'They idolize one another.'
'Do they have a lot of friends?'
'None.'
'None?'
'Sarah's a catholic. I told you-it's a small town....'
'They never see anyone else?'
'Only her family. And his mother.'
'What about his sisters?'
'One lives in alaska. The other is just like everyone else in town.'
'Would you say he hates her?'
'He doesn't hate anyone.'
'What about male friends?'
'There ain't none.'
'What about the bully. and the kid he beat up?'
'One is in prison, the other was killed in lebanon. '
'And he never stops off at a tavern after work for a beer with his fellow knockers?'
'Not any more.'
'He did earlier?'
'He used to joke around with the others, have a beer or two. But whenever he invited someone for supper, they always found some excuse not to come. And no one ever invited him and his family for a barbecue or anything else. After a while he began to get the idea. Now they stick to their trailer most of the time. I tried to tell him this would happen.'
'Sounds like a pretty lonely existence.'
'Not really. Sarah has a million brothers and sisters.'
'And now they're going to buy a house?'
'Maybe. Or build one. They've got their eye on a few acres of land. It's a beautiful spot, a part of a farm that someone split up. It has a stream and a couple of acres of trees. A lovely place. Reminds me of home. Except for the stream.'
'Tell him I hope he gets it.'
'I'll do that, but he still won't tell you his name.'
At that point Mrs. Trexler barged in, out of breath, whispering frantically about a disturbance in the psychopathic ward: Someone had kidnapped Giselle! I quickly hushed her up and reluctantly brought prot back from his hypnotic state, left him with Mrs. T, and took off for the fourth floor.
Giselle! It is hard to express the feelings I had in the few seconds it took me to make it downstairs. I couldn't have been more distressed if it had been Abby or Jenny in the hands of whichever lunatic had grabbed her. I saw her slouched down in my office chair, heard her childish voice, smelled her sweet, piney scent. Giselle! All my fault. All my fault. Allowing a helpless girl to 'cruise the corridors' of the psych ward. I tried not to imagine a pair of hairy arms wrapped around her neck, or worse....
I banged into Four. Everyone was milling around or chatting amiably, some even beginning to return to their regular routines. I couldn't believe how unconcerned they seemed to be. All I could think' of was: What kind of people are these?
The kidnapper's name was Ed. He was a handsome, white, fifty-year-old man who had gone berserk six years earlier and gunned down eight people with a semiautomatic rifle in a shopping mall parking lot. Until that time he had been a successful stockbroker, a model husband and father, sports fan, church elder, six-handicap golfer, and all the rest. Afterward, even with regular medication, he suffered periods of episodic dyscontrol accompanied by significant electrical activity in his brain, which usually ended with utter exhaustion and fists bloodied by pounding them against the walls of his room.
But it wasn't Giselle he had kidnapped. It was La Belle.
I never did find out whether Mrs. Trexler's tongue had slipped or whether I misheard her-I had been worried about Giselle's safety all along. In any case the kitten had gotten into the psychopathic ward, and when the orderlies opened Ed's door to take away his dirty laundry, she slipped inside. It wasn't long before he was banging on the bars of his window and threatening to wring La Belle's little neck unless he could talk to 'the guy from outer space.'
Villers was there to remind me that he had opposed the idea of having animals in the wards, and perhaps he was right-this would never have happened without the kitten and, furthermore, if anything happened to it, the effect on Bess and the others could be quite demoralizing. I thought Ed was bluffing; he was not in one of his violent phases. But I could see no compelling reason not to let him talk briefly with prot, and I asked Betty to send for him. Prot, however, was already there. Apparently he had followed me down the stairs.
There was no need to explain the situation, only to tell him to assure Ed there would be no reprisal if he let the kitten go. Prot, requesting that no one accompany him, headed for Ed's room. I assumed they would talk through the barred window, but suddenly the door opened and prot darted inside, slamming it behind him.
After a few minutes I cautiously approached the window and peered into the room. They were standing over by the far wall, talking quietly. I couldn't hear what they were saying. Ed was holding La Belle, stroking her gently. When he glanced toward me I backed off.
Prot finally came out, but without the kitten. After making sure the security guard had locked Ed's door, I turned to him, puzzled. Anticipating my question, he said, 'He won't harm her.'
'How do you know that?'
'He told me.'
'Uh-huh. What else did he tell you?'
'He wants to go to K-PAX.'
'What did you tell him?'
'I said I couldn't take him with me.'
'What did he say to that?'
'He was disappointed until I told him I would come back for him later.'
'And that satisfied him?'
'He said he would wait if he could keep the kitten.'
'But-'
'Don't worry. He won't hurt her. And he won't cause you any more trouble, either.'
'How can you be so sure of that?'
'Because he thinks that if he does, I won't come back for him. I would anyway, but he doesn't know that.'
'You would? Why?'
'Because I told him I would. By the way, he said as we were walking out together, 'you'll need to find a few more furry beings for the other wards.'
HERE was Howie's final task: to be ready for anything. To respond at a moment's notice to whatever prot, without warning, might challenge him with.
For a day or two he raced at tachyon speed from the library to his room and back to the library-same old Howie. He didn't sleep for forty-eight hours. He was reading Cervantes, Schopenhauer, the Bible. But suddenly, as he was darting past the lounge window where he had spotted the bluebird, he stopped and took his old seat on the ledge. He began to chuckle, then to roar. Pretty soon the whole ward, except perhaps for Bess, was giggling, then the whole hospital, staff and all. The absurdity of prot's charge, that he be ready for anything that might possibly happen, had sunk in.
'It's stupid to try to prepare for life,' Howie told me later, on the lawn. 'It happens, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.' Prot was over by the side wall examining a sunflower. I wondered what he saw in it that we didn't.
'What about your task?' I asked him.
'Que sera, sera, ' he whistled, leaning back to soak up the warm sunshine. 'I think I'll take a nap.'I suggested he think about the possibility of moving to Ward One. 'I'll wait until Ernie's ready,' he said.
The problem was that Ernie didn't want to leave. I had already proposed, at the last staff meeting, that Ernie
