Free We Are All Completely Fine by Darryl Gregory

hands.”
    “Martin, did you follow them?”
    “One of them said, ‘Don’t look at her.’”
    “One of the attackers? And you think they were talking about Greta?”
    “They’re her minions,” Martin said. “Protecting her. And now they’re going to come finish me.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    “See?” It came out shee? “You don’t believe me.”
    “You called me here to ask for my help,” Jan said. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
    “Kill the boss monster,” he said.
    She sat back in her seat. “I’m not going to do that.”
    “Didn’t think so,” he said. He seemed suddenly exhausted. “Just bring me my frames. I want to see them coming for me.”
    Jan strapped on her doctor balls and forced the staff to hunt for Martin’s belongings until they turned up. The plastic bag contained Martin’s clothes (bloody, torn), shoes (fine), and backpack (full of cords and batteries and a tablet computer, as well as an inside zipper pocket containing $19—she was not too bashful to check)—but the frames were not with them.
    The staff ’s information on the police was more of a mystery; the cops were supposed to arrive “any minute now.” Jan took a seat in the corridor to wait until they arrived or Martin was released; she was afraid that if Martin spoke to the cops alone, they’d soon be calling his psychologist anyway.
    She knew that he was not crazy. She didn’t doubt for a second the reality of his experiences. But she did doubt his conclusions.
    Jan had entered all the group members’ contact info into her phone. Greta had given her only one number, a cell phone. She clicked to call, then fought the urge to hang up with every chirping ring. What could she ask Greta—if she had “henchmen”?
    After thirty seconds of ringing, an automated system announced that no one had set up this number for voicemail. It may not have even been Greta’s real number; Jan had never had to dial it before.
    She stared at the phone’s screen for a while, then found another contact. After three rings a voice said, “Dr. Sayer?”
    “Harrison,” Jan said. “I apologize for calling so late.”
    “No, no, it’s fine.” He sounded surprisingly awake. She’d often wondered what he did with his time. On his intake form, under employment he had made a joke about being a professional “nightmarist.” Then he told her he was retired. She asked him what that meant, considering he was thirty-six years old. Was he an internet millionaire? He said, “It means I stopped doing what I used to do, and haven’t decided if I’m going to do anything else.”
    He asked, “Is there anything the matter?”
    Jan told him that Martin had been attacked by several people, just a few blocks from the Elms.
    “Holy shit,” Harrison said. “Martin’s been attacked ?”
    “They’re doing more x-rays to look for more broken bones. They already think his hand is broken.”
    “That’s terrible,” Harrison said. He sounded genuinely upset. “Tell him I’m thinking of him.” After a pause he said, “ Where did this happen?” There was a new note in his voice.
    “There’s an Irish pub on Fourth. It was right after the meeting tonight. Last night.”
    The line was silent for a moment. Then: “That’s why you’re calling.”
    “Yes.”
    “I was there,” he said. “With Greta.”
    “Did you see anything?” Jan asked. “Hear anything?”
    But Harrison had seen nothing, even after they left the pub. He asked Jan questions, some of them the same ones as she’d asked Martin, and her answers were just as vague. She didn’t mention Martin’s minion theory.
    “I’m looking for Greta,” Jan said, moving on. “I’m not getting an answer on her phone.”
    He paused, then said, “Did you text her? Only old people call each other.”
    “But you answered.”
    “Exactly,” he said. “Listen, I’ll try her too. Is there a message you want me to pass on?”
    “Just ask her to call me.”

Chapter 6
    We followed a