can’t see in this damned light,” says the drunken witch. She’s hunched very close to Bean’s outstretched palm.
Bean looks up at Caleb in the doorway.
“Hey, there, buddy,” he says. “Sit down. Mrs. Zikry is reading my palm. You’re next.”
“We should really get going,” says Caleb.
“Ah, come on, party pooper,” says Bean. “Don’t you want to know if you’re going to be the editor of the New York Times someday?”
“Hmm, your lifeline—” begins the witch, smiling.
“Maybe next time,” says Caleb. “Let’s go.”
Bean looks disappointed, but the witch just goes back to her bottle.
“My Annie was such a dancer!” she says, but whether she’s talking to herself or to them, Caleb can’t tell.
“Let’s go,” he says again.
“Okay, okay,” says Bean. “Thanks for the warm Coke, Mrs. Zikry. Maybe next time I’ll drink it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Zikry,” says Caleb. “Hey, don’t drink so much, okay? It’s bad for you.”
“My Annie was such a good, obedient girl!” she says, staring at the coffee table and taking a shallow swig of whiskey.
There’s nothing else he can say, so Caleb follows Bean out the screen door, thinking that even the strange, heavy Southern air is like a mountain breeze compared to the rot of that trailer.
They cross the field of stars and step into the twisted paths of the forest.
It takes them almost twice as long to get home as Caleb thought it would. Almost every path he leads them down, he has to double back. Finally, the familiar wooden fence, now half fallen and peeled of all but a shred of its paint, ushers them into the Masons’ backyard.
Only then do they speak, and only a few sentences.
Bean: “So what did you find in her room?”
Caleb: “Nothing.” He wants to explain, but for some reason, he’s ashamed for Christine and can’t say it. “She’s crazy, just like you said. She’s crazy and her mom’s even crazier. I’m sorry I dragged you here. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Sweet,” says Bean.
And that’s that.
TRANSCRIPT—Patient #62, SESSION #79
(In this session, the patient begins to show signs of progress.)
DIRECTOR: You’re very quiet today.
(The patient doesn’t respond.)
DIRECTOR: You had some visitors earlier. Tell me about them.
PATIENT #62: It was Billy.
DIRECTOR: What was that? Speak up, I can’t hear you.
PATIENT #62: It was Billy and his friend.
DIRECTOR: And who is Billy? Patient Sixty-two, please answer me. Who is Billy?
PATIENT #62: He’s my best friend.
DIRECTOR: Well, that’s nice. Did you enjoy seeing him? I thought it might be nice for you. Did you enjoy it?
(The patient nods.)
DIRECTOR: Were you ashamed for him to see you like this?
(The patient nods.)
DIRECTOR: What do you think he would say if you told him about all the voices you think you hear? Do you think he would believe you?
PATIENT #62: I guess not.
DIRECTOR: Patient Sixty-two, look at me. Did you think he was going to rescue you? Did you think this Billy was going to take you out of here?
PATIENT #62: I guess so.
DIRECTOR: Well, how long has it been since he came?
PATIENT #62: He came today.
DIRECTOR: No, he came three days ago. This is Thursday; he came on Monday.
PATIENT #62: I thought it was today . . .
DIRECTOR: Three days. Patient Sixty-two, I don’t think he’s coming back. Do you?
(The patient is becoming agitated.)
PATIENT #62: I don’t know. I don’t know.
DIRECTOR: Relax, relax, relax.
(The director walks behind the patient and places his hands on her shoulders, then slips one down inside her nightgown.)
DIRECTOR: What’s wrong? Why are you crying?
PATIENT #62: Because.
DIRECTOR: Tell me why, I don’t understand.
PATIENT #62: Director, please stop.
DIRECTOR: Stop what?
PATIENT #62: Please stop touching my breast.
DIRECTOR: I’m not. You’re touching your own breast. Why are you doing that?
PATIENT #62: I’m not.
