THAT FALL
9 - TEA AND SCONES

The two men in dark suits exchanged formal handshakes with Andre. Andre introduced Wanda who had expected the agents to have dark sunglasses and swarthy faces, but sans sunglasses, they were both average. Both wore poorly cut suits and scuffed loafers. The shorter, Jones, had a crew cut and a scar across his lower lip. The taller, Brown, needed a shave and a nose job, and carried a worn faux-leather briefcase.

Jones said, “We’d like to visit Krigare immediately.”

“I thought we’d review the file and the CT Scan.”

“No need for that, Doctor Antoine” Jones said. Neither of the agents moved.

Andre acquiesced. “All right, I’ll take you right to her.”

“And she’s had no water?” Brown asked as they boarded the elevator. Wanda noted his squeaky voice did not fit his features just as Jones’ deeper voice did not fit his diminutive height.

Andre said, “Only saline IV and Gatorade.”

Wanda prodded. “I’m curious why we cannot provide water to a patient.” The two agents did not comment. Insistent, and ignoring Andre’s scowl, Wanda said, “Seems a strange restriction. Perhaps related to a virus?”

Arriving at the third floor, Brown finally said, “I’m afraid the details of Krigare’s treatment are classified.”

She grunted. “Yeah? Well, that’s one strange prescription.”

They continued to ignore her as they proceeded to the observation room where Oren-Reynolds, his feet propped on the desk, was leafing through a book. He guiltily flopped his heavy boots onto the floor. The agents peered through the observation window, disregarding the surrounding conversation.

Andre said, “These are the agents who will transfer the patient. Do as they ask.”

Oren-Reynolds nodded but wore a deep scowl. Wanda hoped he would not do something stupid before she got one agent alone. Perhaps, though, his actions could offer an opportunity for the agents to witness the illness. She bit her lower lip.

Andre gestured to the window. “She should be through the morning dose of sedation. She’ll be groggy, but you’ll be able to speak with her.”

“Good. Admit us into the room,” Brown squeaked.

Oren-Reynolds led the group to the room. He swiped Oren’s card across the scanner. The door clicked open and the two agents entered tandem.

Brown turned. “Hey, big guy?”

Oren-Reynolds put his hand to his chest. “Me?”

“You. Stand by in case we have trouble.”

“That’s my job, sir,” Oren-Reynolds said with Reynolds’ voice but Oren’s face. Or Michael Clarke Duncan’s face. Same thing.

Jones was already at Krigare’s bedside. He poked her chest. “Krigare? Wake up.” She stirred. He poked her again. “Krigare. Open your eyes. We need to chat.”

She groggily tried to open her eyes, whispering, “Thirsty…”

Jones leaned over the pulled open her right lid, exposing her pupil. He said, expressionless, “You’ll get water. No worries, dearie.” He turned to Brown. “With highest probability, it’s her.”

Brown asked, “She did that to the wall?”

“Yes,” Andre said, “We think she pushed one of our doctors.”

Brown examined the wall then said, “We need to see Reynolds.”

Andre leaned against the chair at the bedside, casually asking, “Can you gentlemen give me some insight into why you are taking my patients?”

Jones replied, “That’s classified.”

“Well, considering she’s a professor of war tactics, we assumed she’s some undercover spy or a terrorist.”

Jones held up his hand. “Doctor, Doctor. Please. Enough with the conspiracy theories and assumptions. Let’s just say we have an interest in her and have authority to transfer her and leave it at that.” He smiled, his mouth revealing pure white teeth against his pale skin, but his eyes unchanged. “And we truly appreciate the care provided. For which, as I stated to your director, your facility will be highly compensated.”

Andre waved towards the door. “Then, we can visit Mister Reynolds.”

Jones hesitated and looked at the wires along the side wall. “You still have electricity, yes?”

“Yes,” Andre said.

“Because much of the grid is down. Can we hook Krigare to an EEG? I’d like a quick brain scan to confirm some... theories.”

Wanda said, “I can have that hooked up in ten minutes.”

“Do it.” Jones said before he followed Brown into the hallway.

Doctor Antoine said, “Do it. Oren will help you.”

She smirked. “Yeah. Good ’ole Oren.” She gestured for Oren-Reynolds to follow her to set up the EEG.

Oren-Reynolds held up his hand. “I have it, Nurse Vasquez. Follow the doctor.”

