The Hollow City (7 page)

I grumble and shake my head, feeling the nervous flurry rising in my chest. “Not them, it’s … I’m not crazy, okay? All I wanted was to get away. I didn’t hurt anyone, I just left, and I need to leave again before they get what they want—”

“What do they want?”

“I don’t know!”

“Excuse me,” says a woman—the doctor from the therapy session—“is there a problem?”

“I’m fine,” I say, struggling to calm down. I can’t let them see me like this—I’m not crazy. “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t we go to your room, alright?” asks the doctor. She helps me to my feet. “You’re doing great, Michael, you’re not in any trouble, we’re just going to have a little rest.”

“I don’t need a rest.”

“I know you don’t, but some of the other patients do, and we don’t want to disturb them with shouting.”

“Wait,” I say, “I have one more—”

I turn to ask Kelly a question, but she’s gone.

SIX

THE DRUGS, AS FAR AS
I can tell, do nothing. It’s been a week now—seven days—and I’ve had no more visits from Lucy or the reporter. I’ve tried to contact my secret ally, whoever he is, but he doesn’t answer. I’m alone.

They give me oatmeal, they give me pills, they come and they go. The doctor who took me back to my room, Linda Jones, invites me to her therapy sessions, but I’m too smart for that. She’s just trying to get me into the corner where the TV can mess with my head.

I’ve cataloged every electronic device in the secured wing: a computer and a TV in the nurses’ station, an electric lock on the gate, a TV and an analog clock on the commons room wall, a digital clock in every bedroom, two security cameras in the main hall, two smoke alarms in the main hall, and another smoke alarm in the restroom. Every angle is covered; every corner is filled. There’s nowhere They can’t see me.

When I pour water on my digital clock they replace it; that’s how I know that it worked. If I ever need to disappear again, I can kill the clock with just a little cup of water.

On the seventh day I’m standing in the hall, watching Devon on the far side of the room. Is he watching me? Is he real—is his face real? He smiles, and the muscles move believably under the skin. Another nurse walks past me toward the gate, and I turn to watch as she types in the code on the keypad: 6, 8. She shifts to the side and I lose my view; the gate clicks open and she walks out, closing it firmly behind her. 6 and 8. How many more numbers are there? The nurse turns a corner out of sight and another form steps into view—a Faceless Man, tall and straight in a slim gray suit, standing just beyond the gate. He looks at me—even with no eyes I can tell he’s looking straight at me, his face a distorted blur. I don’t move, and neither does he.

Something touches my shoulder and I spin around, frightened, but it’s only Devon.

“Someone’s here to … whoa, Mikey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“There’s someone there.” I spin back, pointing at the Faceless Man, but he’s gone, and in his place are two men standing just beyond the gate, their faces calm and normal, their suits black instead of gray. “He was right there,” I say, stepping forward anxiously. I try to see behind the men, but I feel the buzz of the computer monitor and shy back. I look at Devon. “Did you see him?” I look back at the men in the hall. “He was right there—did you see him? You must have walked right past him!” I’m shouting now. “He was a man without a face—did you see him?”

The men look at each other, and one of them, an Asian man, raises an eyebrow. They think I’m crazy.

“Easy, Mikey, there’s nobody there. Okay? Just take it easy.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy.” I’m supposed to be convincing them I’m sane, not freaking out like this. “It was just … a joke, Devon, it was just a joke.” That’s a stupid line, of course he won’t believe it. I crane my neck to see over the men to the hall beyond. The Faceless Man might be just out of sight behind a corner.

“These are the men I told you about,” says Devon, walking to the gate. I hear the beeps as he punches in the code, but they all sound the same; I can’t guess the numbers from the sounds. The men come through and Devon closes the gate behind them. “They’re here to see you, Michael, they’re from the FBI.”

My blood grows cold.

“I’m Agent Leonard,” says the tall one, and points to the Asian. “This is my partner, Agent Chu. We’d like to have a word with you if we could.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“We never said you did.”

“You think I’m the Red Line Killer, that’s why you’re here, but I’m innocent—I’ve never killed anybody. I’ve never even hurt anybody.”

