THAT FALL

“You’re not going in there, Doctor Antoine. Especially after Victor gave her who knows how much water.” Wanda’s professional tone alerted Andre to her displeasure. “No one’s going in there except in teams to administer sedation. Let the federal agents deal with her.”

As Andre kept silent and peered through the observation window into Krigare’s room, he resented a life that was nothing but projects. He no longer practiced medicine, burdened instead with one administrative headache after another. Looming lawsuits, scandals, and career devastation weaved the noose swaying above his head. And as he listened to Wanda rant and demand, he realized it was that swaying noose that kept him from sleeping.

He blurted as he stormed from the room, “Then, I’ll interview Reynolds.”

“He asked for her,” Lindsey called after him.

“Who? Reynolds?” The doctor waved his files at the door of Reynold’s room.

“Yes. I told you that. When I brought him his Quiet Juice–which he doesn’t drink–he asked for her by name.”

“By name?”

“Yes. He asked for Angie Krigare. And he asked for Dave, too.”

“He said Dave?” Andre watched Lindsey nod. He turned to Wanda. “I want you,” he gestured to Wanda, “to make sure Victor’s off premises. And to stay on the first floor. We don’t need Katie wandering off into the woods. Send Dave here. And you,” he pointed at Oren, “to remain in the security booth unless I call you.”

Wanda did not argue, taking the paces to the elevator and disappearing behind the sliding doors. Oren lumbered to the security booth but remained in the doorway. The annoying intern was quiet, which surprised and pleased the doctor. He occupied himself with the files in his hand until Dave emerged from the elevator.

“Mister Johnson,” Andre said, “we are visiting the penitentiary patient. I understand he’s a large man. Your role is to keep Mister Reynolds restrained and to administer sedation if it becomes necessary.”

Dave said, “The feds are taking him. We don’t need to bother.”

“I’m going to bother. And,” Andre added, “perhaps we can determine why the patient has been asking for you by name.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Why would that be Mister Johnson?”

“No idea, Doc. He must have read my name tag last night–”

“Which says Johnson. Not Dave. He asked for Dave.” Only Victor would have disclosed these details. Andre calculated lawsuits and his own dying career.

“Someone must have told him. I have not had time to investigate his record. Who knows? And I understand from Oren and Victor that he’s calm. Gave them no trouble last night or this morning. Didn’t eat, but they tell me he’s friendly. Did anyone at state call you back?”

“In fact, yes. I expect Mister Reynolds might give us trouble today.” The doctor scanned his card across the reader, opened the door, and discovered Reynolds concentrating on a thick book like an executive reviewing a financial statement. Andre said, “Good afternoon, Mister Reynolds. I’m Doctor Antoine. You’ve met Miss Dempsey. And this is Mister Johnson.”

Reynolds looked up. “Good afternoon, Doctor Antoine. Miss Dempsey. Dave.”

Andre noticed Dave froze near the door. Perhaps, Dave realized he knew this patient? Andre asked, “How are you feeling today?”

Reynolds pulled up on his arm restraints. “No complaints, Doc. I am absorbed in this book–it’s called The Reflexive Universe. Very intriguing.”

Andre approached Reynolds’ bed. “I’m not familiar with that title.” The intern joined Andre at the bedside. Dave remained near the door, too far removed to be effective.

Reynolds closed the book on his lap, his restraints clinking against the metal bed railings. “I was not familiar with it, either. A friend gave it to me to keep me busy. Not much to do in here.”

“That’s the idea. For you to rest,” Andre said, wondering who had given Reynolds reading material. “The question, Mister Reynolds, is for what are you resting?”

“Pardon?”

“Why are you here, Mister Reynolds?”

“The doctor at the penitentiary sent me over.”

“No. When you arrived, you came with a transfer order on penitentiary stationary with notes from a Doctor Burton, indicating that you were a psychotic and highly dangerous. We had no choice but to house you on this floor.”

“I get violent sometimes.”

