fair for me to lay on them all of my doubts and conflicts, especially when they weren't around to judge the situation for themselves. They would only tell me to do what I thought best.
I wondered how many other patients, either in the clinic or the larger facility, believed with Marl Braxton that my brother was the Messiah, and would begin to act toward him accordingly. I suspected there were quite a few, and the number would grow. Certainly, Garth didn't need that.
All through the night I paced, trying to weigh the obvious risks of taking him out of the clinic against all my other misgivings. I didn't want him in a place where people were thinking he was the Messiah; if he couldn't live with me in his own apartment, then I at least wanted him in a nice, quiet sanitarium where there were no potential conflicts of interest among the staff, where Garth could simply rest, and where I might eventually be able to bring about a change in his musical diet.
I also decided against calling Mr. Lippitt, because he would also have a potential conflict of interest and I did not want him to be put in an embarrassing situation; I didn't want to complain about Slycke and the clinic, and I certainly didn't want to get involved in D.I.A. politics.
All I wanted, I finally decided, was to get Garth someplace else.
Having made my decision, I finally fell asleep just before dawn. I was jarred awake slightly before eight by my telephone ringing-the school calling to ask if I could come in. I declined, thanked them for using me, and expressed regrets that I would not be available for any more assignments; I was taking my brother home with me to New York City.
I made a series of phone calls to check on Garth's rights and mine, and to make preliminary contingent arrangements for Garth's psychiatric treatment in the city. Then I got dressed, ate breakfast, went out into the morning, and headed toward Building 26.
12
'This badge has been cancelled,' the harelipped guard inside the kiosk said as he placed the square of beige plastic I had given him somewhere behind his desk. 'May I have your keys, please?'
'You may not,' I replied curtly as anger-and anxiety-welled up inside me. 'That's a Z-13 badge, in case you didn't notice, and I'm ordering you to give it back to me.'
'It's been canceled. You no longer have authority to enter this building or to carry your keys, Dr. Frederickson.'
'On whose authority was that badge canceled?'
'Dr. Slycke's.'
'He doesn't have that authority!'
'You'll have to take that up with him, sir. Please give me your keys.'
'I'll give them back to the man who gave them to me,' I said as I pointed a trembling finger at the green telephone beside the guard's right hand. 'You call Slycke and get him down here. You tell him that if he won't talk to me right now, a lot of high-level shit is going to hit a high-level fan.'
The guard picked up the phone, dialed a single number; he spoke into it, listened for a few moments, hung up. 'Dr. Slycke will come down to speak to you,' he said in a flat voice.
It took Slycke, accompanied by two burly male nurses I didn't recognize, five minutes to come down from his aerie on the fourteenth floor. In that time, two RPC Security patrol cars had appeared on the scene and were parked ostentatiously on the street at the foot of the walk leading to the entrance.
'Where the hell do you get off canceling my badge, Slycke?!' I shouted at the portly, round-faced psychiatrist as he emerged from the building, squinting against the bright sunlight.
Slycke flushed, swallowed hard. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. 'Your brother has suffered a serious relapse, Frederickson,' he said quietly.
That brought me up short, and suddenly my mouth and throat were very dry. 'What? What do you mean, a relapse? He was fine yesterday.'
'That was yesterday. During the night he lapsed back into a catatonic state which is perhaps worse than the previous one. Now his physical condition is deteriorating. We're monitoring him very closely.'
'Oh, Jesus,' I said as my heart began pounding in my chest. 'Oh, Jesus Christ. Let me see him, Dr. Slycke.'
'I'm afraid that's impossible,' Slycke said stiffly. 'I'm not allowing him any visitors-and especially not you. I canceled your badge because, from the beginning, you have interfered with your brother's medical treatment, and I will no longer have you endangering my patient's health.'
'I didn't put him into a catatonic state, Slycke; I brought him out of the first one.'
'And what we're seeing now may be the price your brother is paying for your interference. The first priority now is to stabilize his physical condition. Then we're going to have to begin all over again with a therapy program. I'm responsible for this man's health, and in my judgment he must be treated in a strictly controlled environment, without any distractions or outside influences.'
'You have no right to cancel my badge,' I said in a trembling voice, fighting against a sudden wave of nausea that made me want to gag. I was thoroughly frightened.
'On the contrary,' the psychiatrist replied tightly. 'This is strictly a clinical decision, Frederickson, not a personal or political one. When you call Mr. Lippitt, as I'm sure you'll do the moment you leave here, he'll tell you that I've acted within my authority, which takes precedence in all medical matters. I'm not barring you as an administrator; I'm barring you as a physician.'
There was something in the other man's voice that just didn't ring true to me. Struggling to contain my fury against Slycke, and my piercing anxiety over Garth, I clenched my fists and glared at the psychiatrist. Slycke refused to meet my gaze. Despite the fact that it was a cool morning, he was sweating through his lab coat.
'My God, you're lying,' I breathed. 'You son-of-a-bitch, you're lying!'
Now Slycke glanced at me; I could see the confirmation in his eyes. . along with not a little fear of his own. He tried-too late-to cover his reaction by spluttering, 'That's preposterous!'
'Prove it to me! I don't want the badge back! Just let me see my brother for five minutes so that I'll know you're telling the truth!'
'How dare you call me a liar!'
'You listen to me, Slycke,' I intoned in a voice I hoped was sufficiently threatening to bring him up short the way he had brought me up short. 'I don't know what games you're playing upstairs, but you're not going to use my brother for them. I don't need to call Mr. Lippitt-at least not until I'm ready to level some pretty heavy accusations against you. My brother wasn't committed here by any court; he was admitted on a voluntary basis, and I was the one who signed the papers. That means I can get him out seventy-two hours after filing official notice that I want him out. When I walk away from here, the first call I make will be to my lawyer. RPC, under whose aegis you operate, will have my official request for Garth's release on file before noon. In three days, exactly at the appointed hour, a private ambulance is going to pull right up to the entrance to this building. Then, no matter what shape my brother is in, he's coming out of there. You got that, pal?'
Slycke's face had gone pale, and the dark pouches beneath his eyes began to quiver. 'I wouldn't do that, Frederickson.'
'Let me go up to see him!'
'I. . can't.'
Struggling to keep my voice and emotions under control, I took a deep breath, slowly let it out. 'Then there's something you should know, Slycke, and I'm saying it in front of these witnesses so that you will most definitely take it as a threat. If anything happens to my brother before that private ambulance can take him away-if he's in any kind of damaged state which I even suspect could have been caused by your games-I am going to take it
