"After a while you learn to hold back" says the man in the black suit
"It is necessary to learn", says the passenger in a soft voice.
Both people were in a car and were heading to the prison, the place was known for housing death row inmates, murderers and consequently madmen.
Arthur said to Harry, "Have you heard a lot about this place?"
"It's a penitentiary with a lot of people with psychiatric problems, that's all I know." answer Harry
"For alienated criminals," said Arthur.
"Well, we wouldn't be here if they weren't," replied Harry.
Harry looks through the windshield towards the direction where the offenders' detention would be and asks "What about the man we're going to interview?"
Arthur replies, "I don't know much about it. I have your name in my notebook. I think they'll give us all the details of the case when we get there."
Harry surveyed the immense expanse around him. "Whatever happens to this man, he couldn't get far."
Arthur shrugged. "It seems that prisoners are subject to all sorts of hallucinations."
Harry looks at the driver and asks "Are they schizophrenic?"
The man looks sideways between the road and the passenger and replies, "I think some do. Anyway, we're not going to find here the Mongoloids we usually pass on the street or any guy who's afraid of cracks in the sidewalk, or who sleeps too much." He straightens up and looks at the road and continues "From what I can gather from the report, most of the inmates are normal and are in prison for petty crimes but there are some insane inmates. There are even some ending their time on death row."
---
They arrived at the location determined by the gps. It was on a slope and the beach looked as if it had been battered by the sea for the last few nights; it was covered with shells and pieces of wood washed up by the tide, there were carcasses of molluscs and dead fish already half-eaten by the scavengers of the region, whatever they were. Arthur also saw debris, no doubt blown away by the strong wind—soaked tins and wads of paper, a license plate that had ended up in the trees, the numbers faded in the sunlight.
In front of the McPherson penitentiary, the deputy director went to receive them. He was quite young for the position he held, had black hair a little longer than usual, and moved with a casual grace that Arthur associated with the way of Texans or men who lived with horses growing up.
When asked, Arthur and Harry showed their badges, both were Agents. McPherson studied them for a long time, blinking his eyes, comparing the photos with the faces.
"I don't think I've ever seen a badge before," he said.
McPherson signed the receipt on a clipboard and shaking his head said, "Well, we can go."
McPherson led them up a gentle slope through the trees. After passing through the trees, they walked along a paved road, which curved into a smile, and Arthur saw a house on his left and a house on his right. The one on the left was more modest: Victorian, with a mansard roof, black-painted woodwork, small windows that looked like sentries. The one on the right, in Tudor style, dominated, like a castle, the small rise on which it stood.
They continued walking, climbing a very steep slope, covered with grasses, and then they came to a milder, greener relief, which flattened out at the top. Here the grass was lower and bordered on the traditional lawn, which stretched for hundreds of meters, until it was interrupted by an orange brick wall, which seemed to follow the entire contour of the island. Reaching about ten feet high, it was surmounted by a single electrical wire, and the sight of that lone wire struck Arthur, without his understanding why. He felt a sudden pity for the people on the other side of the wall, who well knew the meaning of the wire and realized how much the world wanted to see them confined. Arthur saw several men in dark blue uniforms outside the wall, their heads bowed, scanning the ground. Harry said: "Prison guards in a jail with some inmates with no mental health is pretty weird, if I may say so, Mr McPherson."
This is a maximum security jail," McPherson said. "We are governed by dual statutes: the State Department of Mental Health and the Department of Federal Prisons."
After the quick walk they came to a large gate. One of the servants used a key to open the gate in the middle of the wall. The gate swung open, servants pushed their wheelbarrows in, and two guards approached McPherson, one on his left, one on his right.
McPherson straightened up, assuming an absolutely formal posture, and said, "Now I would like to present the situation to you in general terms."
"You will be entitled to all the services we can provide and all the collaboration that is within our reach. During your stay here, however brief it may be, you will obey the regulation. Are we understood?" Ask the man.
Arthur nodded, and Harry said, "Fully."
McPherson fixed his gaze on a spot above their heads. "Of course Dr. Wesley will explain the more specific points to you, but I would like to draw your attention to the following: it is forbidden to make contact with patients in this hospital unless monitored. Do you understand?"