She grimaced but followed Andre and the two agents to Reynolds’ room. Andre was too complacent. She had to get the agents alone to ask them what they would do now that everyone at Longwood was suffering from whatever Reynolds and Krigare transmitted. Andre swept his card across the scanner and admitted the agents into the room. The man posing as Reynolds appeared to be sleeping soundly.

Jones approached him, shaking his head. “This is not Sam Reynolds.”

Andre said, “That’s the man we admitted.”

Jones said, “It’s not him.” He turned to Brown. “No matter. Even better, actually. Whoever this guy is, it’s not Reynolds. You can release him. Give him electroshock. Don’t care. He’s not our guy.”

Andre frowned, demanding, “Then who the hell is this guy? His paperwork says he’s Sam Reynolds, released from the state penitentiary yesterday into my care.”

“No idea who he is. Don’t care. Send him back to the prison. Not my job.”

Brown grabbed Jones’ arm and whispered something in his ear. Jones seemed thoughtful, then chortled. “On the other hand, we’ll take him, too.” Jones exited the room with Brown right behind him.

Wanda wished Dave, Navin, whoever he was, would open his eyes and defend himself, but he did not move.

Andre asked Wanda, “Now what?”

“Ask the big glowing guy.”

“Don’t be cheeky, Wan.”

“Don’t ask me questions you know I can’t answer.” She curled her lip.

Jones had deposited himself in the chair at Krigare’s bedside. The EEG panel rested on the cart beside her bed, and multicolored wires attached it to nodes inside the cap Oren-Reynolds was gently securing on her head. Wanda pondered how Reynolds had known how to hook up an EEG.

Andre checked the connections and said, “The test won’t be accurate. She’s still sedated.”

Jones toyed with several of the wires. “We’re not performing a typical EEG, so that’s not a concern.”

“My staff and I will remain during the test to observe,” Andre said. Wanda sensed he was asking, not demanding, and she mourned his assertive self. He was stumbling over words, permitting things he would never permit, kowtowing to these visitors. She bit her lip and tasted blood.

“Your staff, except this big guy, here,” Jones said, gesturing to Reynolds, “can look through the convenient window.”

“I should stay to monitor her vitals.”

“Your little nurse can do that.” Jones continued to twirl the wires around his long, thin fingers. “From the observation room.”

Wanda imagined slapping the fake smile off Jones’ face to show him what the little nurse could do. She would try to talk to Brown. At least Brown wasn’t smarmy, she thought, as Brown removed several syringes from the case he carried. “What’s that?” Wanda asked.

“Adrenaline,” Brown said, handing a syringe to Jones.

Andre protested, “Administering adrenaline is highly inadvisable.”

Jones barely turned to the doctor. “It’s fine, Doctor Antoine.”

“So, you’re a medical doctor, oui?” Andre asked. Wanda considered his French modus and his angered tone good signs. If the virus had a short duration, Andre might return to sanity in time to care for her as she slipped into the madness.

Jones injected Krigare, tossed the used syringe on the floor, and said, “I’m much more than a medical doctor.”

Andre, his cheeks flushed, handed Wanda Krigare’s chart. “Nurse Vasquez, note the administration of adrenaline in Krigare’s chart. This is Agent Jones’ decision. Against my recommendation.”

“Doctor Antoine, you and your nurse can make all the notations you want. In the observation room.” Jones pulled up one of Krigare’s eyelids.

Wanda followed Andre into the observation room as a wave of nausea crashed over her. She leaned into the corner. Andre activated the intercom and pressed his face to the one-way glass.

Jones poked Krigare’s chest. He poked again, forcefully. When Krigare did not respond, Jones wrapped his fingers into her hair and pulled.

Andre pressed the intercom button, “What the hell are you doing?”

Jones raised his head and looked at the mirrored window. “Doctor Antoine, she has no family. Even if I ass-raped her during her EEG, no one would care.” Another fake smile released from Jones’ lips.

“I care,” Andre snapped. “You will treat my patient with respect.”

“My patient,” Jones said. He released her hair. “Don’t you want to get back to your yoga classes, Angie?” The EEG screen registered low brain activity.

Oren-Reynolds’ affect remained blank. If he really was Krigare’s husband, he had more self-control than anyone Wanda knew. She was more impressed when Reynolds remained as still when Jones began to slap Krigare.

“Hey, Angie,” he said. Slap. Slap, slap. “Don’t you have a book to finish?” The EEG registered low brain activity. Krigare moaned.

Jones smacked Krigare’s face this time and raised his voice: “Hey! Where’s your cat? Starving in that condo of yours?”