“Yes. And my staff has informed me you are throwing up or throwing away every medication dosed to you. Yet, here you are, quiet as a lamb. Gentle as a butterfly.”

“The rest has been good for me.”

“But, see, Doctor Burton does not know who you are. The penitentiary has no record of a Sam Reynolds being incarcerated since the 1930s.”

Reynolds looked down at his book. He said, “You know how government can be… red tape, lost records.”

“Mister Reynolds? Who are you and why have you entered my facility under a pretense of mental illness?” he asked as Dave finally approached and positioned himself at the foot of the bed. They waited for Reynolds to reply, but Reynolds only continued to stare down at the closed book. The doctor probed. “I’m curious why a man, who is obviously healthy, would submit to restraints and solitary confinement. This leads me to believe that there is a reason. One thing I know as a psychiatric expert is that actions are always motivated. The question is whether your motivation is sane. You’ll need to give me more information so I can make that determination.”

Reynolds continued to look at his book. He blinked several times. Andre noted the patient’s unusually large hands. Curious to see how big this patient was, Andre wished he could see Reynolds standing.

The intern asked, “And why do you want to know about Dave? And keep asking about Angie Krigare. How’d you even know that she was here?”

Reynolds closed his eyes but remained still. He cleared his throat and said, “I guess you thought I would become difficult. That is why Dave is here, yes?” He looked up. “Not that Dave will be any help. Will you, Dave?”

Andre noticed the intense blue of Reynolds’ eyes as he said, “I’m very curious because I’ve never known of a single person–except for a few brave journalists–who voluntarily agreed to commitment at a level three.” He gestured to Reynold’s restraints. Reynolds’ stare sought to invade Andre’s mind. Unnerved, Andre revealed no emotion.

“The paperwork was forged. My name, for all intents, constructions, and purposes, is Sam Reynolds. And I am here for Angie Krigare.”

“I’ve concluded that. And?”

Reynolds looked at Lindsey, then back to the doctor. He said, “And, I am interested in making sure you release Angie immediately.”

Andre leaned forward again, still unnerved by Reynold’s stare. “That’s quite impossible.”

Reynolds said, “The ships have uncloaked by now. Yes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Doctor, you want me to be honest? Then be honest. It has been a day since the last… what do you call them? Boom? We have a few hours at most. And that is why I am here. To protect her. Because no one else is doing the job.”

The doctor sighed internally. Another boom-patient. He really would need to speak to his staff about discussing the television news with mentally ill patients. Keeping his eyes locked with Reynolds, and ignoring the spaceship comment, he asked, “How do you know Miss Krigare?”

Reynolds grinned almost sheepishly. Andre noted it was the first emotion Reynolds demonstrated. Reynolds stared at Dave as he said, “You will not believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I am here to protect her. And to… to do some other things. You know Angie is not a typical patient.” He looked at the doctor. Then at Dave.

Andre almost started, but years of training ensured he could hide his internal reactions. He felt a swell of excitement thinking Reynolds might explain the CT scan. If he pushed Reynolds hard enough, perhaps he could get the information he needed to write the report about Lansing. He asked, “What do you mean?”

Reynolds laughed then, turning to the doctor. “Your tests. That is why you came in to see me. You are hoping I can help you solve your puzzle.” He laughed again, as he said, “but I–the mystery patient–will only make it worse for you. Tell them, Dave.”

The doctor tried not to look away but had to do so. Reynolds’ stare was unnerving. “Miss Dempsey told me you were not only asking for patient Krigare but for Dave.”

Dave quipped aggressively, “He’s just causing trouble. Upsetting people.”

“Do you want to discuss trouble, son?” Reynolds asked Dave.

Dave grunted, “Shut it, old man.”

Reynolds said, “I have not fought the guards. I have not complained. No, I have not ingested your little pills and tonics. But I have not been a problem.”

