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make me beg. We can pay you, anything you want.”
    She is right, I thought, I should throw her out. Her people are in all kinds of bad trouble, and I want no part of it. Yes, they offered to pay, and maybe it is the right thing to do, but it’s practically suicide. I have my own problems, and have no desire to take on someone who kills people like me. With these thoughts in mind, naturally I said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”
    I’m an idiot.
    “But, there are a few things I need to do first.”
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
    Shortly after Kate left, I stopped by the ATM to get some cash, since my wallet was being held hostage at the casino. Then I set out in a cab for my old home, St. Jude Psychiatric Institute. St. Jude’s was built in the early 1950s, when Detroit was at its peak population, and the planners of the building planned to accommodate future growth, not decline. As a result, most of the sprawling concrete structure was abandoned years before. From the sky it must look like an enormous cross, a feature that the Catholic founders must have found inspiring. The “foot” of that cross is called the south wing, currently the only operational wing of the hospital, and for most of my childhood, it was home.
    By my ninth birthday, my adoptive parents had tried everything to cure me of what they called my “mental illness”. First came the speech therapists when I was still not talking by age 4. Then they called me autistic because I could not stand to be around other people. What they could not have known is that anyone within 20 yards radiated uncontrolled waves of disorganized thoughts, feelings and subconscious desires. The assault on my senses was so violent and overpowering that I shut down and eventually became catatonic. In my own mind I developed a fantasy world where I was a superhero called the Prophesier, the most powerful being in the universe, who knows everything that will happen in the future and is afraid of nothing. My experience as the Prophesier was rich and beautiful. It was vastly beyond the scope of normal dreaming, and in my fantasy I had friends and enemies, traveled to distant worlds and pursued countless adventures.
    On one such quest I found myself flying through a blue tinted rainforest, and burst into a bright clearing. There before me was a most curious sight. A thin man with curly blond hair and kind eyes that bespoke fierce intelligence was strolling through the field smoking a fragrant curved pipe. Initially he appeared somewhat young and handsome, but as he drew near a profound sadness eminated from him that made him seem older. He wore an old-fashioned gray three-piece suit, and his round, silver-framed spectacles rested near the tip of his nose. He peered at me over the top of his glasses and said, “Greetings, young man. This is quite a place you have here. Extraordinary, really.” He extended his hand. “My name is August Mandel.” He smiled, “Call me Gus.”
    I made no motion to return the handshake. “I am the Prophesier, and this is my realm. You do not belong here.”
    The older man’s brows lifted, “Oh, really. That is very interesting, because according to the nurses you’re a nine-year-old boy named Adam Sharpe. You have been in a coma, like me. We are roommates, you see, in a sort of a hospital. This place only exists in your mind. The hospital is real. Do you understand?”
    His words confused me, although I knew I was once called Adam, it seemed so very long ago. A lifetime, really. My true identity slowly rose to the surface, and the fantasy world vanished into mist. It was just me and the man in the gray wool suit.
    “I…I think so, but I don’t like it up there. Too much noise…too many voices.”
    Gus knelt down to my level. “Adam, those aren’t voices. They are the hearts and minds of the people around you. The problem is that you have never been shown how to properly listen. With practice you can learn to experience