“No.” The fluorescent bulbs perform a moonlight dance in his eyes.

“I like you because your mind hasn’t become institutionalized. You’re still fresh, and that’s important to me, because I really want to confide in you, but I can’t, at least not in this room, not with Foletta watching. I also think you may be able to relate to some of the hardships I’ve gone through. So I’d like to talk to you about a lot of things, very important things. Do you think we could talk in private next time? Perhaps down in the yard?”

“I’ll ask Dr. Foletta.”

“Remind him of the facility’s rules when you do. Would you also ask him to give you my father’s journal. If you’re to be my therapist, then I feel it’s of vital importance that you read it. Would you mind doing that for me?”

“I’d be honored to read it.”

“Thank you. Would you read it soon, perhaps over the weekend? I hate to give you homework, this being your first day and all, but it’s vitally important that you read it right away.”

The door swings open, the nurse entering. The guard waits outside, watching at the doorway. “Time for your medication, Mr.Gabriel.” She hands him the paper cup of water, then the white tablet.

“Mick, I have to go. It was nice meeting you. I’ll do my best to have my homework done by Monday, okay?” She stands, turning to leave.

Mick is staring at the pill. “Dominique, the relatives on your mother’s side. They’re Quiche Maya, aren’t they?”

“Mayan? I-I don’t know.” He knows you’re lying. “I mean it’s possible. My parents died when I was very—”

The eyes look up suddenly, the effect disarming. “Four Ahau, three Kankin. You know what day that is, don’t you, Dominique?”

Oh, shit … “I-I’ll see you soon.” Dominique pushes past the guard, exiting the room.

Michael Gabriel places the pill carefully in his mouth. He drains the cup of water, then crumples it in the palm of his left hand. He opens his mouth, allowing the nurse to probe with her tongue depressor and pencil-thin flashlight, verifying that he has swallowed the medication.

“Thank you, Mr.Gabriel. The guard will escort you back to your room in a few minutes.”

Mick remains on the cot until the nurse has closed the door. He stands, returning to the far wall, his back to the window, the index finger of his left hand casually sliding the white pill out of the empty cup and into his palm. Resuming his lotus position on the floor, he tosses the crumpled cup onto the bed while slipping the white tablet into his shoe.

The zyprexa will be properly disposed of in the toilet when he returns to his private cell.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

SEPTEMBER 8, 2012
THE WHITE HOUSE