“Having a patient who is not a patient is a problem. Oui? This is not some kinky hotel, Monsieur Reynolds. We don’t restrain people for a thrill.”

Reynolds offered another smile. “I suppose not.”

“No. Bien sur. Please enlighten me.”

“I am concerned when I enlighten you, as you so aptly say, you will decide that I am exactly where I need to be. Although, I would prefer the first floor….” He jiggled his restraints.

Andre patiently waited for Reynolds to continue. He could hear the intern breathing heavily. Dave, motionless, stared at the patient. Andre waved his hand, adding the encouraging words: “Just say your peace and I can decide if you need a diagnosis or just a trip out my front door.”

Reynolds closed his odd blue eyes. “You know I need to remain right where I am so you can deliver me to the federal agents. And Angie is not getting the help she needs.” Reynolds smiled when Andre’s mouth stuck open. “Ah, you are wondering how could I know about the feds? You think one of your staff told me about it. Perhaps they even gave me Angie’s name. And they probably told me about the CT Scan, too. Perhaps it was Lindsey?”

“I never said a word–”

“Or perhaps Dave?”

Dave narrowed his eyes.

“Any of your staff could have loosened his or her lips and told me about the patient in thirty-one. Just like any of them could have told me about the sonic booms–or the films of the crafts you see on the news.”

Andre asked, restraining his anger, “Who said any of that?”

“No one here, I can assure you. I have ways of knowing things.”

“At this point, Mister Reynolds, what I can surmise is that my staff, perhaps someone not in this room, has been discussing things with you. Perhaps innocently.” Victor crossed Andre’s mind. He continued, “I can also determine that you are perhaps a compulsive liar, perhaps a narcissist, but not a psychotic requiring treatment on this floor.” He stood, “Therefore, I can release you to the federal officers who can decide when you can visit your friend, Miss Krigare.”

“I am with an army.”

Andre tapped the frame of the bed with his forefinger. Although he knew better, he bit the hook. “You’re with what army?”

“The one intending to restore order on this planet.”

The doctor smiled, slightly. “Are we trying to play the game I am delusional so I can stay in the hospital, Mister Reynolds?”

Reynolds shook his head. “No games, doctor. I am with the nine-hundred sixty-eighth regimen of what you would call the cosmic police. We are here to establish order. Ask Jack Geddies. Ask Dave.” Dave leaned against the foot of the bed. Reynolds added, “You used to call us angels.”

Doctor Antoine laughed aloud. “That’s quite enough, Monsieur Reynolds. The diagnosis for a delusional psychotic differs greatly from that of a scam-artist.”

“Angie is my wife.”

“Mister Reynolds, please.” Andre forced himself to use only English. He knew his slight slips into French revealed his frayed nerves. “Federal officers will be here tomorrow to collect both you and… and your wife.”

“You cannot let the feds–which is not really who they are-to take her. They want her, and others, destroyed.”

“Monsieur Reynolds–”

“I said you would not believe me, but I am telling you the truth. I came to recover Angie. Now bigger powers than you realize know that she is here. I cannot, will not, leave her.”

Andre gestured to Dave and said, “I think Mister Reynolds can have some rest as we prepare for his release.” Dave seemed to lean harder onto the bed railing, a deep frown across his face. Trying to get his attention, Andre asked loudly, “Mister Johnson?”

Reynolds spread his hands as far as he was able. “Doctor, listen. I know now you think I am some government guinea pig or a scam artist,” his voice was still calm and paced, “but I am not. I do not want to alarm you, but I cannot leave Angie.”

Doctor Antoine gestured frantically for Dave to administer the sedative. Dave seemed frozen, not with fear, but with anger, gripping the bed railing until his knuckles turned white.

Reynolds’ eyes seemed lit from within by sapphire light. He said, “Give me a chance to talk–explain things better. I am a soldier; I am not a good negotiator.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Mister Reynolds. Mister Johnson?”

