A police patrol had found Orrin Mather semiconscious and bleeding on a sidewalk in southwest Houston. No address, no identification, and no apparent means of support. Under the vagrancy laws written in the aftermath of the Spin, Orrin had been taken into custody for evaluation. His physical injuries had been easy enough to treat. His mental state was an open question, however, one which Sandra was expected to resolve over the course of the next seven days. “You have family, Orrin?”

“Just my sister Ariel back in Raleigh.”

“And the police have contacted her?”

“They say so, yes, ma’am. Officer Bose says she’s coming by bus, to get me. That’s a long trip, that bus trip. Hot this time of year I expect. Ariel don’t care for hot weather.”

She would have to ask Bose about that. Usually, if a family member was willing to assume responsibility, there was no need for a vag case to end up in State Care. There were no violent acts in Orrin’s arrest record, and he was clearly aware of his situation, not obviously delusional. At least not at the moment. Though there was something uncanny about him, Sandra thought. (An unprofessional observation, which she would not record in her notes.)

She began with the standard interview from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual. Did he know the date and so forth. Most of his answers were straightforward and coherent. But when she asked him whether he heard voices, Orrin hesitated. “Guess I don’t,” he said at last.

“Are you sure? It’s okay to talk about these things. If there’s a problem, we want to help you with it.”

He nodded earnestly. “I know that. It’s a hard question, though. I don’t hear voices, ma’am, no, not exactly … but I write things sometimes.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things I don’t always understand.”

Here, then, was the entry point.

Sandra added a note to Orrin’s file—poss. delusions, written—for later exploration. Then, because the subject was obviously distressing to him, she smiled and said, “Well, that’s enough for now.” Half an hour had passed. “We’ll talk again soon. I’ll have an orderly escort you to the room where you’ll be staying over the next few days.”

“I’m sure it’s very nice.”

Compared to the back alleys of urban Houston, maybe it would be. “The first day at State can be hard for some people, but trust me, it’s not as bad as seems. Evening meals are at six in the commissary.”

Orrin looked doubtful. “Is that like a cafeteria?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you, is it loud in there? I don’t care for noise when I eat.”