"Pavilion A of this hospital is the building behind me, on my right. It's the male pavilion. The female pavilion is pavilion B, on my left. Pavilion C is after those cliffs, behind this complex and the staff quarters, in the premises of an old fort. Access to pavilion C is prohibited, unless you have a written order and the physical presence of the director and Dr. Wesley, understood?"
New head movements.
McPherson held up his massive hand, palm up. "I request you to hand me your firearms."
Harry looked at Arthur. Arthur shook his head and said looking between his hand and the man. "Mr. McPherson, we are federal agents, lawfully constituted. As such, we are required to carry our firearms, whatever the circumstances."
McPherson's voice whipped the air like a steel cable. "Article three hundred and ninety-one of the Federal Code of Penitentiaries and Hospitals for the Dangerous Patients determines that the obligation to carry a weapon, imposed on a police officer, admits an exception: when there is an order to the contrary by the immediate superior or persons in charge of the management and protection of prison or psychiatric institutions. Here you are included in this exception. You will not be allowed to pass these gates carrying firearms."
Arthur looked at Harry. Harry bowed his head to McPherson's outstretched hand and shrugged.
Arthur said: "We request that this exceptional situation be officially registered".
McPherson said: "Guard, please proceed to record the suspension of use of weapons for Agents Arthur and Harry.
"Suspension is registered." "Gentlemen," McPherson said. The guard to McPherson's right opened a small leather pouch and McPherson held out his hand again.
They both took out their weapons and handed them to Pherson where he placed them in the bag which he handed to the guard.
"The weapons will be kept in the room next to the principal's," McPherson said softly, the words rustling like leaves, "located in the main building in the middle of the park. You'll have them back later in the day." His casual cowboy smile returned. "Well, as far as official business is concerned, I think that's enough for now. I don't know about you, but for my part, I'm glad it's over. How do you feel about going to see Dr. Wesley?"
He turned and, followed by the others, passed through the gate, which closed behind them.
Within the area encircled by the wall, the lawn stretched on either side of the main path, paved with bricks that matched the wall. Gardeners tended the grass, trees, flower beds, and even a row of rose bushes planted along the hospital's outer walls. They were flanked by servants, and Arthur saw some prisoners, identified in their orange jumpsuit, wandering around with a strange duck-like gait. There were many men and a few women.
"When the first doctors arrived," McPherson said, "this was just grass and weeds. You'll see the pictures. But now.."
To the right and left of the hospital stood two identical colonial-style houses—with windows and doors painted a bright white, barred windows, panes yellowed by salt and sea air. The building was charcoal-colored, with the bricks softened by the sea air. And from the top of its five floors, the attic windows seemed to gaze out over the newcomers.
McPherson said: "It was built to serve as battalion headquarters, just before the Civil War. Apparently, they intended to make this a training base here. So, as war approached, they concentrated all efforts on building the fort, and later turned it into a prison camp."
"Fascinating," commented Harry. He lit a cigarette, then took it from his lips to stifle a small yawn, blinking in the sunlight
They went around the back of the compound, found more gardeners and servants, many of whom were weeding the dark earth along the back wall.
"Wesley is a true legend in his field," McPherson was saying as they turned around, directing them to the building's entrance. "First student in his class at Harvard, he published his first paper on neurological pathologies at the age of twenty. He was consulted several times by the most renowned mental institutions."
They climbed the stairs and crossed the marble lobby, whose ceiling formed a dome above them. As they approached, a grate clattered open, and they entered a large anteroom where there were two clerks, one on the right, the other on the left, behind desks, facing each other. In front of the newcomers, beyond a second railing, stretched a long corridor. Arthur and Harry had to take off their badges again and show them to the clerk on duty near the stairs, who did the usual checks, while McPherson wrote their names on a register. Behind the clerk was a barred cubicle, occupied by a man in a uniform similar to the director's. Several sets of keys hung on the wall behind him. The three went up to the first floor, entered a corridor that smelled of wax. Underfoot, the oak floor gleamed in the white light from a large window at the end of the hall.
"It's a lot of security," Arthur commented.
"We took every precaution," McPherson said.
"You have to consider the fact..." McPherson said, turning his attention to Arthur, as they passed several rooms, all with closed doors, with the doctors' names inscribed on small silver plates, "... that there is no United States, there is no establishment that compares to this one. We have inmates with very serious problems. We accept those that no other establishment is able to deal with."
