn’t evolved.” She laughed.

“You’re sure?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

Jack did not answer her but said, “Tell me about the prisoner. What does he look like?”

She tapped the table and moved a puzzle piece into place. “Hmm… big guy. Bigger than Oren.”

“Blond?”

She nodded and placed another puzzle piece. “Dave said the guy’s jumpsuit was the wrong color or something. But Lansing sent Dave to work on the entrance, so he couldn’t investigate both things. And Lansing sent me to bed. Dave was with maintenance when Oren buzzed for help with that woman. Then he was taking those boom patients out through the back door. So, I didn’t get to talk to him anymore. I’m sure he’ll tell me more when I see him.”

Jack checked his watch. He knew armed penitentiary guards transported penitentiary patients. State police officers had no jurisdiction over incarcerated people. And the transfer order was forged. He would need to meet with the patient on the third floor to confirm his suspicions. As for the vestibule, it could have been an internal defect in the glass. One defect could cause a particular pane to break spontaneously, but twelve windows breaking at once? And what warped the metal? Thermal stress? Inadequate glass thickness and a brutal wind? None of it equaled the result. Only tempered glass, like the type used for shower doors, could explode in that way. He would need to do some calculations. Meanwhile, he had a few more questions to address the last mystery of the night. He interrupted Josey and her compulsive puzzle piece placing, asking, “So what happened to Lansing?”

She continued to place pieces and said, “Not sure. I only saw the ambulance take him. And I’d rather not relate how he looked, so don’t ask.”

Jack didn’t. He also didn’t have time to probe as the new intern appeared at Josey’s doorway.

Josey raised her head and said, “Hey, almost-doctor, Lindsey! What’s shaking?”

Lindsey entered the room, shoving her phone and earbuds into her pocket. “How are you, today, Josey?”

Josey chuckled and said, “Better than you are, I hear. How’s the third floor?”

Lindsey frowned. “How’d you hear about that?”

“I have my ways. Got to know the rumor mill these past few years. Lucky you, assigned to the really crazy people.”

“Josey, we don’t say crazy.” She deposited herself on Josey’s bed.

“I do! We might have problems down here on one, but the people up there. Whew! Big crazy.”

“Perhaps you should focus on your own therapy and wellness?”

Josey smiled at her. “Spoken like a true professional, almost-doctor Lindsey.” She placed two pieces into the puzzle so quickly Jack could not tell where she had put them.

Jack noticed that Josey had one of those wiccan symbol necklaces: The one that looked like a woman holding a ball over her head which was to emulate the goddess drawing down the moon. She also had several silver rings, including a snake and a pentagram. The one on her thumb seemed to be a black stone or something. Hematite, probably.

Josey continued, “Let me tell you, sister, I was here when they brought the crazy lady in—and I was here when she blew up the doctor. If I were you, I would stay out of room thirty-one. And room thirty-six.” Jack admired the glorious performance. The kid might think tarot cards and pentacles could help her cast spells, but Josey’s true magic was calculating what people needed to hear and what made people uncomfortable. Josey’s eyes grew wide. She said, “That nurse, the skinny bitch with the big teeth. You know her? Washington or Washburn or whatever. She told the ambulance driver that Oren told her that when Lansing was treating the woman, she got really upset and yelled and he flew across the room. Broke almost every bone in his body. All of ’em. And she cracked the glass and wall and stuff. Just with her voice. Get a picture of it when you’re up there.”

“I’m not supposed to take pictures…”

“Yeah, right,” Josey said, placing another piece. “Perhaps you should become a photographer instead of a therapist. Because that phone will be the death of you.”

Lindsey was visibly uncomfortable. She fingered key tag on the lanyard and said, “Josey. I think we should talk about something else.”

“Why? Because you lie about taking pictures or because I’m crazy?” she asked. Josey, did, in fact, look crazy at that moment, with her wide-open brown eyes under her dark hair dripping over her brow. “I’m crazy. But not dumb. I saw what I saw. And I have very reliable sources. I saw them take Doctor Lansing out of here last night.”

Lindsey asked, “You realize what you’re saying’s impossible?”

“Yup. But it happened. So, that’s that.” She put another piece of the puzzle into the frame completing one of the cat’s heads. “This is why I don’t report what I see around here. None of you ever believe us crazy people.”

Lindsey rose, and took her leave, mumbling, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Josey. You’d better run off for lunch now.”

Josey looked down at the puzzle. She said, “Oh, I’m not eating lunch. It’s pasta. I usually just snack on cans of tuna and avoid that pasta crap.” With Lindsey gone, Josey whispered, “That girl has no place around sick people. Did you see her aura? Ugh.”