The EEG readings oscillated from low to high brain activity. Krigare whimpered and tried to raise her restrained hand. She croaked, “Sam’s downstairs.”

Jones jumped away from the bed. He said, “Sweep the building.” In response, Brown rushed through the door, weapon drawn. Jones glared at the window. “So, Sam Reynolds is not here.”

“He’s… he’s in the other room,” Andre said. Then he smiled. “I believe her cat is named Sam.”

Jones approached the bed with an expression that switched from a smirk to expressionless and back so many times, Wanda was sure he was an android.

Krigare moaned, trying to open her eyes. The adrenaline was taking effect, and the EEG started to display vigorous brain activity. Krigare whispered, “So thirsty…”

Jones smirked again as he said, “Yes, we’ll get you some water. How are you feeling, Angie?”

“Sleepy…”

“Do you know why you’re in the asylum?”

Krigare moaned. She said, “I fell…. fainted. And I broke my ring.” She weakly raised her hand.

“Why did you name your cat Sam, Angie?” Jones asked.

Krigare coughed and tried to bring her hand to her face. Frowning as she realized she was restrained, she whispered, “Because he’s a little bum.”

Jones’ expression remained blank. He said, “You must be lonely in that big condo of yours. All alone.”

The EEG recorded average to low brain activity and began to indicate seizures. Krigare whispered, “I want to be alone.”

Wanda looked at Oren-Reynolds who remained stone still. The EEG printed an eye closure and then deep sleep, which was impossible for a patient with adrenaline pumping through her veins. Andre was transfixed. Wanda sighed, wishing she could examine the EEG readout closely. Her nausea intensified. This whole thing was awful.

“Didn’t you break up with your boyfriend over gym access or some silly argument?” Jones asked. “How sad.”

Although exhibiting deep sleep, Krigare answered, “He’s an ass.”

Oren-Reynolds shifted on his feet and his hands tightened almost imperceptivity while his face remained blank. Wanda whistled, replaceing Reynolds’ reaction to the little boyfriend tidbit fascinating. He apparently, with all his heart, believed his delusion that this was his wife. How adorable.

Wanda could see the EEG registered higher activity. Krigare began to move against her restraints. Her eyes fluttered rapidly, and she moaned loudly this time, “Thirsty…”

The EEG readout oscillated wildly, showing extreme brain activity. Wanda mentally reviewed the EEGs she had done in her twenty years and had never seen readouts like those. Krigare was impossibly exhibiting all gamma waves. What did her EEG look like when she was fully conscious? Oren-Reynolds leaned over Krigare to check the chin strap. His face remained blank, but Wanda could see his hands kept pulsing into fists. Andre was right. This was interesting.

Brown sauntered into the room and merely shook his head. Jones shrugged, smirked, and expressionless, returned to leaning over Krigare.

Krigare’s eyes shot open. She glared at Brown, then at Jones, who flashed his smarmy grin. She blinked once, trying to focus. Then, she saw Oren-Reynolds. She frowned, and the EEG began to swipe rapidly. Oren-Reynolds backed away from Krigare as Wanda leaned closer to the window in disbelief.

The EEG frequency was an impossible 200 Hz. The amplitude indicated inconceivable gamma oscillations. An awake and active person would produce beta waves at 13 Hz. A patient could register 30 Hz if manic. Gamma waves meant the entire brain was in a heightened sense of consciousness. Even research done with Buddhist monks produced gamma readings of only 25-40 Hz. Not 200 Hz. Recalling Krigare’s CT scan and incredible vital signs, Wanda covered her mouth to repress her scream.

Andre touched her shoulder and said, “I know. I see it, too.”

“Can you read it?”

“Don’t need to. Look at the way it’s waving around.” He gave a shoulder a squeeze and said, “Maybe now you believe me.”

Jones said, “I see you’re waking up, Miss Krigare?”

Krigare tried to sit up. She stammered, “You… you have him. My son. Where’s my son?” She pulled up on her restraints, screaming, “You took my son!”

With an arm across her chest, Jones pushed her down and in a calm voice said, “Now, Miss Krigare, that’s just not true.”

Oren-Reynolds remained at the bedside, steady and expressionless. But his hands kept clenching. Over and over.

Andre bolted from the observation room and started screaming. “What the hell is your plan other than to humiliate and upset my patient?”

Jones said, “My patient.”

Andre huffed. He said, “That was ridiculous. And what about the EEG? Those readings are highly abnormal.”

Jones flashed his fake smile. “You’ve not seen anything yet.” He called to Oren-Reynolds, “You. Big guy. Get the patient a big jug of water. Like a gallon.”