They stopped in front of a double door. On a metal plate fixed in the middle of the door on the right, it read
DR. J. WESlEY, CHIEF PHYSICIAN
Phersorn opens the door and everyone enters. Dr. Wesley was very thin, almost skeletal. He didn't quite look like the sacks of bone and gristle but he sure as hell was in need of a good meal. His little black eyes, very sunken, emanated a somber atmosphere that seemed to spread over his entire face. Wesley's skin was riddled with acne scars, and his cheeks were so hollowed out they looked like they'd been sucked out of his body.
Nevertheless, Dr. Wesley had an explosive, animated smile that brimmed with a confidence capable of lighting up the iris—with that smile he toasted them at that moment, as he walked around the desk to go, hand outstretched, to greet them.
"Arthur and Harry," he said. "Thanks for coming."
He shook the men's hands with a "Nice to meet you." The smile faded from his lips, and he said to McPherson, "Well, you've done your bit. Thank you very much."
"It's been a pleasure, gentlemen," he said to the newcomers, and left the room.
Wesley leads the Agents to another room. The room looked like a conference room, with a large wooden table in the center and a few chairs, from which Wesley sits smiling and says, "Did the senator expose the situation to you?"
Arthur and Harry looked at each other as they sat down. Arthur said: "We had no contact with any senator, Doctor. The Federal Department entrusted us with this mission."
Wesley put his elbows on the table, folded his hands, rested his chin on them, and stared at them over the rims of his glasses. "Excuse me, our fault. What did you say exactly?
We know that a prisoner is under a "Special Condition". Arthur placed a notebook on his thigh and flipped through the pages. "A certain Brannan Axelson."
"And that we were supposed to help him come to terms with a situation we still didn't quite understand," said Harry.
"Correct." Wesley says "I believe you could infer from the report that this penitentiary also caters to criminals with psychological problems." The doctor adjusts himself in his chair "The man in question is a war veteran suffering from PTSD, he killed a police officer whose wife was pregnant. His time on death row is ending." The doctor looks between the agents "He has other disorders which make him extremely violent, in his time here he attacked 8 guards, the most aggressive patient we've ever had. As you can see in the corridors, if it weren't for that fact, we would have less policing here."
The Medic waits a few moments to continue talking, so that there is not too much information in the Agents' heads. "Unfortunately Brannan never showed any signs of improvement, which makes us have to make a drastic turn in what we've done. Your main objective is to deal with the federal bureaucracy"
"Does that mean we just have to sign some paperwork?" Speak Harry
"I refuse to help murderers, let alone cops." Claims the most experienced agent
"He knew what happened to his behavior when he was angry but it's not sure if he made a conscious decision to kill him" Wesley replies "
Arthur mutters to himself with his head down "Amazing how he manages to separate" he looks up and says to the doctor "I think there's a difference between fixing as bad as it is and murdering"
"Difference yes, not absolution." the doctor promptly responds.
"What's defensible about that?" Ask the agent.
"I'm not defending. Just one question: can an irrational be held responsible for the actions of a rational?" asks the doctor.
To which Arthur retorts "Perhaps the need for government acceptance would have been greater than any moral limit."
"We have no way of knowing but it's incredibly recognizable that there is a deep connection between his mental state and the crime. What I'm saying is that he's sick, otherwise would he have progressed to murder?" Wesley asks.
The question hangs in the air which makes the room silent for a few seconds when Harry interrupts the quick monotomy stating "I've been wondering if we should think about our tactics."
Wesley takes a cigar that has always been on the table and lights it with a match, and looks at harry replying "I personally would choose not to talk about the murder. Brannan also talks openly about his mental illness. If you take it easy you can even talk about the murder. your past."
Harry says "But what exactly do we have to do?"
Wesley puts the cigar to his lips and says, "As I was saying, we live under the rule of law which means that most of what we do here requires authorization from both the involved party and the federal state." After expelling the smoke from his mouth he continues " The main issue is that we will be sending him to another place, a place so far away that it will no longer be governed by our laws, imagine throwing a man into a dimensional hole where we are not sure what is and where it will stop"
"But won't he die in a short time?" asks the most experienced agent.
"That's the point, there's a huge chance that he will die in the process of transitioning from this place to the other and when that happens you will help us to make the documents." Answer the doctor.