Jack watched Josey place another puzzle piece. He asked, “Want to meet an alien?”

“You’re talking crazy.”

“Interesting choice of words, considering,” he said. He closed his eyes, slapped his hands on his knees, winced, and rose. He looked into her big brown pie eyes. If I had had a daughter, he thought, Josey would be more than adequate. He said, “It will be an adventure.”

“Ooh… I love adventures.”

“I know you do. But we only have a few minutes before Lindsey starts the cart rounds. And you cannot squeal like last time. No telling your little boyfriend security guard.”

Josey said, “He’s not boyfriend material,” jumped up and slipped on her flip-flops. “Where to, Magellan?”

Jack covered his lips with his forefinger and waved her to follow. They stopped by his room where he grabbed a book and his magic passcard. Years before, Jack had stolen a passcard and coded it to open every door. Did they really expect their simple coded card could foil a brilliant physicist who had patents on electro-technology? Of course, they did not expect such genius from Jack who was no one.

The two strolled up the first-floor hallway and quickly slipped into the back stairwell. Jack halted, listening to confirm they were alone. They scrambled to the third floor, as quickly as Jack’s knee would permit, and Jack keyed the third-floor lock. Jack confirmed the coast was clear, and they made their way down the long, dark hallway, reaching thirty-one. Jack keyed the door and motioned for Josey to follow.

He regarded the patient’s angelic face, which made her age difficult to determine. Some of her thick curls had escaped the hair tie behind her neck. She had full, red lips against sallow skin. Looked Mediterranean. Maybe Greek? She was restrained at wrists and ankles and Jack turned away, unnerved, and seeking her chart but stopped when he saw the wall. Josey was staring at it, too. The crack seemed a crazy brick spider web. Where was the spider that did that? The plaster facia was missing, and the metal lath was exposed and twisted. Someone had tried to sweep the plaster fragments and dust into a pile.

Josey eyes were popping out of her head. She gestured to the wall, pointing frantically and bouncing up and down on her toes. She mouthed: “Holy fucking shit.”

Unnerved, Jack located the chart in the slot at foot of the bed. Angie Krigare. Jack smiled, knowing in Swedish, krigare meant warrior. And Angie? Jack would think of the patient as angel warrior. What a clever name. He flipped through the pages quickly, noting the information supported his theory. Hoping he was not suffering from confirmation bias, he replaced the chart and motioned for Josey to follow. They slipped back out the door and into the hall, still fortuitously unnoticed.

“Smells like roses again,” Josey said. “Do you smell that?”

Jack whispered, “No. But all her vital signs are abnormal.”

“Is she sick?” Josey asked.

“She’s healthier than any human can be,” he said.

They crossed the hall and slipped along the wall like SWAT about to raid a drug den. Jack approached room thirty-six and used his magic card. He checked for attendants or orderlies, sure he had heard voices, but the only one in the room was the patient sitting up in bed, awake and unrestrained.

The patient spoke: “I suppose you two are not permitted to be visiting me.”

“You suppose correctly,” Jack said, adding, “And I suppose you’re to be restrained.”

The patient held up his hands. “I am when I need to be.”

Jack said, “Ah… Mister Reynolds. And might you tell me your real name, sir?”

The patient in the bed smiled and asked, “Does it matter?”

“Not in the slightest. I was just hoping to exchange pleasantries.”

Josey stood behind Jack, looking around the room. She asked, “Are you supposed to be retrained?”

“Yes.” The patient looked at the discarded restraints, adding, “I put them back on when I hear them coming.”

“Why didn’t you put them back on when we opened the door?” Josey asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Because you do not care if I am restrained or not, do you?”

“No. True.” Josey smiled devilishly. “And how do you get them off? And back on? And who are you anyway? Jack and Dave say you’re not from the prison.”

The patient said, “I am no one.”

Me, too, Jack thought, reaching into his robe pocket and producing the book he had brought. He placed the book onto the patient’s nightstand, saying, “I thought you might like some light reading. It can get boring here.” Basing his calculations on the dimensions of the standard Longwood bed of 2.032 meters long and 2 meters wide, Jack determined the patient was six foot six or seven. Jack couldn’t determine the patient’s age, but noted the skin was clear and glowing; the blond hair messed but shiny.

The patient picked up the book and examined it, expressionless. He asked, “Can you tell me where they are holding Angie Krigare?”

Josey blurted, “On this floor. Thirty-one.”