Lindsey drew back towards the door. Andre joined her. Dave seemed to awaken but did not administer the sedative. The doctor sensed tension as Reynolds sat upright and bent his arms against the restraints. Reynolds’ body began to emit a golden aura. The leg restraints popped open and floated off Reynold’s legs onto the bed. Reynold’s arm restraints unbuckled themselves and the cuffs drifted to his sides. As he raised his arms overhead and stretched, the surrounding glow deepened and illuminated the room.

Dave threw his hands in the air. “You are completely out of control.”

Lindsey turned and struggled to open the heavy door. Andre watched the glowing man and wondered, absentmindedly, what Wanda had added to his morning coffee.

Reynolds, his eyes like sapphire light bulbs, merely asked, “Can I see my wife?”

Without guise, Andre rushed through the heavy red door, shoving Lindsey out before him. He let the door slam and lock behind them and tried to catch his breath, realizing that Dave was still inside the room.

Lindsey backed away from the door, plastered herself to the far wall, and moaned, “What the hell?”

The red door was framed with a golden light. Andre froze. The lock panel lit as if someone swiped a pass card over it, and the door swung wide. Reynolds appeared in the doorway, glowing, his loose hospital-issued sweats doing little to camouflage his size. Andre regretted that he had wanted to see this man upright.

Reynolds said, “Listen. I am not like Angie. It takes a lot of energy for me to do these little… stunts. So, let us stop all these games. I just want to see my wife. She needs water.”

Andre found it highly unlikely they were all having the same psychotic episode. He attempted to speak and found his voice had left him the way it did during nightmares. The scream, in English or French, would not come.

Reynolds came closer, his hands upraised. “I know this is odd, for some of you folks, at least. I just want to see she is okay and get her out of here before they arrive.”

Before he could finish his sentence, Dave appeared behind Reynolds and yelled, “You are scaring them! Get back into bed!”

Reynolds raised his hands and the hallway exploded with a dazzling gold light. Andre was blinded and tried to move forward but found himself frozen. When the light faded, Dave was standing over empty space. Reynolds was gone.

“Where the hell did he go?” Andre snapped.

Dave bolted down the hall and entered the stairwell before Andre finished his question. Oren bolted to the stairs ahead of Andre who cursed under his breath. “He’s in this building,” Andre grumbled as he shoved the door open and took the stairs to the first floor. He passed his card over the first-floor scanner several times before it clicked. Shoving the door, he bolted past the reception desk. He leaned into the nurse’s station, ignoring Wanda’s questions.

“What is wrong, Andre?” she asked a third time.

“Reynolds escaped,” he said as rushed up the hallway, checking each room. Josey was alone, doing a puzzle. Eleanor Bergstrom was alone and crocheting. Brian was asleep and alone. He barely perceived Wanda asking how and when and how and why.

Andre found Katie Travis, rolling along in her wheelchair outside her room. “I saw the angel,” she said.

Wanda ran towards them and squatted down, eye-level. “Katie? What angel?”

“The gold angel. He flew out the window.” She pointed again, weakly, to the end of the long hallway.

Andre bolted to the end of the hall where he found the stairwell door unlocked and ajar. The window perpendicular to the stairwell appeared to be sparkling, clear glass. Andre put his arm through and found nothing but the want of a barrier. He leaned out of the hole, searching the garden below. Nothing but the absence of a pane of glass, the billowing of yellow curtains, and a beautiful ficus in the corner near the stairwell. He stood back and turned to Wanda. Their eyes met.

Wanda pointed at the tree. “That was dead this morning,”

Oren rushed towards them calling, “No sign of him.”

“We know,” Wanda said, adding, “Katie saw him float out of the first-floor window.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Oren said.

“Was he secured?” Wanda asked, her eyes wide with fear although her voice expressed none.

“Don’t ask,” Andre said.

Wanda put her hands on her hips. “Was he secured like Krigare was last night, Oren?”

“I secured her, Miss,” Oren said. “And Reynolds, too.”