Harry who was paying attention leans back in his chair and says "I think I get it, as he hasn't improved you are sending him to another location but if he dies it will be considered his capital death."
"Correct..." says the doctor.
"When can we see him?" asks Arthur
"In the time you prefer, the faster the better. If you want to go now I'll take you to the official who guided you to his cell" Wesley replied standing up.
Both Agents get up "I think we can go now" says harry.
The men were led by the doctor out of the building and went towards pavilion C, and inside they walked through corridors passing through several bars and as they walk they hear the sounds of prisoners complaining about the presence of men in suits but in the region where they were practically it was not audible for the detainees to grumble about their situation.
"Where we are is a relatively remote area where prisoners are held in this complex" Dr. Wesley says as if he knows what the Agents were thinking.
They arrived at the end of the corridor where there is an employee sitting behind a desk and his back has a cell door.
"Mr. Ganton," Wesley said. "These are the gentlemen I told you about." Arthur and Harry shook Ganton's hand. "Mr. Ganton has worked with us for many years. He IS the head of the servants. He was the one who took Brannan to his room last night." Wesley looks at Arthur as if wanting him to progress the conversation with the clerk.
"We came to see Brannan." says Arthur.
Ganton gets up from his chair a little shaken because rarely does anyone ask to see the man and says "Wait a minute" and opens the cell door and goes through some more corridors until he gets to where the prisoner was.
Brannan was an old man, 66 years old, however he has a body weight between thin and obese 1 which gave the appearance of about 50 and he had a beard and gray hair. If it weren't for his dead, tired voice people would think he was somewhere around 45 years old. He was sitting setting up a voice recorder, slow motion. He always tried to occupy his mind with anything but that was no guarantee that he would escape his torment. The images jumped in his consciousness extremely quickly, no more than half a second and this happened all the time, even now where he is passing the copper wire so that the electric current flows through the device, images of corpses whitened by decomposition appear and disappeared. Even when he presses the button to check if it's working, the smell of rotting meat doesn't come out of his nose.
When Ganton enters the cell the audio player is working, a slow, finished voice that anyone listening could only associate with one person, Brannan. "The use of reason is to justify the dark desires that drive our conduct... impulses... passions" the tape was interrupted before finishing what it had to say, showing that it still needed repairs.
"There are people who need to talk to you."
Brannan, who was sitting in the chair with his back to Ganton, looks sideways at the clerk, perhaps wanting to see his facial expression. He takes a few moments before slowly speaking "Later, I will see them"
----
Harry had just asked how many psychic prisoners there are in the institution to which Dr Wesley replies "12, and most are minor criminal patients."
"How many prisoners are there in total?" ask Arthur
"658 if we count those who arrived at the end of this month."
Ganton arrives at the grid that separates the corridor where the employee is from the corridor where the Agents are and says "He doesn't want to come,will have to wait"
"We'll stay here, let him know when he's ready." Arthur tells Arthur that after the answer the clerk turns around and goes down the hall perhaps going again to check on the convict.
"So how's it going to work?" says Harry
"If 'how will it work' you mean how we will transport it to another location is simple. I assume you are aware of the evolution of atomic science. In recent years it was discovered how to 'manipulate' an atom, in reality they only managed to open the center of certain specific atoms which opens a hole in its almost zero mass and it is precisely this 'hole' where it enters. It is not a hole literally, in fact we will give ourselves an injection for the nucleus of the atoms to expand. Brannam will become transparent and disappear like a light being slowly turned off"
"But how will you bring him back?" asks Harry with his arms crossed.
"We're not sure yet but we're trying some methods."
Wesley notices that there's someone coming, a figure heading towards them, the dr's to be more specific. Without waiting for her to arrive, he goes to the figure who seems to discuss quickly and in a worried way leading the way that as far as the Agents knew was the exit from the pavilion.
Ganton appears again and says "He's ready." and opens the grate gate for the Agents to pass and follow the employee to a room with nothing but a desk, two chairs behind the small table and one in front. Arthur and Harry sit in the two chairs, they wait for a few minutes and hear footsteps in the distance with the rustle of chains. They soon deduced that he was the man they were waiting for and because of the anxiety Arthur puts his arms around.
A few more steps and the sound of a cell opening is heard, it was Ganton bringing the prisoner, handcuffed at the wrists and ankles. Seeing the man Arthur says "Uncuff him" Harry looks at Arthur with a look between confused disapproval and acceptance.