“Perhaps you can visit her for me. Bring her the message I am here.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Josey quipped.

The patient said, “Because, Miss Smarty Pants, I cannot do that just yet.”

“Because why, Mister Unshackled?” Josey was having more fun than Jack had anticipated.

The patient merely quipped, “Timing is everything.”

Josey narrowed her eyes and regarded the patient. She asked, “So, you’re an alien or something?” She gestured to Jack, insisting, “Doctor Geddies seems to think so.”

“You’re Jack Geddies?” The patient regarded the older ghost, asking, “The physicist?”

“I was. And you are?”

The patient said, “You, of all people, know who I am.”

Jack beamed. “I do, sir. I do indeed.” He added, “You look like a sculpture in Egypt.”

The patient pursed his lips. He said, “Never liked that one. But I can be frank with you. Can you tell Angie that I am here? Check on her for me?”

Jack said, “We’ve seen her. She’s heavily sedated. Almost killed a doctor last night after she blew up the vestibule.”

Josey pushed against Jack’s shoulder, yelping, “I knew she did it!”

Jack glared at her and raised his finger to his lips.

The patient’s affect remained unchanged. He said, “That is unfortunate. Can you give her my message?”

Jack said, “Yes. If you tell us one thing. Are you invading?”

The patient toyed with the corners of his book. Then he raised his head, regarding Jack with shocking and extraordinarily blue eyes. “No. But others are.”

Josey gasped, covering her mouth with both her hands. She backed towards the door.

Jack followed, taking her arm with his hand. He said, “That’s a problem. Yes?” When the patient made no comment, Jack reached the magic card towards the door handle and said, “I will visit later if I can.”

The patient fingered through the pages of the book, insisting, “Visit her first.”

Josey followed Jack out of the room, both intending to visit Krigare with Reynold’s message, but they heard voices from the security booth. Damn it. Jack squinted in the low light. Lindsey, earbuds in place, was coming towards them with one of those malfunctioning drug carts. Silently slipping down the back stairs, Jack and Josey reached the first floor, ghosts unseen and unheard. Jack used his magic card to gain access to what had been the pool. No one ever came back there.

“I hate this place,” Josey whispered. “It’s full of death.”

To Jack’s surprise, the pool was uncovered, and the water cast shimmers on the white walls. He could hear the filter running and noticed the cover folded and stored neatly across a nearby table. Jack could not believe they would reopen it after what happened to that girl. He stared into the water. The pool seemed like a night sky filled with stars. He looked up at the glass ceiling and the sunlight beyond. Strange.

Josey interrupted his observations with her stage-whispered squeal, asking, “He’s an alien?”

Jack put both hands out trying to calm her. “You need to be quiet. And you need to stay calm. I’ll tell you what I can when I’m certain. And we do not speak of this to anyone. Including your boyfriend, Dave.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say. But mums the word.”

Josey nodded. She said, “Agreed. But an alien! Invading aliens! Shouldn’t we tell someone?”

Jack looked around. The pool filter hummed rotating the water in which no one would want to swim. The life preservers, for whatever good they did, hung from hooks on the upright posts at the end of the room. The chaises and plastic tables were banished the corners of the room. No one had used the pool since the night Gwen wandered in and, in her overmedicated state, never wandered out. No one would come into the room but the occasional maintenance worker checking the chlorine levels.

“What should you tell someone?” Dave asked, seeming to appear from nowhere.

“Mister Johnson. We’re just taking a stroll.” Jack scrambled his mind to find an explanation for his access to the pool area. He could not think of anything, so he asked, “Thought you were not in until this afternoon?”

“I had some things to check. After last night and all of that.” He picked up a towel and wiped his hands. “With all the staff being transferred, we are a little shorthanded.”

“Sure,” Jack said, watching Josey twirling her hair and rocking on her feet. Maybe he could get the two of them to distract each other.

“So, aliens, huh?” Dave asked.

Josey could not control herself. “Jack thinks the two on the third floor are aliens.”

“And you think I am not your boyfriend,” Dave said.

“Jack’s projecting. Or being over-protective,” she said.

“I think you both need to get out of here before anyone else sees you. Or finds that card you so treasure, Mister Geddies.”

Jack compulsively pressed the card in his pocket. “Yes, well, we were just leaving.”

“Good. We can all get some lunch,” Dave said, reaching for the heavy door and holding it ajar so they could pass.

Jack obliged, following the two to the solarium to pick at what Longwood considered nutrition. Jack considered what to do next, deciding that no one would listen to him even if he reported what he knew. No one.