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My smile works. It’s a good smile for this… cold and just a bit wild. It reminds him that I’m bigger than he is and stronger, and in his mind I’m psycho too. Reynolds falls silent and pale at the sight of it. Success. Now I’m in his head and I’ve scared him good. His throat is still red from where my hands nearly forced the life out of it an hour ago and he won’t forget that any time soon.

  This “Hamilton” is a bigger problem. I repeat the name over and over in my head, trying to force myself to remember it. Reynolds I can afford to forget, and My Nurse will always be there. But this man…something tells me he’s important to remember.

  “What’s your favorite color Max?” He asks me again in that deep rasping voice. “What’s your favorite color?”

No. I won’t play the game.

I stand motionless, forcing my feet to stay still.

“You can do it, dear. Just show him. You can do it.” My Nurse smiles at me encouragingly, her face alight with hope. I know what they want. They want me to point to something. But it won’t end there. There will be dozens of other tests and then needles and then strapping me to a table in a dark room and then pills and more pills and a light in the sky and a voice and questions and more questions and new pills and old pills and growing older and weaker and all the while I’ll still be a prisoner soul trapped in a voiceless body.