"Perhaps the person I'm seeking isn't exactly what you would call mentally ill," Lucy said. "A different category completely."

"Well," Evans answered briskly, "that may be the case. In fact, it is likely. But what we have here, in abundance, are the latter, not the former."

With that, he gestured, bowing slightly and sweeping his arm in the direction of his own office. "You would still like to examine the files?" he said.

Lucy turned to Peter and Francis. "I need to go do this. Get started, at least. I will meet with you later."

Peter looked angrily at Mister Evans, who did not look back in his direction, but instead, led Lucy Jones down the corridor, dismissing patients who approached him with short, chopping hand motions. It was, Francis thought, a little like a man cutting his way with a machete through the jungle.

"It would be nice," Peter said, under his breath, "if it turned out that that son of a bitch was the man we were hunting for. That would really be special, and would make all this time in here incredibly worthwhile." Then he burst | out in a short laugh. "Ah, well, C-Bird. The world is never that convenient. And '" you know what they say: "Beware of getting what you wish for." " But even as he spoke, he continued to watch Mister Evans as he maneuvered down the hall-|. way. He waited a few moments, and then added, "I'm going to go speak with

Napoleon." Peter sighed. "At least, he will have the eighteenth-century perspective on all this."

Francis would have joined him, but he hesitated, as Peter wheeled and walked swiftly toward the dayroom. In that moment, he saw Big Black leaning up against the wall of the corridor, smoking a cigarette, his white uniform bathed in light that streamed through the windows, so that he glistened. For some reason, the light made Big Black's skin seem even darker, and Francis saw that the attendant had been watching them. He walked over, and the huge man separated himself from the wall, and dropped his smoke to the floor.

"A bad habit," Big Black said. "One that is just as likely to kill you as anything else in here. Maybe. Can't be altogether too sure about that, what with all that's been happening. But don't you go and take it up like everybody else in this place, C-Bird. Lots of bad habits in here. And not much to do about them. You try to keep yourself out of bad habits, C-Bird, and you'll find yourself out of here, sooner or later."

Francis didn't reply. Instead, he watched the attendant stare down the corridor, his eyes fixing on first one patient, then another, but clearly, his real attention somewhere else.

After a moment, Francis asked, "Why do they hate each other, Mister Moses?"

Big Black did not answer this question directly, other than to say, "You know, sometimes, down South where I was born, there were these old women who could sense the weather changing. They were the ones who knew when storms were gonna blow in off the water, and especially, during hurricane season, they were forever walking about, sniffing the air, sometimes saying little chants and spells, sometimes throwing bones and seashells on a piece of cloth. A little like witchcraft, I guess, and now that I am an educated man, living in a modern world, C-Bird, I know better than to believe all those spells and incantations. But, trouble was, they were always right. Storm coming, they knew it long before anyone else did. They were the ones got the folks to bring in the livestock, fix the roof of the house, maybe bottle some water, just for the emergency that no one else could see was coming. But which came, all the same. Makes no sense, when you think about it; makes perfectly good sense, if you don't."

He smiled, and put his hand on Francis's shoulder. "What you think, C-Bird? You look at those two and the way they act and feel that storm coming on, too?"

"I still don't understand, Mister Moses."

The large man shook his head. "Let me say this: Evans, he's got a brother. And maybe what it was that Peter did, maybe that did something to that brother. And so, when Peter came here, Evans made right certain that he was the one in charge of his evaluation. He made sure that Peter knew that whatever it was that Peter wanted, he was going to make damn certain that Peter didn't get it."

"But that can't be fair," Francis said.

"Didn't say something was fair, C-Bird. Didn't say nothing about things being fair, the one way or the other. Only said that's maybe some part of that little bit of trouble that's heading bad, isn't it?"

Big Black removed his hand and stuck it in his pocket. As he did so, the chain of keys on his belt jangled.

"Mister Moses, those keys can you go anywhere in here with them?"

He nodded. "In here. And in all the other dormitories, too. Unlock doors to Security. Unlock dormitory doors. Even get into the isolation cells, too. Want to go out the front gate, Francis? These will help show you the way."

"Who has keys like that?"

"Nursing supervisors. Security. Attendants like me and my brother. Main staff."

"Do they know where all the sets are, at all times?"

"Supposed to. But like everything around here, what they are supposed to do and what really happens might be different things."

He laughed. "Now, C-Bird, you starting to ask questions like Miss Jones and Peter, too. He knows how to ask questions. You're learning."

Francis smiled in reply to the compliment. "I wonder," he said, "if all those sets of keys are accounted for at all times."

Big Black shook his head. "Ain't quite asking that question right, C-Bird. Try again."

"Are any keys missing?"

"Yes. That's the question, isn't it? Yes. Some keys are missing."

"Has anyone searched for them?"

"Yes. But maybe search ain't the right word. People looked in all the real likely places, and then gave up when they didn't find them."

"Who lost them?"

"Why," Big Black said with a grin, "that person would be our very good friend, Mister Evans."

The huge attendant burst out with another laugh, and as he threw his head back, he spotted his smaller brother heading toward them. "Hey," he called out, "C-Bird is starting to figure things out."

Francis saw the nurses stationed behind the wire mesh of the station in the middle of the corridor look up, and smile, as if this was something of a joke. Little Black also grinned, as he sauntered up to the two of them. "You know what, Francis?" he said.

"What's that, Mister Moses?"

"You get the handle on the way this world works," he spoke, gesturing wildly with his arm to indicate the hospital ward. "You get a good solid grip on all this, and I'll tell you the truth, figuring out the world outdoors there, right out there past the walls well, that won't be so hard for you. If you get the chance."

"How do I get that chance, Mister Moses?"

"Now, ain't that the great question, little brother? That's the great big question gets asked every minute of every day in here. How does a gentleman get that chance. There's ways, C-Bird. There's more than one way, at least. But ain't no simple yes and no rules. Do this. Do that. Get a chance. Nope, don't work precisely that way. You've got to find your own path. You'll get there, C-Bird. Just got to see it when it shows itself. That's the problem, ain't it?"

Francis did not know how to respond, but he thought the older brother undoubtedly wrong. And he didn't think he had any ability to understand any world whatsoever. A few of his voices rumbled deep within him, and he tried to listen to what they were saying, because he suspected they had an opinion or two. But as he concentrated, he saw that both attendants were watching him, taking note of the way his own face wore whatever was inside of him and for a moment, he felt naked, as if his clothing had been ripped from him. So, instead, he smiled as pleasantly as he could, and walked off down the corridor, his footsteps keeping quick pace with all the doubts drumming about within him.