Andre raised his hand. “Just stop Wanda. He…” he paused, finishing but not owning the words: “he glowed, and his restraints fell away.”

Oren reached for the chain around his neck. He said, “That’s what she did. Last night.”

Lindsey emerged from the stairwell and sang out, “If you allowed me to use my phone, I could’ve videoed it and showed you. Whatever. What we saw is impossible unless it’s… it’s something not from this world.”

“I don’t think we need to start that rumor,” Wanda said. “Where’s Dave?”

“He chased him. Don’t look at me that way, Wanda, you didn’t see what Dave and Lindsey and I saw. He told us he was Krigare’s husband and part of an army to stop the alien invasion,” Andre paused before he added, “I don’t even believe what I’m saying, so I imagine you don’t.”

“I believe it.” Jack Geddies poked his head out of his room.

“Jack? I suppose you were eavesdropping this entire time.”

Jack nodded. “I can clear up this confusion.”

“Are you seriously entertaining this conversation, Andre?” Wanda asked, incredulous and breaking her angry silence. “We don’t involve patients in this. We let the federal agents handle it, right? Andre?”

Andre closed his eyes, avoiding her glare. “Jack, I need to understand what we saw. And how to protect us. How to… to find Reynolds.”

Jack leaned against the hall wall and said, “You can’t.” When Andre attempted to argue, Jack continued: “Here’s what I suggest. Notify PRGH we’ve had a gas leak or some other toxic emergency. You transfer every patient but Krigare–and me - to the hospital. Do not bring additional staff into the situation.”

Andre tapped his knee with his finger. He said, “Frankly, Jack, I don’t need advice on how to run Longwood. I need information about the guest and the escapee from the third floor.”

“I’m not stepping on your toes, Doc. You’ve read my fateful paper. I imagine Reynolds was honest with you. You can make all the faces you want. I believe him. And Krigare? Do you know what Krigare means in Swedish? It means warrior. Her name means angel warrior.”

Wanda shook her head. She snapped, “I refuse to listen to this delusional crap. This is precisely the reason they committed you, Mister Geddies—”

“Wanda,” Andre pled.

“-- No, Andre. Do you hear this bullshit?”

“I know what I saw, Wan.”

Lindsey added, “So do I.”

“Sounds like Krigare and Reynolds have spread some contagion and you’re suffering from the same delusions. That’s what it sounds like.” Wanda crossed her arms, signaling to Andre that he would pay for his actions.

Andre would worry about her tantrum later. Now, he needed some answers. He said, “You saw the ships this morning, Wan. We all did. Something very serious is happening.”

“And, I’ve suspected since I heard about last night’s activities that Reynolds and Krigare are not what they seem,” Jack said. “They are certainly not human.”

Exhausted, Andre thought about Reynolds’ glowing and Krigare’s CT scan. “Let’s go,” he said as he started up the stairs.

“Where?”

“Three.”

“Now?”

He called down from end of the hallway, “Yes, now, Wanda.”

Andre’s head filled with concern and conjecture. The Director and the board would have their scapegoat. When Longwood closed, it was Andre who would be dethroned. The board would never target Lansing and accept accusations of years of negligence. Andre chastised his own poor judgment and limited intuition, realizing that he had always been sentenced for the hangman’s noose. At least his hindsight was intact.

He could defend himself and report that Oren had failed to secure Krigare, resulting in Krigare’s attack on Lansing. He could report that Reynolds escaped because Oren had not sedated or restrained him. He could report that Victor had not provided water to the patient, just as he could insist there was no evidence of patient abuse. Oren’s career would be ruined, and Victor’s would be salvaged. Lies would not do. And if he reported the truth, Andre would be admitted to a room next to Jack. How could he tell the Director that a glowing patient had disappeared the day after another patient crushed Lansing? And Andre could never report Krigare’s highly unusual CT scans. What should be isodense–or normal brain tissue density–was hyperdense–as if it were bone. The numbers should have read 45… and hers were 800 and higher. Not quite bone, but not brain tissue. At least it was not brain tissue Andre had ever examined.

