Part 3 (1/2)

b.u.g.g.e.r off.

We need to talk about this.

No, he doesn't. Moving right along, there's an alien in the hallway, and he's quite certain he knows what that means. His latest c.o.c.ktail of meds is not working. Oh, yes he thought it was. Was so certain it was, but that was just another sign that it wasn't. Delusions of a world where his b.l.o.o.d.y meds work, and he can get back to living a b.l.o.o.d.y normal life.

Ha-ha. Very funny, old boy. There is no normal life for you. Not anymore. Just aliens holding pretty girls hostage. Perhaps this is a new subtype of delusionone where you get to play the knight in s.h.i.+ning armor. Well, hop to it, then. Slay the alien. Win the girl.

That's when the alien speaks, and Max realizes it's a man in a mask. That a perfectly ordinary criminal is holding Riley hostage. His next thought: Thank G.o.d, it's not the meds. Followed by: b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, there's a man holding Riley hostage.

The kidnapper takes them back in the main room, and they go through the ”Everybody against the wall, hands on your heads” and the pat-downs and the panic and the ”Oh my G.o.d, I can't believe this is happening.”

You and me both.

Then they're sitting on the floor, listening, and Max is trying to process what the hostage-takers are saying. It's not that he can't understand them. They came to the States a year ago, him and MumI think what you need, Maximus, is a change of scenery, and what I won't mention, dear boy, is that by ”change of scenery” I really mean let's both run across the ocean and find someplace where no one knows what you did.

A year here means it isn't as if these men speak a foreign language. He understands their words just fine. The problem is that he has to keep fighting against the voice in his head that whispers this isn't real, that the meds actually aren't working, that, yes, the alien heads do appear to be masks but that's only because the logic center of his brain hasn't completely shut down during this particular hallucination.

Three men in alien masks. The one speaking is the man who grabbed Riley. He wears a bulbous gray head. One of the others looks like a cross between an insect and a robot ... with braids. Max vaguely recalls seeing it before. A film, maybe? He isn't really into films. Reading is his thing. Reading and writingwild stories that everyone always told him were so creative and vivid and how did you ever come up with that, Max my boy, and that's some serious imagination there, and you'll be a writer one day, mark my words, a famous one like Stephen King or Dean Koontz, and you'll put me in your book then, won't you, ha-ha.

No one says that to him anymore. Now it's: Hmm, there's some disturbing stuff here, son, and is this what you see in your head, and did you really dream this up or were you doc.u.menting one of your hal-oo-sin-aa-shuns. That's how his American doctor says it. Hal-oo-sin-aa-shuns. Like one of those words you read but never have to say out loud, and when you do, it's not quite right.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Maximus. Focus.

Can't. Sorry. One of the symptoms. Disorganized thought. Look it up.

No, Max. That's just you. Always has been. Brain flitting like a hummingbird on speed.

Because it has always been there. Waiting to pop up like a funhouse skeleton. You thought you were normal, kid? Surprise!

No, I'm quite certain no one ever called you normal, Max. Don't go blaming the crazy for everything.

Why not? It fits the symptoms. You want to know another one? Hearing voices.

He squeezes his eyes shut. What was he thinking ...? Right. About the aliens.

The third guy wears a mask he recognizes from Star Wars. That's one film he's seen a few times, because it's an excellent lesson on story structure and the universal mono-myth of the hero. He'll call that one Star Wars. The other is Braids. And the one talking? Gray.

”So the next step,” Gray says, ”is to contact Mr. Highgate, tell him not to phone the police and then send him a proof-of-life video and an ear. Preferably Aaron's.” Gray laughs, as if this is hilarious. Even his confederates don't join in.

”Kidding,” Gray says. ”Well, maybe not about the ear, but we'll see how Aaron here comports himself. The rest? Hollywood bulls.h.i.+t. Everyone with half a brain calls the police. So that's where we start. Aaron? Smile.”

Gray raises an iPhone and Aaron scowls.

”You're a natural,” Gray says. ”Now, let me send that to your daddy, and in about twenty minutes I expect this place to be surrounded by cops. Unless your daddy's busy tonights.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his girlfriend or s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g over another companybecause that would be very inconvenient.”

Aaron says nothing.

”There, picture sent. Video even, with a time stamp. Yes, I did the proof-of-life thing, as cliche as it is. Now, the next steps, kiddies ...”

He keeps talking, but Max's attention slides away. This isn't real. Cannot be real. Kidnapped at a therapy sleepover? Really, Maximus? You're losing your creative touch. You need to start writing again. Give that imagination a workout.

Oh, believe me. It's had a workout. Just ask Justin.

Now, Max. You weren't thinking clearly. It's not your fault.

Sod off.

He looks over at Riley and focuses on her instead. That's easy as pie, as his gran would say. Namely because Riley Vasquez is easy to look at. Two years ago he'd have sat across the cla.s.s and planned how to talk to her. Hey, I think you're brilliant and cute, and I'd like to get to know you better, so how about we go to the cinema Friday night?

He did fantasize about talking to Riley, but the conversation, as with most everything in his life these days, was different. Hey, I think you're smart and sweet and a little bit messed up, and do you want to talk? Just talk? You seem like someone I could talk to, and sure, you think I'm a idiot, but that's just an act. All right, maybe not completely an act. But you seem like you need someone to talk to and I do too, so how about it? You can talk about what happened to you and Me? Um, nothing happened to me. Nothing important. Just lost my mind and haven't found it again. Never will. Schizophrenia. Ever heard of it? Short version: I'm crazy. Sorry. Not supposed to say that. Bad Max. Bad, bad Max. No using the C-word. I'm not crazy. I just see things that aren't there, hear people who aren't there ... Huh, yeah, that does sound like crazy, but shhh, don't tell anyone. And don't worry. I'm perfectly harmless. Well, unless I mistake you for a demon and try to strangle Wait! No, come back.

Gray snaps his fingers in front of Max, startling him. ”Am I boring you, son?”

”Yeah, kinda, mate. Can we speed this along?”

”Maximus ...” his therapist, Aimee, says, her voice low with warning.

Gray snorts. ”Maximus?”

”I prefer Max.”

”I bet you do. What kind of s.a.d.i.s.ts name their kid Maximus?”

”A historian specializing in ancient Rome and a lieutenant-general in the British army. And if you know anything about the salaries of academics and career soldiers, you'll realize I'm really not worth your time.” Max takes out his wallet and removes three twenties. ”I have sixty. Can we call it a night? Things to do and all that. It is the weekend after all.”

”Max?” a voice says. ”Sit down.”

He turns to see Riley walking toward him. Her hands tremble, and she's obviously struggling to keep it together, and he wants to nod and say all right and sit down, but he wants to make her smile too, make her relax, show her this isn't a big deal, not like before, like what happened when she was babysitting.

”I'm cutting through the bull” he begins.

”Sit. Down.” She stops and lowers her voice. ”Are you trying to get us killed? They have guns.”

”Are you sure? Maybe we're imagining it. We are a little nuts, after all.”

She gives him a look that makes him happy she's not the one with a gun.

So no chance of that talk, then? All right. Maybe we can just make out instead.

He chuckles, and her eyes narrow.

”Sit the h.e.l.l down,” she hisses.

Sorry. Not his fault. Inappropriate affect. It's a symptom.

b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. You're just an idiot. No meds for that.