DIRECTOR: Why are you touching your breast, Patient Sixty-two? Does it
Bean looks up at Caleb in the doorway.
“Hey, there, buddy,” he says. “Sit down. Mrs. Zikry is reading my palm. You’re next.”
“We should really get going,” says Caleb.
“Ah, come on, party pooper,” says Bean. “Don’t you want to know if you’re going to be the editor of the New York Times someday?”
“Hmm, your lifeline—” begins the witch, smiling.
“Maybe next time,” says Caleb. “Let’s go.”
Bean looks disappointed, but the witch just goes back to her bottle.
“My Annie was such a dancer!” she says, but whether she’s talking to herself or to them, Caleb can’t tell.
“Let’s go,” he says again.
“Okay, okay,” says Bean. “Thanks for the warm Coke, Mrs. Zikry. Maybe next time I’ll drink it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Zikry,” says Caleb. “Hey, don’t drink so much, okay? It’s bad for you.”
“My Annie was such a good, obedient girl!” she says, staring at the coffee table and taking a shallow swig of whiskey.
There’s nothing else he can say, so Caleb follows Bean out the screen door, thinking that even the strange, heavy Southern air is like a mountain breeze compared to the rot of that trailer.
They cross the field of stars and step into the twisted paths of the forest.
It takes them almost twice as long to get home as Caleb thought it would. Almost every path he leads them down, he has to double back. Finally, the familiar wooden fence, now half fallen and peeled of all but a shred of its paint, ushers them into the Masons’ backyard.
Only then do they speak, and only a few sentences.
Bean: “So what did you find in her room?”
Caleb: “Nothing.” He wants to explain, but for some reason, he’s ashamed for Christine and can’t say it. “She’s crazy, just like you said. She’s crazy and her mom’s even crazier. I’m sorry I dragged you here. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Sweet,” says Bean.
And that’s that.
TRANSCRIPT—Patient #62, SESSION #79
(In this session, the patient begins to show signs of progress.)
DIRECTOR: You’re very quiet today.
(The patient doesn’t respond.)
DIRECTOR: You had some visitors earlier. Tell me about them.
PATIENT #62: It was Billy.
DIRECTOR: What was that? Speak up, I can’t hear you.
PATIENT #62: It was Billy and his friend.
DIRECTOR: And who is Billy? Patient Sixty-two, please answer me. Who is Billy?
PATIENT #62: He’s my best friend.
DIRECTOR: Well, that’s nice. Did you enjoy seeing him? I thought it might be nice for you. Did you enjoy it?
(The patient nods.)
DIRECTOR: Were you ashamed for him to see you like this?
(The patient nods.)
DIRECTOR: What do you think he would say if you told him about all the voices you think you hear? Do you think he would believe you?
PATIENT #62: I guess not.
DIRECTOR: Patient Sixty-two, look at me. Did you think he was going to rescue you? Did you think this Billy was going to take you out of here?
PATIENT #62: I guess so.
DIRECTOR: Well, how long has it been since he came?
PATIENT #62: He came today.
DIRECTOR: No, he came three days ago. This is Thursday; he came on Monday.
PATIENT #62: I thought it was today . . .
DIRECTOR: Three days. Patient Sixty-two, I don’t think he’s coming back. Do you?
(The patient is becoming agitated.)
PATIENT #62: I don’t know. I don’t know.
DIRECTOR: Relax, relax, relax.
(The director walks behind the patient and places his hands on her shoulders, then slips one down inside her nightgown.)
DIRECTOR: What’s wrong? Why are you crying?
PATIENT #62: Because.
DIRECTOR: Tell me why, I don’t understand.
PATIENT #62: Director, please stop.
DIRECTOR: Stop what?
PATIENT #62: Please stop touching my breast.
DIRECTOR: I’m not. You’re touching your own breast. Why are you doing that?
PATIENT #62: I’m not.
DIRECTOR: Why are you touching your breast, Patient Sixty-two? Does it
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