Free The Hollow City by Dan Wells Page A

You didn’t react to the clock radio in your room, but the cell phone scared you terribly.”
    “Wait,” I say, setting down my fork with a frown. “There was a cell phone in the room?”
    “Of course there was; what did you think was buzzing?”
    “That buzzing was a cell phone?”
    Dr. Vanek raises an eyebrow, drumming the table with his pudgy fingers. “He keeps it set to ‘vibrate’ to avoid disturbing the patients, though that obviously didn’t work in your case. Tell me, Michael, what did you think it was?”
    “I thought it was … I don’t know.”
    “Surely you thought about it long enough to concoct some kind of explanation. Pants don’t just buzz for no reason, and your intense reaction to the sound makes it obvious you were aware of it.”
    “I thought it was—” I stop. I can’t tell him what I thought it was. For all I know Vanek is part of the Plan as well. “I didn’t know it was a cell phone.”
    “But it was,” he says, “which returns us to my question: why are you afraid of phones?”
    “It’s not all phones,” I say, “just cell phones—it’s not even cell phones, it’s the signals they send and receive. Normal phones keep their signals trapped in cords, but cell phones just shoot them through the air.” I glance around nervously. Is there another doctor listening? I don’t want them to hear anything they think is crazy. “Why are you asking me this?”
    “Because I’m a psychiatrist.”
    “But not my psychiatrist; not anymore.”
    “I have arranged a research agreement with the hospital,” he says. “I have limited access to all patients, pending doctor approval.”
    “And Dr. Little approved your visit to me? He doesn’t seem to like you.”
    “And I don’t like him,” says Vanek, shrugging. “Thank goodness we manage to act like professionals regardless.”
    Devon had a cell phone. Everything happened because of a cell phone signal. Is that the switch that lets them control me—an external signal from a nearby phone? I smile. That might be a good thing—if they have to use an outside source, that means I don’t have a transmitter actually on me. That means I can escape and be free, as long as I stay clear of their signals. This could be the break I’ve been waiting for.
    “So?” asked Vanek. “Why do you think you’re afraid of cell phones?”
    I click my tongue and take another bite of oatmeal. “I’m not crazy.”
    Vanek nods. “Saner words were never spoken. Tell me, Michael, have you seen any more of the Faceless Men?”
    I shake my head. “Of course not. You told me yourself they aren’t real.” I click my teeth. “I’m not crazy.”
    He smiles thinly. “Two weeks ago you used their reality as evidence of your sanity; now you use their unreality as evidence of the same. You can either be crazy then or crazy now, but given that you’ve mentioned the Faceless Men at all you have to be one or the other.” He stands up. “Think about your story more carefully the next time you talk to Dr. Little.”
    He walks away, and I stare at my tray. He’s right: I can’t claim to be cured without acknowledging that I was sick, at least for a while. I nod, twice, searching for an answer.
    “Medicine time,” says Devon, and I shy back reflexively. Will his cell phone go off again? He sets a small plastic cup on the table next to me; there’s two Loxitane in it, half green and half tan, like camouflage. “Everything going okay?”
    “Great,” I say, picking up the cup. It doesn’t matter what they think; I can escape now. I click my teeth. “I’m great, thank you for asking.” I swallow the pills and wash them down with apple juice. It’s time to get out of here.

 
    EIGHT
    SOMEONE WALKS THE HALLS at night. It’s not Shauna, the pretty nurse, though I know she’s there as well; her footsteps are soft and gentle, like she’s wearing slippers. I can hear her go up and down the halls, checking our vitals and meting out drugs. But when