Ganton uncuffs Brannam's wrists but not from his ankles, still with his arms crossed he says "All." which the clerk takes a few seconds to comply with and after uncuffing him, Ganton goes to the corner of the room.
Brannan was on his feet, staring adamantly at the term men seated behind his desk. His silence causes Arthur to say "I'm Special Agent Arthur, he's Special Agent Harry. It's not an interrogation Mr. Brannam, we're interested in your current status."
Brannam continues to stand still, looking at them which makes Harry uncomfortable "We want to hear from you, with your words, what happened." says harry adjusting himself in his chair.
Brannam remains still for a few moments and decides to walk towards the Agents' desk where he had his chair. With long strides that made a heavy sound from his shoes he approached the seat and slowly sat down. He doesn't say anything, waiting for the men in front of him to take the initiative.
Arthur puts his elbows on the table and intertwines his fingers with his hands on the table and says "Over the years the justice has charged you with several crimes but changed several main points. But no matter what they say, you keep the same story."
At the end of the sentence Brannam already answers looking directly at Arthur "Because my truth is simple. And yours is complicated."
The agent raises an eyebrow and asks "Complicated how?"
"You don't realize it, but the only truth is the now. The now is the only real thing" Brannam replies firmly in his voice.
Arthur responds looking at Harry "We're more interested in yesterday. How it met, influenced and indoctrinated it"
He is interrupted in speech by the inmate " 'Indoctrinated', c'mon man."
Harry then asks "How did it start?"
Brannam says with her attention to Harry, "Those people you call unity were children you didn't want." He turns to Arthur and continues evenly, "Which they discarded like garbage. I picked them up from the side of the road and said: there's nothing wrong with rational."
"Reasoning? Is that what you taught them?" asks rhetorically Arthur still with his fingers crossed with his hand on the table.
Brannam waits a few seconds before answering and says tilting his head "Are you a family man, Agent?"
"I am" quickly replies the agent
"It is?" says Brannam in uniform with Arthur's response. He quickly points to the guard "So is he, with the keys and the gun. His children are taught. They learn his beliefs and live by them." Brannam continues looking at the Agent with his firm voice "And you teach your kids. Look at yourself, judge the lies you live. These kids come at you with a knife, they're your kids.
Arthur replies, with a contemptuous expression, "They were your followers, Brannam. You gave them the knife.
"You taught them." Immediately answers Brannam. "It wasn't me. I just tried to help them up." He puts his hands on the body and asks in a sarcastic voice "Am I to blame for what your children do? Your children, that you neglected"
"We know the unit didn't act without your approval," says Arthur without moving.
Brannam chuckles, "If you know, you know. You don't need to talk to me. You need to talk to yourselves."
Arthur lets out his breath and leans back in his chair without saying anything. Harry takes over the conversation and says "In the summer of '89 you said 'It's time for Ragnarok.' To start a race war by murdering the rich.
The man interrupts "This is the prosecutor's fantasy, it's his fear. It's a reflection of his fear.
Arthur, who had taken a cigarette, hastily grabs a report inside an envelope, throws it on the table and says "So this never happened?"
"I'm not saying it didn't happen. The guy who wrote these writings is a genius. He's got everything a prosecutor would want, he just doesn't have one thing, a case. So he puts military traitors on the stand. They tell a sad story about having lied and cheated and done every dishonest thing he can remember." He keeps looking at Harry "But it doesn't matter. Now you're telling the truth." He says sarcastically looking from one to the other "They don't have ulterior motives, like immunity for multiple murders."
"So all the witnesses lied?" asks Arthur with his back against the seat.
Brannam promptly responds with her head tilted towards the agent and her voice high-pitched, "Each witness testified what was best for her." Arthur puts the cigarette in his mouth and the man concludes looking at Harry "Do you believe this 'bewildered murderers' crap?
Harry responds, "'Deconstruct the pigs' I admit that seemed to be his vision.