“We just want to talk to you,” says Agent Chu. “We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

Devon stands next to me. “He’s not exactly … healthy … right now. I don’t know what you expect to learn from him.”

“Dr. Little explained his condition when we spoke with him,” says Agent Leonard. “We understand that he’s crazy—”

“We don’t use that word,” says Devon quickly.

“I apologize,” says Leonard. “Is there a room we could go to?”

Devon leads them to one of the private therapy rooms, a small room with a round table and a ring of plastic chairs. I don’t follow, but Devon comes back and pulls me toward it, coaxing me with a promise of candy.

“Does that work on the other patients?” I ask.

“Just come on,” says Devon, “they’re not going to hurt you, they just want to ask you some questions.”

I stand in the doorway, bracing myself against the wall so he can’t push me in. “Cell phones out first.”

“What?”

“No cell phones, no recorders, no electronic devices of any kind,” I say. “You want to talk to me, I want to make sure they’re not listening.” Unless the whole room is already wired—who knows what that man in the hall was doing here.

“Is it alright if we just turn them off?” asks Agent Chu. I stare at him, wondering if he’s part of it—if you take off his face, would he look like the other man in the hall? But no—even faceless, I feel like I can recognize them, and this man is different. They both are. I nod, and they turn off their phones.

I slip in carefully and sit down, pulling my chair to the door so I can run if I need to. Devon comes in as well, closing the door behind him.

“Let’s start by saying that this is not an interrogation,” says Agent Leonard. “We know about your condition, we know about the hallucinations and delusions, we know that everything you say here might be completely imaginary. Nothing you say today will be used as evidence against you, okay? We just want to ask you some questions.”

I sit still, waiting. After a moment he speaks again.

“You say you see Faceless Men,” he says. “Can you please describe them?”

“Why, do you know about them? That’s what this is, isn’t it—you’re FBI, you know all about the conspiracy.” I look at Devon, grinning. “I told you they were real.”

“Please just describe them, Michael, so that we know we’re on the same page.”

“They’re … men without faces.”

“I need you to be more specific than that. If the face is gone, what’s there instead?”

“Nothing.”

“There has to be something—even a hole is ‘something.’”

“It’s not a hole,” I say, “it’s like their face is just … blank. There’re no features, no eyes and nose and mouth.”

Agent Chu passes his hand over his face. “You mean just smooth skin?”

“It’s more like a … like a blur,” I say. “Like a smear.”

“Red?”

“It’s skin-colored,” I say, “not blood or anything like that. Their faces aren’t destroyed, they’re just … not there. That’s why I’m not the killer.”

“When was the last time you saw one of these men,” asks Agent Leonard, then shakes his head slightly, “not counting the one in the hall?”

“There was one in the hospital.”

“Standing up, like the one you saw today?”

“Of course.”

“And before that?”

“There was one that came into the bakery,” I say. “I have a job at Mueller’s Bakery, and there was one that came in there every week.”

Agent Chu writes that down. My pulse quickens, and I try to control my breathing. “Is that important?”

“We just want to get all the information we can,” says Agent Leonard. “Can you tell us the last time you saw the man in the bakery?”

“It was a woman.”

“A faceless woman?” He looks confused.

“She bought bread.”

“That doesn’t sound very ominous,” says Agent Chu. “I thought this was a secret cabal watching your every move, not just people in the neighborhood.”

“She was checking up on me,” I say. I don’t like his tone—he’s not joking with me, he’s serious. He sounds … suspicious. “That was part of how they kept tabs on me.”

“And the last time you saw her?”

“About a month ago, I guess. Right before the two weeks I can’t remember. I’m not exactly sure—it’s hard to keep track of time in here.”

“Can you describe what they were wearing?” asks Agent Leonard.

“The one at the bakery had just regular clothes, I guess. A dress, with like … flowers, I think.” It’s hard to remember. I never got a good look, because I always hid in the back when she came.

“Not a lot of housewives wear dresses these days,” says Agent Chu, writing it down. “If she’s real, she should be easy to find.”

“She’s real,” I insist.

“Did anyone else see her?”

“Of course they did, they sold her bread every week.”

“Did they think it was weird that she didn’t have a face?”

