Another woman brought a tray with his soup. She was older, sagging white skin and frightened brown eyes. She approached tentatively, set the tray gently on his lap.

“Thanks.”

She gasped, jerked back.

“It’s okay,” Mortimer said. “I didn’t mean to startle-”

She yelped and ran from the room, waving her hands in the air.

Mortimer blinked. “What the fuck?”

He shrugged and picked up the spoon, filled his mouth with mushroom soup. He spooned fast and slurped. In three minutes, he’d finished the whole bowl. He belched and wiped his mouth on a white cloth napkin.

Ruth entered, smiled at the empty bowl. “Oh, my.”

“I was hungry.”

She held a glass and handed it to him. Water. He drank. It was cool and clean.

Ruth asked, “Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?”

“I’m trying to think of what to ask,” Mortimer said. “Where is this place?”

She frowned. Not angry. A little kid confused. “I told you. Saint Sebastian’s of the Woods.”

He laughed. “But where is that? I know we’re south of Evansville, but I don’t know how far.”

She offered a blank look in return.

“I was on my way to Chattanooga.”

One of her eyebrows went up. “I’ve heard of that town.”

“Uh…maybe I’d better talk to…who did you say was in charge?”

“Mother Lola.”

“A nun?”

The frown again. “None of what?”

“I think I’d better talk to Mother Lola.”

“Oh, that won’t be any problem at all,” Ruth said. “She wants to speak with you too. She says you’ve been sent to us. You’re the talk of the society.”

“What society?”

“The society. All that is everything. Together we are all the society.”

“And when exactly can I see Mother Lola?”

“When she returns.”

“Returns from where?”

“From without the society.”

“Listen, do you have any drugs or whiskey or anything I can have?” asked Mortimer.

“Do you have pain?” Ruth looked alarmed. “I can treat it with acupuncture. I’ve been reading a book on how to do it.”

“Never mind.”

The frightened woman stuck her head in the door again, mouth hanging slightly open as she eyed Mortimer with trepidation.

“It’s okay,” Ruth said. “You can come in.”

She darted in, set Mortimer’s clothing on the foot of the bed and scampered out again.

“She’ll talk your ear off if you let her.”

Ruth laughed.

“Thanks for the soup. I feel better. I think I’d like to get dressed now.”

“Of course.” She didn’t budge.

Mortimer made shooing motions.

Ruth looked toward the door, then back at Mortimer. “Oh.” She left, closed the door with a loud click.

He stripped off his gown, naked underneath, and began to dress. He paused, examined his pants and shirt. They were laundered and pressed. Rips had been sewn with fine stitching. Even the socks had been bleached. Boxers lightly starched. He put it all on and felt like a new man.

His boots hadn’t been returned to him.

Mortimer went to the window and swept the curtains aside. The boarded-up window surprised him, wide planks fastened snugly crossways. Only a thin slice of light between planks told him it was daylight. He wondered how long he’d been asleep. No clocks in the room.

In the bathroom, he urinated, washed his hands and splashed water in his face. He dried himself with a fluffy white towel. The towel smelled fresh, like a meadow, with just a hint of bleach.

He opened the door and found Ruth waiting for him in the hallway. Fluorescent lights, a slight antiseptic odor. It seemed like any hospital he’d ever been in.

“Feeling okay?” she asked.

“Where are my boots?”

“We don’t like to track dirt in from the outside,” Ruth said. “They’re in storage.”

Mortimer noticed Ruth wore fuzzy white bedroom slippers.

“If you’re feeling up to it, I can show you around,” Ruth offered. “I sensed you were curious about the society. I can show you how we live.”

“Sounds good. I am a little curious.”

Her smile radiated innocent pleasure. “This way.” She motioned for him to follow.

They walked the long hall, passed rooms with closed doors. Sleeping quarters, Ruth explained. A woman Mortimer hadn’t seen before passed them, pushing a cart full of clean laundry. She was tall and haggard, late forties with dark circles under her eyes. She wore the same white scrubs and slippers as Ruth. Mortimer wiggled his fingers in a friendly wave. She returned only wide-eyed silence.

They found a stairwell and went down two levels, came out in a wide main corridor.

Mortimer asked, “How big is this place?”

“Three main floors, and then two five-story towers on either side of the garden,” she said. “There are two sublevels, housing the kitchens, laundry and other maintenance facilities, including the power station. Sixty-three thousand, five hundred and sixty square feet all together.”

She sounded like she’d memorized a brochure. Maybe she had.

Ruth led him through a set of wide double doors into a sudden open space, sunlight pouring down on them. Mortimer estimated it was only just after noon. Trees and plants, fat, ripe tomatoes in ceramic pots surrounded by a chest-high wire fence. The temperature was mild, and Mortimer realized they weren’t outside. A huge glass dome arched over them. It was some kind of gigantic arboretum. Completely enclosed, walls rising all around. Mortimer could see blue sky and the towers on either side, but that was all.

An ancient woman tended a dozen goats. There were also chickens and a few ducks. The old woman wore a loose, flowing white gown of light cotton and walked barefoot among the animals. She spotted Ruth and Mortimer, approached and curtsied, her old joints creaking.

“Hello, Ruth. Hello, mister.” Her voice sounded like a rusty hinge.

Ruth smiled. “And how are the goats today, Felicity?”

“My mommy says if I milk them all before dinner I’m to have a treat.”

Mortimer stared at the old woman. What the…?

“You’re a good girl, Felicity. Run along and make sure the goats stay out of the tomatoes this time.”

Felicity trotted back to the goats, tittering, a creepy burlesque of a little girl’s giggle.

Mortimer looked at Ruth. “Is she okay?”

“She has a good way with animals,” Ruth said. “Come on. I have so much to show you.”

Mortimer followed, a little dazed. What is going on here?

They passed through a storage area marked RECREATIONAL EQUIPMENT. Croquet mallets, a Ping-Pong table, Frisbees, horseshoes, a soccer ball and other sporting gear. Mortimer noticed three large archery targets but neither bows nor arrows.

Ruth took him to the first sublevel, where a big hydroponics setup impressed Mortimer. Ruth explained that they grew a variety of sprouts as well as carrots and other vegetables. They had several books on gardening and hydroponics in the hospital library. Gardening had been considered very good therapy during the hospital’s heyday, and they’d started with a good variety of seeds.

They paused to watch a young girl about Ruth’s age plant seedlings into small plastic pots lined in neat rows. She had bland brown hair, pale, sickly skin and bone-thin arms and legs. And white bedroom slippers.

“Hello, Emma.”

“Hello, R-Ruth.”

Ruth said, “This is Mortimer. He’s been sent to us. I’m showing him the ways of the society.”

Mortimer nodded. “Hi.”

Like the others, Emma looked at him like he was from Mars. “H-hello.”

“What have we here?” Ruth picked up one of the seedlings, squinted at it.

“B-banana p-peppers,” Emma said.

“Emma has quite a green thumb.” Ruth passed the seedling to Mortimer.

He looked at it briefly before setting it back on the table. “Great.”

A panicked, high-pitched noise popped out of Emma’s mouth. She bent over the seedling, lined it up exactly with the rest of the seedlings in the row. She examined it from every angle, making sure it was perfectly aligned.