The driver turned off the main highway and headed into town. “Baldwin County Courthouse!” he called out. A giggling young couple, both dressed in their Sunday best, got off the bus. She was wearing a corsage. Likely a courthouse wedding. Peyton wondered—was that how his parents had looked on their way to the courthouse all those years ago?

“Georgia Military College!” the driver announced. Three boys in uniform, who all looked just a little older than Peyton, stepped off.

As the driver took the bus down a long street and then turned onto Broad, he called out, “Central State Hospital!”

Peyton’s blood ran cold at the sight of it—an imposing brick building with white columns out front. There wasn’t a living soul in sight. Were they all confined behind those high walls, with bars on their windows and locks on their doors? Or was it just like an ordinary hospital? You’d have to go in there to find out, and nobody wanted to do that.

He watched as a man about his father’s age stepped aboard, taking a seat across the aisle. The man was tall, pale, and gaunt. For a fleeting moment, Peyton wondered whether he might be a Milledgeville escapee, but then, he doubted anyone fleeing this place would calmly step onto a public bus.

As the driver slowly pulled away, the man across the aisle sat perfectly still and straight, his hands folded on his lap. Peyton relaxed into his seat, leaned his head against the window, and fell asleep to the hum of the bus.

He slept through stops in little towns like Lumber City, Satilla, and Hazelhurst as the bus rambled through Georgia on its way to the coast. Somewhere along the way, he dreamed. Peyton saw himself kneeling on the grass at his grandparents’ house, petting a beautiful Irish setter. The dog licked his cheek and then took a spirited run around the lawn. When it returned to Peyton, it playfully jumped on him with its front paws. Peyton was laughing, scratching the dog behind its ears, when suddenly it turned into a stallion and reared up, pawing at him. It knocked him flat on his back. He covered his face with his arms but couldn’t get up—couldn’t run or scream. Finally, he heard the stallion gallop away. With great relief, he slowly lowered his trembling arms, only to see that he was strapped to a hospital gurney encircled by nurses who had no faces.

When he woke up, the man from Milledgeville was standing over him, shaking his shoulders.

“Y-you . . . o-k-kay?” The man looked concerned.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry I bothered you. Just—had a crazy dream.” Immediately, he regretted his choice of words—saying “crazy” to a man who had just gotten out of the asylum. “I didn’t mean—”

“No b-bother,” the man said. “I j-just . . . didn’t . . . want to leave you . . . in there.” He returned to his seat, stretching out his legs and looking out the window.