I hadn’t thought of that. Was Mr. Mueller in on it too? Were they paying him to keep quiet, or maybe threatening him? Or could he really not see it?

What if I’m the only one who can?

“Michael?”

I snap back. “What?”

“Did you hear my question?”

“I don’t want to answer that question.”

“Fair enough,” says Agent Leonard. “How about the one in the hall—what was he wearing?”

“A gray suit,” I say. “A hat, like the…” I gesture at my head, struggling to describe the hat. “Kind of shaped like a cowboy hat, I guess, but with a small brim, and really nice. Like a classy gray hat that you’d wear with a suit.”

“A fedora.”

“I guess.”

The two agents looked at each other. Agent Chu stands up. “I’ll see if I can catch him before he leaves the building.”

“You did see him! I knew it!”

“Yes, Michael, he passed us in the hall. He had a face, though.”

Agent Chu left, and Devon went with him to help with the gate. I looked back at Agent Leonard.

“You’ve got to get me out of here. When you find that guy and question him you’ll know—this whole place is part of the Plan, They’re keeping me here against my will, and you’ve got to get me out.”

“Can you describe any other Faceless Men?”

“You’re not listening to me,” I say. “You’ve got to believe me. That man’s probably an administrator or an owner or something—he runs this place, I guarantee it, and as soon as he finds out I blew the whistle on him I am going to disappear—he might already know. Is your cell phone turned off like I asked?”

“We’re going to talk to him,” says Agent Leonard, “but not because we suspect him of anything. We just want to figure out why you see certain people as faceless.”

“Because they’re trying to kill me!”

“Tell me, Michael, have you ever seen one of these faceless people in a custodial uniform? Like a brown jumpsuit?”

“No, why?”

“Does the name Brandon Woods mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“How about a chemical company called ChemCom?”

“No—where is this all going?”

Devon comes back. “Is everything okay, Michael?”

“We’re actually done here,” says Agent Leonard, standing up. “We’ll see if we can find either of these people he’s talking about—see if they’re real, see if they have any connection at all to the murders. No sense going any further if all we’re getting from him is made-up junk.”

“I’m not making it up.”

“At least not on purpose.” He walks to the door. “Dr. Little says your treatment’s working, so when your mind’s cleared up a bit we’ll be back with more questions.”

Devon holds the door open. “You mean if these leads check out?”

“No, we’re coming back either way. This is a psych hospital, right?” He looks at me. “Sounds like the perfect place to ask about your mother.”

Devon walks him to the gate. I can’t see the numbers when he types them in.

“Come on, man,” says Devon, walking back to me, “it’s time to get cleaned up.” I let him turn me and lead me to the shower.

If the FBI are here then the reporter was right, and they really do suspect me. And if the Faceless Men are here, traveling openly, then the hospital really is working with Them. Or for Them. That would explain Devon’s buzzing. Is Linda in on it as well, or Dr. Little?

What about the other patients?

I need to be more careful. When we get to the shower I leave the hot water turned off, just to be sure, and brace myself for the frigid blast.

SEVEN

SOMETHING TOUCHES MY ARM
and I jerk awake, shouting wordlessly. A light blinds me, and I throw up my hands to shield my face.

“Easy,” says a woman’s voice, “it’s just me.” I feel a hand on my arm, soft and feminine, and when my eyes adjust I see a pretty woman holding a small penlight. At first I think it’s Lucy, but she shines the light on her face and I see that it’s not. “I’m sorry to wake you, Michael. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Shauna, the night nurse. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just … scared is all. Just startled. I’m fine.”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to wake you up, but I guess I did anyway, huh?” She holds my wrist and shines the light on her watch, taking my pulse. I wait, watching her count. When she finishes she keeps her hand on my wrist, holding it lightly.

“How are you feeling?”

“You can turn the light on if you want,” I say. “It’s better than the…” I look at the flashlight in her hand, wondering if the Faceless Men can tap into it the way they do with the other devices—it creates an electric field, at least a small one, but it can’t really send or receive a signal. Or maybe this one can, if the Faceless Men have infiltrated the hospital. I want to tell her to keep it outside, but I also want to look normal. I can’t escape if they keep suspecting me. “I’m great,” I say, nodding. “I’m fine.”