The CT tech, Rachel Roblowski, had returned Andre’s call, reporting, “I’ve never seen frontal lobes that size before. Have you? And I don’t see an amygdala. In fact, the brain stem is not… human.”

Krigare’s frontal lobes were at least thirty percent larger than the average human’s lobes. Her brain had additional folds not present in the human brain. And all of it inexplicably dense. Andre also could not identify an amygdala. Or any other area but frontal lobes. He insisted, “The machine must be malfunctioning.”

“The scans we did on the boom patients were normal. I scheduled Krigare for a PET to determine if she’s an alien from one of those ships.”

He winced. “Wait. She will have to be alert for the PET–and we don’t want her alert.”

Roblowski asked, “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Merde,” he mumbled as he arrived at the observation window and stared at Angie Krigare, sleeping like a baby. He mentally recited his diagnosis: Acute psychosis resulting from head trauma exacerbated by acute stress. Another Boom patient diagnosed by incompetent staff untrained in how to take a pulse or read a blood pressure cuff. Malfunctioning CT and vital signs scanners. Andre absolutely would not believe this woman was a military experiment. That was too disconcerting. He was more comfortable with Roblowski’s explanation that Krigare was an alien. “Even I’m thinking she’s not human…” he chided himself aloud.

Jack approached and offered a book to Andre. “I gave this to Reynolds to read. Don’t ask how. Look at the burn marks in the margins.”

Andre feared to even touch the book. More irrationality, he chastised himself. He said, “That’s the book Reynolds was reading?”

“Yes. It’s mine. And I did not make those notations.” Jack gestured to the burned pages.

“Can you prove that’s your book? Or you didn’t make those marks, Mister Geddies,” Wanda said, entering the room and trying to catch her breath.

Andre examined the burned pages Jack showed him. Forty. Forty-four. Seventy-nine. Fifty-nine. Ninety-nine. And page six. On page one-hundred fifty-one the words stage two were scorched. The doctor asked, “Well, what they hell does it mean?”

Jack said, “I think the marks are coordinates.”

“I bet you do.” Wanda smirked.

Andre considered his options, admitting that after what had happened to Lansing, he was in no rush to get close to Krigare. Whatever had happened–a push, a shove, some freak accident or some crazy magic Andre could not conceive–Lansing would never work, or walk, again. Andre enjoyed walking. And working, most days. Without answers, the alternative risks were too severe. “I need to question Krigare.”

“Why question her?” Wanda asked.

“To get some answers.”

“I’ve told you the answer, Doctor Antoine. You just don’t want to hear it,” Jack said.

Wanda’s face flushed. She was grinding her jaw. She said, “Because your answers are madness, Mister Geddies. And, no, Andre, you’re not going in there.”

Marching from the observation room into the hallway, he called back, “Yes, yes, I am.”

Oren and Jack stood back, but Wanda pursued him, asking, “Why question her? At what cost? Let the feds handle this. We’ll have enough trouble explaining how we lost their other patient. And after the whole Victor thing, we’ll have state investigators up our ass.”

He turned on her, cutting off her rant, and raged, “Don’t you think I realize that? Aside from this being an insurance nightmare, aside from having to notify the police, I realize we are in serious trouble. If Reynolds hurts anyone–”

“So, why compound it by putting yourself–and us,” she looked the others, “at risk? We have enough risk–enough necks on the chopping block.”

“I have to do it. To get him back. To understand… to understand all of this.”

Wanda grabbed his sleeve and said, “Andre? Really? You won’t get much from her. She’s sedated.”

Oren mumbled, “I never got around to her, so her sedation is worn off by now.”

“It shouldn’t be!” Wanda snapped.

“Wanda. Trust me. I have a feeling about this.”

She closed her eyes, lowered her voice and said, “I won’t help you with this.”