Wanda pressed the intercom. “Didn’t you tell us not to give her water?”

Jones kept that smile plastered to his mouth. Through his teeth, he said, “I did. But circumstances have changed. And I need some answers.” He turned to Oren-Reynolds, his lips never releasing his plastered grin. “Besides, we have this big guy here if she misbehaves.”

“And you’ll keep her hooked up to the EEG?” Wanda was almost frantic. This activity countermanded every ethical principle she had ever learned and practiced.

Jones ignored her, but asked, “Do you have a room with a table and some chairs? Like a place to interrogate prisoners?”

“This is a hospital not a police station!” Andre yelled.

Jones’ plastic smile disappeared, and he said, “All right, Doctor. Then have a small table brought into this room. And a few chairs. You’re all free to observe.”

Doctor Antoine crossed his arms over his chest. He said, “I cannot let you abuse my patient.”

“My patient–”

“Abuse any patient this way.”

Jones put his arm around Andre’s shoulders. “Shall we discuss why you’re going to not only let me, but help me, Major Antoine?”

Andre pulled away from Jones, marched towards the patient and checked her vitals. Wanda, momentarily, had forgotten the danger, but fear rose into her as Andre checked Krigare’s IV and vital signs. What would Krigare do now that she was upset, and she had water? Wanda forgot her concern when Jones began snapping his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers again, calling to Oren-Reynolds, “big guy. Yeah, you. Get that water.”

Oren-Reynolds nodded and disappeared into the hallway. Wanda closed her eyes. Oren-Reynolds did not know where to get water. She invited him into the observation room and was silent while Wanda drew the water from the tap and handed him the plastic pitcher. She filled and handed him a second pitcher. He remained silent as they returned to Krigare’s room. He remained silent as he placed the pitchers on the nightstand. He remained silent as Jones and Brown set up the room. Andre did not look pleased but also did not speak as the agents arranged three chairs, with two facing the one where they directed Oren-Reynolds to position the awake and terrified Krigare. The disconnected manner with which Oren-Reynolds carried Krigare to the chair shocked Wanda. Krigare was crying now, begging for someone to help. Give her water. Where was her son? Did Oren-Reynolds even care about her pain? How could he serve her up that way if he believed she was his wife?

Jones and Brown chatted in the hallway and Wanda eavesdropped: “It might be her. It could be one of her assistants.”

Brown responded, “We have to be sure.”

“She said she fell. She had a ring. It cut her thumb. The wall is destroyed. And that EEG? It’s her. She talked about the whole son thing.”

“It might not be her. Reynolds isn’t here. Neither is the cat. I searched the entire building. Reynolds would be here.”

Jones nodded, adding, “But that’s Navin. Reynolds is around somewhere.”

They stopped talking loudly enough for her to hear, so she emerged and passed them under the guise of attending to her patient. She adjusted Krigare’s IV and clothing, asking if she was comfortable.

Krigare continued to cry, her eyes held tightly closed. She murmured, “I don’t know… I’m confused….”

Wanda whispered, “We’re getting you some water, honey. Just get yourself calm now.” Wanda realized that Jones was standing next to her. Creepy bastard.

He pointed at Wanda. “You. Out. And take Antoine out with you. We might need the big boy to control her if she gets out of hand.”

Andre and Wanda found Lindsey was standing at the observation window, filming with her phone. Neither Andre nor Wanda corrected her.

Brown poured the shivering, sobbing Krigare a tall glass of water. He pointed to it. “Drink up.” Krigare grabbed for the cup and gulped it down. Brown took the seat across from Krigare and said, “Take off her restraints.”

Oren-Reynolds began to remove the restraints, but Andre hit the intercom. “She should remain in the restraints.”

Jones turned to the mirror and in a slow drawl, said, “Doctor Antoine? The restraints won’t matter. Just watch.” Jones took the second seat across from Krigare and watched Oren-Reynolds remove the wrist cuffs.

Jones clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “Angie Krigare? Do you know who I am?”

Krigare shook her head, asking, “Can I have more water?”

“You sure can!” Jones said as he flashed his mechanical smile and poured a second glass.

She gulped frantically, burbling thanks between swallows.

“Miss Krigare, do you remember what brought you here?”

She nodded, spiting words between gulps. “My ring broke. And I remembered all these weird memories… like my son…” She started to cry again. “I don’t have a son.”

“Have more water.” Brown poured another glass.

Jones continued, asking, “You think your ring breaking caused these memories?”