"There is no vision" Brannam looks at Arthur who has the cigarette in his mouth and writing something with his left hand "Maybe I had opinions about races and their drawbacks." he turns back to Harry "I don't remember talking about race war"
"When did that become history?" asks Harry
Brannam puts his hand on his knee making his elbow make an angle " They started getting more money. They gave content so that the media will publish whatever perversion they want to publish. The prosecution went to court with this version so stupid that it was later dropped 'Brannam: The most dangerous man alive.' He quickly points to the report on the table and says, "These texts gave me so much power, that with one look, I stopped his watch. I sat in my cell thinking, 'Damn! Am I everything they say? I almost believed that crap. " He looks at Arthur who seems calmer now "I've been staring at every watch I see. And you know what? As much as I look, it never stops"
"You had a group isolated in remote regions and you convinced them and had them killed." says Arthur, still leaning.
"There's a circle where a man lives. He's responsible for his circle and that circle only." Brannam says energetically, moving his arms in a circle for emphasis, he continues, "It was hard to tell if the limbs were at the end of a wave or entering another. At the time we were advancing inside. We were learning, but that changed. They went out, created their own circles. And now you want to play 'Jesus loves me'? The blood of the lamb, the game of right and wrong that we played 2000 years ago?"
"Right and wrong is a game?" question arthur
"There is no right and wrong. Things are as they are. Life is as it is. Right and wrong have nothing to do with it" the man promptly replies.
"The murder of a police officer is simply 'Is that what it is?' " to ask the agent rhetorically.
"But it is, isn't it?" and after the sentence Brannam gives a slight sarcastic laugh and continues "Nobody ever dies, nobody ever lives. It's two words in a game left.
Arthur says dropping his cigarette on the floor with total contempt and asks Harry "How much of this shit do you still intend to hear?"
Brannan immediately says to the Agent with his head bowed "You need to walk down a different street. Put your clothes inside out and let them laugh at you."
"You are a coward who killed a police officer who had a pregnant wife." says Arthur with anger in his voice.
Brannam says in a slightly sarcastic voice "yeah, you eat meat with your teeth, kill better things than you and say your children are murderers."
"You shit killer" says almost arthur almost spitting.
Harry says in a low voice "Arthur" as if to reprimand him for his sentence.
Brannam chuckles looking at Harry and turns back to Arthur in a more serious tone "This anger you're feeling, Agent Arthur, it's all yours. Go take it out on someone else. I'm tired of being your punching bag. I'm tired of being your reflection."
"You are not my reflection"
"I always have been. I've been in your cell since I was 17. I don't even have a name. I'm B-33920. A bell rings." Brannam stands up abruptly from his chair making a little self-conscious sound and moves his arms energetically and speaks evenly, "I stand up. A bell rings. I leave. A bell rings. I do what the signal says. I'm Pavlov's dog. I'm the whatever you want me to be." He sits in the chair and bows his head and continues in a lower voice, "But what you want is a monster, because that's what you are. I never had a voice in your world, you created it. How do you feel about those deaths? that's what counts. It happened in your world, not mine."
Arthur tilts his head with an expression of anger and disgust "What counts is having killed an innocent."
Brannam remains unchanged "Now you can throw it on my back. You can lock me in your penitentiary. You can say your world is better. But prison is the way of thinking. We are our prisons, our jailers, we serve our time, in the mind. Can't you see that I'm free?
"It doesn't feel free to me-"
"You don't look like it to me." Brannam interrupts "You look like an outline of something you've been told you are. You live by people's opinions, you have pain all over your face and you wonder if you look good."
"Enough" Arthur gets up and starts packing his things in his suitcase with the clear intention of leaving and quickly leaves, making his partner follow him.
As they walked the halls and passed the bars the only thing said was "let him go to hell"
----
The two Agents had easily reached the outside of the penitentiary and were nimbly in close proximity to the car. Arthur was sitting on the hood with his arms crossed and a frown showing his displeasure over the situation. "Listen harry" said the slightly older man catching the boy's attention. "I'm officially off this case. In fact, I'm leaving today."
"The situation is really very difficult but I intend to stay and see how far it goes" replies harry
Arthur gets off the hood and unfolds his arms, showing himself much calmer now and says opening the vehicle door "I know what I do and I've thought about it and I believe that whatever I do, it won't change anything." He finishes the Agent inside the car and his hand on the steering wheel.
"But what about your weapon? And how am I going to get back?" asks harry.
Arthur starts the car and says "I can send a driver to pick you up." he turns the steering wheel to the street and starts to loosen the pedal "The guns were safe inside. Legally they can't transfer them anywhere."
