Adam is standing at his bookcase when I come storming in. He startles and spins around. Several books fly off the shelf and tumble to the floor.
“What the hell?” He motions toward the pile of books. “Ever heard of knocking before entering?”
“There’s no time for that,” I say and make a beeline for the chair. “We’ve got trouble. Big trouble.”
Adam’s vision never leaves me as he walks to his desk, and even after taking his seat, he’s the image of watchfulness knuckled by doubt.
I rub a sweaty palm against my pant leg, then scoot the chair a little closer toward his desk. “First of all, you need to know that I played things down at the outset, because I didn’t want it to seem like I was overreacting, but since then, I’ve come across new information that’s far more definitive.” I recheck the door behind him, then lower my voice. “Adam, something very strange is going on around here, something bad, and I just don’t know who else to tell, and I’m really worried, and something has to be done before it gets—”
Adam stops me with a raised hand, and I see consternation play across his face when he says, “Chris . . . what’s happening to you?”
“I’m trying to explain that!”
“No, I mean, I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Look at yourself. Your shirt is soaked in sweat, you’re all wild-eyed and running at ninety miles an hour. You’re a mess. Can you at least slow it down?”
“Adam, there’s no time to slow it down! More people are disappearing!”
He angles his head away from me.
I tell him that, in addition to Nicholas and Stanley, Melinda and Gerald have also gone missing, how all their records have disappeared. How Smithwell and St. Mary’s have never heard of our patients. Then I detail my observations of the parking lot and cafeteria, visible indications that the hospital population is substantially thinning.
Adam doesn’t respond. His eyes dart back and forth between mine.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I’m not saying that.”
“But you look like it, Adam. You really do.”
“It’s just . . . all I’m saying is, let’s bring this down a few pegs, okay? There’s got to be a logical explanation.”
“That’s what I’ve been looking for! It’s not there! That’s the problem!”
“First of all, I’m still not clear who these missing people are that you’re talking about.”
“They’re the ones from Alpha Twelve! I’ve already told you about them!”
Circumspection reels across Adam’s face as he swings the computer monitor toward him. He starts typing.
I wait and watch.
Seconds later he looks up, and at last I’m relieved to find he’s just as surprised.
“See, Adam? See what I mean?”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Wait . . . what?”
Slowly, he swivels the monitor around, aims it toward me.
I look.
“Chris,” he says, “the people you’re talking about don’t exist. There’s nothing here to indicate they ever did.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Their records have been deleted! Just like they were! Somebody at Loveland is trying to erase them. They’re being transported to some—I don’t know—some secret location, or maybe it’s even worse than that, but you saw those people, Adam. You saw them just like I did.”
He nervously tugs at one sleeve.
“Oh, come on, man. You did. You saw those people. You were right there with me. Gerald? The scary dude who skins people?”
His eyes narrow.
“And Nicholas? The guy who was playing with himself in his room?”
His eyes go broad.
“This is—” I shoot straight up in my chair and it flips over onto the floor. Adam slides his away from me. “—This is crazy! I can’t believe you’re even telling me this!”
“Chris,” he says. “You’re freaking me out. Please sit. And calm down.”
I reach to right the chair. I sit. “And you were right about Donny Ray Smith. He is malingering. He’s a psychopath. He was working me the whole time. I messed up by sending in my evaluation. I said he disassociated during Jamey’s murder, but I was wrong.”
“You did what?” Adam’s jaw drops.
“But I think he might know where the missing people are going, and I’m trying to figure out how. The point is, he’s dangerous to everyone. But we’re not going to let him hurt us.”
I expect satisfaction and approval, but Adam’s next reaction startles me. It’s more than hesitation, more than doubt. Pitiful sadness spiked with deep mistrust, palpable and unnerving, like overhearing a trusted friend speak badly about you behind your back.
I tried to warn you . . . He’s part of it.
“Chris,” he says, “I’m very concerned about you. Has Rob called back with the results from your MRI yet?”
“Really, Adam? Really? You’re actually going to use that against me now?”
“I’m not using anything against you. I’m just trying to say—”
“What, Adam? What is it? That you think I’m losing my mind?”
You are losing your mind.
I slam my hand down on the desk, startling him. “You’re supposed to be my friend! You’re supposed to support me!”
Adam doesn’t say anything—he’s stunned into silence.
My cell phone rings.
“I have to take this,” I say, disgust in my voice that doesn’t come close to scratching the surface of what I’m feeling right now.
Adam watches me coldly as I leave.
60
My cell rings again.
I look at the screen and my shoulders pull tight, then adrenaline kicklines through my body. So much happening right now. So much flying at me with merciless speed. I swallow hard against my angst and try to prepare for what I know is coming.
“Christopher, it’s Rob. I just got the radiologist’s report from your MRI.”
“Hey,” I say, unsteadiness rocking through my voice.
“Good news. No damage showing at all.”
My heart sinks. “That’s really great, Rob. Thanks so much again for expediting things. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem at all. Happy to deliver good news. A lot of times, well . . . you know.”