“I’m not going near her,” Oren said.

“I’ll help,” Lindsey said, her phone in hand.

Andre took Wanda’s hand. “Trust me, Wan. Open your eyes. Remember me?”

She opened her eyes. “She’s dangerous.”

Andre thought Krigare was a hell of a lot more dangerous than they knew, but he said, “I don’t think she’ll hurt me.… I just feel it.”

“You know how illogical and irrational you’re sounding, yes?” Wanda asked, stepping away from him.

He nodded. “Oui.”

“Well, that’s a good sign,” she said, smiling weakly. “I’m sorry, Andre. Wanda would follow you. But Nurse Vasquez can’t.” She turned and disappeared down the dark hall.

Andre felt his chest ache as the stairwell door slammed shut. He gestured to Oren. “Stand by with the sedative. As soon as I wave at you, come in and give her a double.” To Jack, he said, “Give me that book.” Jack handed the book to the doctor.

“I’ll assist,” Lindsey said.

“I don’t need assistance. Stay by the observation window in case I change my mind.” He proceeded into Krigare’s room, dragging a folding chair behind him. He positioned himself, swallowed hard and forced himself to ask, “Miss Krigare? Can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered. “Thirsty…”

“My name is Doctor Antoine. I’m the attending psychiatrist here. Are you up for a chat?”

She opened her bloodshot eyes set in swollen lids. “Doctor? Finally, it’s you. I’m so thirsty…”

Oren appeared at Andre’s side with a tall glass of Gatorade. He handed it to the doctor and rushed back out. Andre lifted the cup to Krigare’s lips.

She drank slowly, coughing. “It’s not water…”

“No, it’s not. You need what’s in that juice. Electrolytes.”

“I need water. Whatever that is will not help me.” She let her head fall onto the pillow.

The doctor frowned. Krigare was enunciating each word and producing full sentences. Her sedative had worn off almost completely. He said, “I’ll get you some water after we chat. I want to help you feel better.”

“I want to feel better…. I’m in the middle of a book project at work… my students–”

“We want to get you right back to your students. So, I’ll ask you some questions. Do the best you can.”

She stretched against her restraints and yawned. Then she said, “You’re the nice doctor. Not like the other one.”

“The other doctor?”

“The one I had to stop.”

Andre watched her stretch again and tried to control his shaking hands by placing them in his lap. He needed her relaxed. He said, “Tell me about your favorite place, Angie.”

“It’s a cottage. With a garden…”

“Nice. Any flowers?”

“Oh, yes… and trees. Under the dome.”

“The dome?”

“Yes. The dome to the stars.”

Ignoring the delusion, he asked, “Are you happy there?”

“She is happy, yes.”

She? Split personality? Andre continued. “Good. Stay there and look around. Note what you see. Note what sounds you can hear.”

“I hear waves. And there are Roses. But not roses….”

“Good, relax and stay in your happy place for a few breaths. Relax….” He left her there while he scrambled to decide how to proceed. It was obvious.

“Angie? Can you tell me who you really are?”

She giggled. “I can. But I shouldn’t…”

“Why not? Why can’t you tell me?”

“Orders.”

“You were ordered not to tell me?”

She frowned, her brow tightening, her jaw set. When she spoke again, her voice became resonant–nothing like the voice he had heard her use until that moment: “I ordered no revelation of our real identities. It’s in the embedding program.”

Andre paused and looked behind him, knowing that the others had heard exactly what he had heard. He imagined that Jack was all smiles. He asked, “What if I told you it would help you get better if you told me who you really are? Then, could you tell me?”

“I am not sick, Doctor. I am coming out of stasis.” She took a deep breath and began to cry, her weaker voice returning, “I’m confused….”

“Okay, Angie. Let’s have you return to your safe place. Your favorite place. Go there in your mind and relax…”

“I can’t.” She paused, adding, “He’s there, and that’s why I am confused.”

“Who’s there, Angie?”

“My husband.”