Harry gives a nod and Arthur finishes before leaving "See you in the capital"
--
After the "interview" Brannam was taken to his cell by two police officers, one on each arm. All the cells were common, white walls, iron door with a glass at head height to have a view of the outside corridor, but their peculiarity was their location. There were other cells but they were all empty. Brannam was led through the narrow 200-meter-long corridor with no living soul except the prisoner. The only sound audible in the 50 meter perimeter was his handcuffs and the sound of the guards' footsteps, a sound that hurt him inside. After removing his handcuffs and being put in his cell, they lock him up. For surveillance purposes, a camera and a loudspeaker were installed in the hallway, which were monitored remotely by a security guard. The guard, after seeing the detainee being placed in the cell, puts on a relaxing song, a melody that could spend long hours listening without realizing the time fly.
Brannam was standing, looking through the glass of the cell door at the loudspeaker playing the music, motionless. Maybe that song was to calm the tension of an interview or maybe it was for some other random reason, uncertainty was always a constant in his life.
After a while he turns around, putting his back to the wall and sits on the floor with the back of his head pressed against the wall, standing almost a few inches to the left of the door. He feels a hand on the glass in the door, a sense of presence. The hand taps the glass a few times, Brannam doesn't react. Brannam doesn't look but feels that she is outstretched in a fist, waiting for more knocks. After a few seconds the hand beats again, more insistently. Brannam never turned around to see what it was, as torturous as it was. He knew perfectly well what it was, it was something he could never fail to recognize as being: his mind.
For some reason the cell is darker. He feels the presence of a being inside the cell, the bipedal figure is watching him, the black figure walks and disappears. It was not a physical sensation but a psychological one, a place between waking dream and consciousness. Then the hand punches the glass that breaks the window and the crash of the shattering glass stirs Brannam's mind, making images of blood pop in his head, everything in flash with several lights, forests, men laughing, animals with extremely sharp teeth. , eyes staring at him. As soon as they came, the images were gone. Brannam didn't need to look at the door to see whether or not the glass had been broken. Everything was normal, the same cell as always. The music had ended, he had the impression that it had been interrupted for quite some time.
Something catches your eye, it was the door opening. He knew that this was real.
It was Harry entering. He wasn't wearing a suit, he was wearing a casual outfit. Maybe he had a day or two since the initial contact.
Quickly an employee enters and puts the chair and leaves to leave the two alone. Harry says "In case you don't remember me, I'm Agent Harry" He sits in the chair and says "I'll try to get you out of here."
Brannam, who was standing leaning against the wall, puts himself in front of the Agent and continues to stand "You want to hear about my 'they', don't you?
"What?" asks harry putting the clipboard in his lap, wanting to understand what he's talking about.
"My them, because every paranoid schizophrenic has 'they' or 'others'. That's what the masses believe."
Harry takes his pen out of his pocket and asks "I want to know how you got here"
The man puts his back to the wall again and says "Things are dark out there" he says with a sarcastic tone, a little joke with the fact that it's night. "Do you think it's hot here?" he says in a sarcastic-derogatory tone, giving the impression that he's pissing off the Agent, as if he wants to convey a message that Harry understands to be "Are you going to stick with random questions or get straight to the point?"
"it's an oven" answers harry with a slight smile. He gets more serious when he starts saying "Brannam, I've finished the paperwork, you don't need to stay here anymore. If you accept the final condition of your rehabilitation, it's possible that your execution will be canceled if it's well evaluated by the analysts when you return"
Brannam doesn't respond, remaining still.
Harry opens his briefcase and takes out a carton that contains blue pills. He says "If you accept to take them, you will sleep and we will transfer you to another place. We have no set time back and we don't know where you will go. These are the advantages and disadvantages of the offer.
"Has everything happened tonight?" question Brannam
"Yes, tonight." answer Harry
Brannam approaches the Agent, looks at the card for a few moments and takes it. "May your will be done." the man speaks.
"Great decision" says Harry getting up and heading for the door.
Brannam gives a nod and says to the Agent "We will be meeting again very soon, Agent."
Harry nods and leaves.
Brannam swallows the pill dry and lies on the floor mattress, patiently waiting for the substance to take effect in his brain so that he sleeps, this being the only way for this man to actually sleep.