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psychiatrist all his plans for God knows what wacko irresponsible schemes, and now who knows what
she's painted out there on our wall?"
Jeffrey crossed the room to Fale and jabbed him in the stomach with his finger. "WHO CARES
WHAT PSYCHIATRISTS WRITE ON WALLS?" Bee and Teddy backed away as he went on, "You
think I told her about the Army of the Twelve Monkeys? Impossible! Know why, you pathetically
ineffectual and pusillanimous pretend-friend-to-animals? I'll tell you why  because when I had
anything to do with her six years ago, there was no such thing  I hadn't even thought of it yet!"
"Oh, yeah?" Fale shouted back triumphantly. "Then who come she knows what's going on?"
Jeffrey tossed his head back. His rage suddenly melted into supercilious good humor.
"Here's my theory on that," he said in a patronizing tone. "While I was institutionalized, my brain was
studied exhaustively in the guise of mental health. I was interrogated, X-rayed, examined thoroughly.
Then, everything about me was entered into a computer where they created a model of my mind."
The others watched, mesmerized, as Jeffrey preened and gestured grandly. "Then," he continued,
"using the computer model, they generated every thought I could possibly have in the next, say, ten years,
which they then filtered through a probability matrix to determine everything I was going to do in that
period."
He paused, beaming condescendingly at his audience. "So, you see, she knew I was going to lead the
Army of the Twelve Monkeys in the pages of history before it ever even occurred to me. She knows
everything I'm ever going to do before I know it myself. How about that?"
He smiled smugly at the flabbergasted Fale, then fastidiously bent to pick up a stray flyer. "Now I
have to get going," he ended lightly. "Do my part. You guys check all this stuff out and load up the van.
Make sure you get everything," he called back in a singsong voice as he paraded to the back door. "I'm
outta here."
Fale and Teddy and Bee stared after him, watching the door slam closed. When Jeffrey's footsteps
finally died away, Fale turned to the others, his eyes wide.
"He's seriously crazy. You know that."
"Oh, duh," said Bee. She gave Fale a disgusted look, then followed Jeffrey through the back room.
* * * * *
Several blocks away, Kathryn Railly and James Cole crouched in a heap of garbage, their heads
covered with the remains of a cardboard box. Behind them loomed a once-lovely art nouveau building,
its ornate façade now slashed with graffiti and shattered windows. At the base of the building spread a
squalid cardboard shantytown, men and women and children huddled beneath bits of broken plywood, or
warming themselves by a small bonfire.
"Shh!" Kathryn whispered as Cole moved slightly beneath their protection, sending a shower of
crumbled safety glass onto their heads. A few yards away, Detective Dalva's unmarked Ford crawled
slowly down the desolate alley. Behind its windshield she could clearly see Dalva's eyes, carefully
scrutinizing each rusted garbage can, every suspicious face peering at him from their pathetic hovels.
After an interminable time, the car passed from view, disappearing into the next burnt-out city block.
Gasping, Kathryn scrambled from the refuse, ignoring the glares of the shantytown residents.
"James! Come on "
Shaking his head in confusion, Cole crawled out after her. He brushed sawdust from his hair, then
said, "I don't understand what we're doing Kathryn."
Kathryn looked around uneasily. "We're avoiding the police until I can  talk to you."
Cole's eyes lit up. "You mean, treat me? Cure me?"
Almost immediately, the hope drained from him. He stared back down the way they'd come and said
in a lower voice, "Kathryn  those words on the wall back there  I've seen them before. I  I
dreamed them. When I was sick."
Kathryn stopped and stared t him. "I  I know," she said at last. She shivered, pulling her jacket
closed and for the first time noticing James' thin cotton shirt and faded trousers. Her tone grew soft. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]