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friend continued. ‘By lunchtime, some people were saying you had moved to California, but most people were just walking around with their heads up their asses as usual. They don’t even know where they are, much less where you are.’
    â€˜You sure?’ Michael asked his friend. ‘You know what people are like.’
    â€˜Yeah, I know what people are like.’ The boy hesitated, started to say something and then stopped.
    â€˜What is it?’ Michael asked. ‘People are talking about me, aren’t they?’
    â€˜No, man. It’s not that at all.’ The kid looked stricken. What was he hiding? He stared at his feet for a moment and then seemed to reach a decision. He looked up at Michael. ‘You’re not the only one who’s been here,’ he said. ‘I was here. A long time ago. It really helped me. I don’t think I would’ve made it without being here.’
    â€˜No shit,’ Michael said. ‘When was that? I don’t remember that.’
    â€˜It was during the year I dropped out. After my mom died.’
    â€˜Oh, yeah.’ Michael looked embarrassed at forgetting this monumental event in his friend’s life. ‘You were gone from school a long time.’
    â€˜I wasn’t here the whole time,’ his friend explained. ‘I was only here for a month. But it really helped me. And I think it could help you, too. I’m not telling anyone you’re here. You don’t have to worry about that.’
    His friend’s admission made all the difference in the world to Michael. He was not a freak after all. ‘I won’t tell anyone either,’ Michael promised his friend.
    â€˜I’ve got to go,’ the other boy said. ‘I’ve got a crapload of work to do.’
    Michael nodded. Unexpectedly, he put his arms around his friend and awkwardly held on to him for a few seconds. I had never seen my son affectionate with anyone other than his mother and the gesture surprised me. But it also made me glad. My son had felt so alone while walking the halls inside Holloway. That he had someone, anyone, he could trust made me more grateful than I can say to the boy before me.
    I followed the other kid out for a while but got distracted by my imaginary family. I saw Harold near the entrance to the long-term unit, enjoying the late afternoon. He had removed his protective helmet and covered the purple and yellow ointments that typically topped his skull with a newsboy’s hat. He was busily plucking the dead petals off the flowers that had withered on the vine over the winter months. These he stored in his pockets as he filled the air with a constant monologue of nonsense. ‘Harold Babbitt endorses the Flower Power Movement with the full force of his mighty power. Harold Babbitt is a rabbit, the king of the rabbits. Hop to it, King Rabbit, and try not to stab it. Dagnabit, you rabbit, dagnabit.’ Harold’s words flowed like the water tumbling over the fountains behind him. It was a never ceasing cascade proving that Harold was alive. Perhaps that was why he did it. Perhaps he just wanted to be sure.
    I checked on Lily, the little girl who suffered from terrible hallucinations and could not be trusted with other children. She was standing with an aide, watching the sun slowly set, clutching the mutilated teddy bear she always toted around. Lily had gouged its plastic eyes out and painted the holes left behind with thick globs of red paint that dried in place like blood. The nose had also been plucked off, leaving a hole that gaped between those ghoulish eyes. I wondered what terrible sights had inspired her to blind her stuffed bear.
    Then I thought back to the malevolent shadow I had seen flickering on the wall behind Otis Parker and I wondered, just for an instance, if maybe Lily’s real curse was that she saw more than most. Was it possible that the ghastly creatures she obeyed were somehow real?

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