She shrugged, still sobbing. “I don’t know… it’s just the order of what happened.” She wiped her hand across her eyes, just realizing she had nothing restraining her. She stared at her swollen hands.

“Yes, that feels better without those cuffs on you, right?” He paused, then asked, “So, you think you have a husband? A son?”

She closed her eyes. “It’s like… like a memory of a life I don’t have…” She sobbed, “I don’t know.”

Wanda listened to Krigare’s small, whimper. Just a patient with a strong delusion, probably caused by head trauma. They needed to do more tests. Poor thing. Wanda tightened her jaw.

Krigare continued. “I had these bad thoughts, and I got really confused.” She cried, letting out a wail, “I think I hurt some people.” She dropped her face to her arm.

Jones looked at Brown. Brown looked at his watch. Brown said, “That’s over forty ounces in less than two minutes.”

Wanda could see the EEG humming away and could just see the peaks of the electrical activity still registering impossible amplitude. She leaned closer to the glass, trying to see the readout more clearly. It was too far away. She huffed. The whole situation was impossible. Madness. Total bullshit.

Jones poured another glass of water. “Miss Krigare, perhaps you’re just lying about all this.”

She looked up, weakly asking, “Lying?”

“Yes…” He replaced the pitcher and pushed the glass towards her. “That you’re not actually who you say you are.”

She drank quickly, wiping her mouth with her arm. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“You say that you’re Angeline Krigare. But we think not.”

Krigare frowned. “I have my ID. Well, the doctors should have it…”

“ID? What does that tell? The same story you’ve told for months.”

She frowned deeply, taking another drink of water, which she sipped this time. She sniffled, accepting a tissue from Agent Jones. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I suppose not.” Jones looked at her swollen hands. “But you will in a minute or two. Especially without that ring and with the stasis signal being interrupted when we sent the pulse.”

She continued to frown, sipping her water. “The stasis, what?”

“Come on, Angie. Really. Don’t waste any more time. The stasis signal you had sent. Remember that?”

“Didn’t go very well,” Agent Brown chimed.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“You were in your office?”

“When I had those terrible thoughts? And I saw these men? Yes…” she frowned searching her memory.

“After your ring broke?”

She grimaced then, examining her thumb. “Yes… my hematite thumb ring…” She brought her thumb to her eyes and then showed the cut to the agents. “It cut me. My father gave it to me.”

Oren-Reynolds shifted on his feet but kept his face blank as he watched the agents.

Jones’ smirk-face returned. “Your father? Gave you that ring?”

She nodded, seemingly unsure now, but said, “Yes…”

Jones pushed. “Not your medical captain? And the chief engineer of the Primary Regiment?”

She frowned. “My father…”

“What can you tell me about your husband? Sam Reynolds? Familiar name?” She frowned more deeply and shook her head. “That’s what they call him. Sam Reynolds. At least some call him that. Others call him Onnage Dentri. He’s the Commander of the 968? Is he not?”

“Commander?”

“Yes, Angie,” he said, leaning closer to her and asking, “Oh should I call you Renya?”

Krigare’s frown disappeared leaving her face expressionless. The EEG machine vibrated violently, and the stand swayed as if it would topple. Krigare’s eyes closed calmly and her tears faded. She opened her eyes and stared at the agents. In a resonant voice she asked, “And you are?”

“Ah!” Jones laughed. “There she is!” He hit the table with his palm.

She continued to regard them with a blank affect. She did not blink, and she sat up straight with her shoulders back. She folded her hands mirroring Jones’ earlier posture.

Wanda gasped and covered her mouth with the back of her hand, not realizing those in the interior room could not hear her. She pulled on Andre’s lab coat. He was nodding slowly. “She doesn’t even look like the same person.” Wanda pressed her nose against the observation glass. Could it all be true? Was frog woman really purple? Was Navin really their son? The federal agents seemed to think so. Another wave of nausea took hold of Wanda.

Jones continued, “So nice to see you, again, Renya. It’s been awhile.”

She blinked once. “I still do not believe I have had the pleasure.”

Jones touched his own chest, “Agent Jones,” he gestured to his partner, “Agent Brown.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How nondescript.”

“We like it.” Leaning forward, he ground his jaw. “And you need to tell us what the regiment has planned.”

She smiled. “How about more water?”

Jones gestured to the pitcher. “What the hell, help yourself.”

She reached for the pitcher and downed the entirety without using the glass. As she swallowed, she met his gaze. “One can never have enough water.”