“Your husband?”

“And my son.”

“And why is that confusing? Take your time and really look.”

“Because Angie has no husband. Angie has no son. But I do. They are there… in the garden…”

He waited for her to take a breath and exhale. He asked, “Who has a husband and a son?”

In her resonant and deep, she said, “Renya has a husband. And a son. She has many children. Good children. Bad, bad children.”

“What is Renya’s husband’s name?”

“He’s real name or pretend name?” She chuckled again, in that deep, strong voice.

“Tell me whatever you would like to tell me.”

“On this planet, we call him Sam Reynolds.”

Andre shivered. He said, “Sam Reynolds was here, in this facility.”

“I know.” She intoned each word so deeply it was chilling.

“Do you know where he has gone?” Andre asked.

“To meet Yonkins Katro. I am sure. Angie is not sure…”

“Angie is confused, isn’t she Renya?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me about your fall? A fall can make you confused and have disturbing thoughts.”

“I did fall…” She fluttered her eyes. “I’m so thirsty.”

Andre leaned forward and asked, “How did you fall?”

“That’s what we call it…”

The doctor frowned and asked, “That’s what you call it? Who, dear?”

“When we come to earth. We fall….”

Andre wondered if he should continue, still compelled to diagnose Angie with plain vanilla acute psychosis resulting from a head injury. When we come to earth? What the hell does that mean? It would be meaningless if it were not for the hovering ships, sonic booms and the glowing partner in crime. “Angie fell?”

“No. I did. That is how Angie got here.”

“And that was when she got hurt?”

“She’s not hurt… Coming out of stasis did not go as planned… the ring–” She rubbed her hands together.

“What ring? The ring that broke?”

She nodded, her voice soft again, she said, “Yes…” Tears dropped from her eyes. “I’m so confused….”

“Okay, Angie. A few more questions and you can go back to your safe place. Can you answer a few more questions for me?”

“Yes…”

“Good. Why do the federal agents want to take you?”

Her face hardened. Her jaw twitched. Her voice resonant. “They took my son.”

“Your son, Renya? The federal agents took your son?”

“They are afraid. And they should be.”

Andre grimaced, trying to decide how to proceed. “Is Reynolds dangerous?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“On the target.”

Andre hesitated again. He asked, “Is he dangerous to us?”

The patient in the bed did not vacillate as much as Andre would have liked. She said, “Yes. If you interfere.”

“Are you an alien?” he blurted, disbelieving his own bluntness.

She laughed but only said, “You can ask better questions than that.”

Andre considered and said, “Reynolds left a book in his room before he left today. He marked some numbers in the book. Would you know what those numbers mean?”

“Renya would know.”

“Can Renya listen and tell me what they mean?”

“Yes…”

Andre read, “Six. Forty. Forty-four.” He riffled through the pages, continuing, “Fifty-nine. Seventy-nine.”

She took a deep breath, asking with the resonant voice again: “What words are marked?”

“He marked stage two.”

“Yes. Coordinates and a place to meet.” She opened her eyes wide, asking, “Where is stage two?”

The doctor stared back but signaled to Oren. Oren entered the room and administered a double dose of Hal-Pro. Krigare offered no resistance. Jack and Lindsey joined them at the bedside and the four watched the patient sleeping peacefully for several minutes, unable to speak or process what they had heard.

Dave appeared at the door, jarring them from their reverie. “It’s all over the news. Hundreds of the spaceships are hovering everywhere.” He leaned over the sedated woman, looking her over. “Give me that book. I can find him.” Dave accepted the book from Andre’s hand.

Andre said, “I think this is more complicated than common police work, Mister Johnson.”

“Yes, it is. More than I can easily explain.” Turning to face them, he repeated, “I can find him.”

“Because you’re super cop now?” Lindsey quipped.

“No,” he opened the book and riffled through the pages. “I can find him because he is my father. And this… this is my mother.” He kissed the sedated woman’s forehead.