The Hollow City Read Free Page A

trust you. “Any other monitors? Computers? Cell phones?”
    “Michael, we all have cell phones, we’re doctors—”
    “Get them out.”
    “Please, Michael, calm down—”
    “This is important!” I close my eyes, struggling to estimate the time: how long have I been here? Three minutes since I woke up, give or take a few seconds, and who knows how long I was unconscious before that. How long do we have before They get here?
    I don’t have time for games, and there are too many of them to fight. I need to lay out the truth and hope for the best. I take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything, but not until the room is clean. No electronic devices of any kind.”
    Dr. Murray nods, but smugly, as if he’s heard it all before: I’m just another crazy guy. “Why do electronics frighten you, Michael?”
    It’s the same as last year—the same arrogant assumptions that landed me in a psych ward. Once the system decides you’re crazy, there’s not much you can do to fight it. I shake my head. “Cell phones outside.”
    Murray looks at me for a moment, glances at the others, then shrugs. “Okay, Michael, whatever makes you comfortable, but you have to talk to us.”
    “Hurry.” I try not to sound desperate. Murray gathers their cell phones, takes them to the hall, and a moment later he comes back. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Listen very carefully, all of you, because I don’t know how much time we have. I’m very sorry you got dragged into this, but I’m being followed by some very dangerous men, and I need to get out of here as fast as I possibly can. They can track me—They can track all of us—through electronics: computers, cell phones, TVs, radios, everything. I know this is hard to believe, but you’ve got to trust me. Now, does that window open?”
    Murray is nodding again. “Easy, Michael, just take it easy—”
    “You don’t understand,” I say. “They will be here any minute. Look, if the window doesn’t open we can get out through the halls, but only if we stay far away from anything dangerous. Back stairs usually have cameras, so we can’t risk—”
    “Please, Michael, no one is chasing you.”
    “Yes they are,” I say, “They’re men, Faceless Men, and they can track us through your cell phones, through computers, through anything that sends or receives a signal. They’re not looking for you, so you don’t have to come with me, just let me slip out the door—”
    “The Red Line,” says the woman, and I glance up to see that all four doctors and the orderly have backed away.
    I try to look behind me. “What red line?”
    “When you say ‘faceless,’” asks the woman, “do you mean, like, the face has been … destroyed?”
    “No.” I turn back to them, watching their faces. What are they thinking? “No, it’s nothing like that at all. They’re faceless, literally faceless, no eyes, no nose, no mouth, nothing, just … blank.” I pass my hand over my face, willing them to understand. They stare at me a moment, and I dare to hope.
    “This is more than just anxiety disorder,” says one of the men, and the others nod.
    “I’m not crazy,” I say.
    “Brain damage?” asks another doctor. They’re not even acknowledging me anymore.
    “Could be,” says another, “or it could be all mental. Schizophrenia?”
    The woman eyes me warily. “There was another one just last week, you know. We can’t take the chance.”
    I feel myself start to tremble, the nervous vibration on my chest making it hard to breathe. “Please—what are you talking about?”
    Dr. Murray stops, looks at me carefully, then whispers in another doctor’s ear. The other doctor goes into the hall, and Murray steps forward. “Michael, I need to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me as carefully and as honestly as you can.” He pauses. I look at the door—where did the other doctor go? What, or who, was he sent for?
    Dr. Murray stares at me, eyes intense.