Silly Putty. A fragment of memory tries to tug a smile from the corner of her mouth. Before she can catch it, it vanishes. She scans the room, trying to pry the real from the unreal with the force of her gaze. Bedding, rails, hoses, bags, metal trees, monitors: her eyes wander over them. Apparatus are on her and in her and around her, attached to one another, attached to her. She and the machinery inter-are.

All phenomena are devoid of a separate, individual self. Empty.

This is not helpful.

Moving slowly, lest she and the medical detritus should interfere with one another, Rose peels back the bedclothes. The rest of her white-and-blue hospital gown is crumpled in her lap. Extending from beneath it are legs so pale, fragile-looking, and unbelievably bony, it takes her a moment to realize they are hers. White-and-blue-striped socks cover her feet.

For an inestimable time she sits holding on to the rails. Why she sits, why, much as she craves rest, she is afraid to lie down, slips from her mind.

She can’t remember why she is where she is, how she’s gotten here.

Who are you?

Rose Dennis.

When were you born?

1952.

What day is it?

I don’t know.

Who is the president of the United States?

I don’t know, but I know I hate the son of a bitch.

A litany from somewhen.

Rose squeezes her eyes shut and rubs them with her fists. That had been a test for sanity. Evidently Rose had failed.

Right View: Nursing home.

Right Intention: Get out.

For long moments, she considers that intention. The shackles are off. But the doctor said she was back in a secure environment. There will be locks and watchers. No walking out.

Rose lowers herself back to the bed and painstakingly buckles her wrists back into their cuffs. There is nothing she can do about the IV. They’ll just have to work that mystery out for themselves.

Fear is all around her, fear that this place, these people, are keeping her against her will. Perhaps for her own good. Perhaps not. Rose does not like people imposing unpleasant things on her “for her own good.” Until she has a plan, one that will carry her farther than a couple of football fields from this place, she will play possum. She will watch. She will be mindful.

She will resist having the level of her meds raised to par. Her mind must be allowed to clear. Then:

Right Action: Very carefully and mindfully get out.

CHAPTER 3

Rose is wearing a nightgown and robe.

“Up and around.” Wanda, the woman with the luna moth eyebrows, leads her from a hallway into a waiting room. “Is it good to be home, Ms. Dennis?”