He matched her stare. “Or enough chlorine.”

The EEG peaks were at least four-hundred times stronger than the brain waves of the most energized human at a frequency of 2000 Hz. Wanda thought about the CT scan. She frowned and bit her lip.

Krigare said, “I suppose you are both armed.”

“You suppose correctly. Since you are not securely out of stasis, just one shot should take you right back to the old Professor Krigare’s world, yes?”

She did not move, continuing to stare at him. “What did you do to my signal?”

“Ah, a little feedback loop. Sent you and most of your friends into this lovely spiral. A perfect capture. Thanks for the setup.”

“And what do you think this little stunt will accomplish? Once I am out and fully awake?”

Jones laughed. “But you’re not out. And the feedback loop keeps playing, so you’re all sort of trapped. You’re restrained in a mental institution, stuck in that form, with doctors and big-ass guards all around you.”

She did not turn to see the guard to whom Jones gestured. “And that is supposed to concern me?”

“It should. One shot and you’re back to whimpering humanity. Back to Angie and her history lessons.”

She shook her head. Tears began to flow again. Her mousy voice returned, “I’m so confused…” She shook her head harder, whispering in the other voice, “Exhausting.”

Jones tapped the table with his forefinger. Once. Twice. He said, “We can help you escape all that confusion and bawling.”

She regarded Jones. Then Brown. “And I can plant your bodies into that cement wall.”

Brown stiffened. Jones shifted in his chair.

“Ah, perhaps I do recognize the two of you.”

Brown blurted, “Maybe you do and maybe you’re deluded–”

“I am not deluded now. I can even hear that roach crawling up the wall in the hallway beyond the next room. And I think I am bored by this conversation.”

Brown sat upright. “We just need to know the timing of the landing.”

She smiled a warm, light smile. Her skin began to turn a silvery-pink, warming with a champagne light like the one from that morning. Krigare looked down at her hands. The walls and observation glass began to vibrate. The woman called Renya said, “I think I am very bored.”

Jones’ chair began to rock, and he jumped from it. Brown joined him, plastering himself to the damaged wall behind them. They backed up as far as they could go. The wall behind them began to crack worse than it already was. First, just tiny additional fissures, then, as she raised her eyes, the remaining plaster began to chip away and split in paper-sized slabs.

“Renya,” Jones said, holding up his hand in a stop signal, “we’re armed. We can have a nice discussion or–”

“Or I can blow you two to pieces? How about that solution?” She stood, seemingly taller than Wanda recalled. A warm light was glowing all around her.

Jones pointed at Oren-Reynolds. “Push her back in her chair!”

Brown was fumbling for something in his pocket.

The patient, whatever her name, turned and found Oren-Reynolds right behind her. She looked at him, a frown passing across her face, her light exploding in the room. Oren-Reynolds placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her into her chair. She did not struggle and closed her eyes as if to wait for a blow. Brown produced a small gun and shot twice, sending two projectiles into Krigare’s chest. She collapsed, her face smacking against the tabletop. Oren-Reynolds gently lifted her, returned her to her bed, and secured her in her restraints, feet then wrists.

Andre rushed into the room, and demanded, “What was that?”

“None of your concern.” Jones moved towards the bed, hesitating at first, and then checking her eye by roughly lifting her lid with his thumb.

“Not the conversation. What did you shoot into her?”

Jones wiped his hands on his suit pants. “Chlorine.”

“Chlorine? It will kill her!”

Jones felt for her pulse and gestured to Brown. “She’s out. Good shot.”

Brown joined his partner. “I got two in her. Right in her chest.” Jones and Brown removed themselves, sauntering to the hallway and chatting in low tones. Andre followed them, still asking ignored questions.

Wanda watched Oren-Reynolds. First, he pulled what appeared to be darts out of Krigare’s chest, throwing them to the floor. He put pressure on the puncture wounds and dabbed the blood from her skin. He removed the EEG cap and set it down on the scanner. He tucked her blankets and wiped her face with a clean towel.

Wanda waited until he seemed satisfied with his care, then she checked Krigare’s vital signs, stating, “She unconscious, but her vitals are, well, as normal as her vitals get.”

Oren-Reynolds countenance became fuzzy for a moment before he turned back into Reynolds. He wiped a stray hair from Krigare’s forehead, whispering to Wanda, “I now know what they want. My people will follow them and take them into custody. But more will come.”

“They recognized Dave. Navin. They’re taking him, too.”

He looked up at her, whispering, “It is time for us to leave. With our son.”