"How are you feeling?" asks Doctor Gannan Dolos.
"Better."
I look at the old man seated opposite me in the brightly lit room. It was only a three-minute walk to the room from my cell. Still, it was good to be able to walk, and to stretch more than ten feet, which was the width of my cell in the Pallford Psychiatric Criminal Ward. At least that's where they have told me I am. I do not have a clear recollection of events, or how long I have been in this strange place.
The doctor opens his closed palm in front of my face, revealing the yellow pill I have become accustomed to taking. The letters HMN are printed on it. I pick it up, looking at it for a brief moment, and then I close my eyes and pop it into my mouth.
Dr. Dolos is the only person I have actually interacted with since they brought me here. Though there is also the tall, thin male nurse who escorts me to and from the doctor's office. He also brings me food, but he never talks. The nurse only opens my door and signals me to either enter or exit the cell. Perhaps he is not allowed to talk to inmates.
Is that the correct term? Am I an inmate?
I hear other people too, especially at night. Incomprehensible whispers and agonizing cries that travel through the thick walls with difficulty. Other than that, it is eerily silent.
The facility gives the impression of being extremely modern and futuristic, rooms painted white and lit by harsh fluorescent strip lighting. My cell is minimally furnished: just a plastic chair, a white toilet, and a white bed. The corridor is even brighter with four banks of fluorescent lighting running across the ceiling. Dr. Dolos' office is predictably larger than my cell. In the middle of the room sits a white plastic table and two plastic chairs.
Dr. Dolos scratches his fingernails deep in his scruffy white hair and takes another drag from his pipe, releasing a cloud of scented smoke into the room. The smell of bitter apples fills the air. I have become used to it. His hard, beady eyes look deep into mine and he squints, making the black circles underneath them appear even more prominent. "Do you think you are ready?" he asks.
"Yes, Doctor."
"You will only get one chance to address the Medical Council. If they are not convinced, you will be sent to the County Prison and face criminal charges, like your grandfather."
"He is not my grandfather."
"Good." He smiles.
"Doctor? I understand. I am feeling better. Everything is clearer now."
"Hmm." He stands and walks to the door. He is wearing a bright white doctor's gown. The door opens and the nurse, who has been waiting outside, hands him a bundle of clothes that he places on the floor. "Put these on and then we can go see the Council."
I look at the folded suit on the floor. It is black. It feels funny to see black after being surrounded, trapped, in this enveloping white environment for so long.
I put on the suit and the mute nurse escorts me down the corridor. We walk for more than five minutes until we reach an open, circular area.
In the center of the circle is a high, podium-like structure. Six people are seated on the podium. They are wearing medical gowns. Three men and three women. They have solemn, grey faces, and appear bored and emotionless beyond explanation. I can only imagine how many of these hearings they have to sit through every day.
Dr. Dolos moves to stand beside me. My mother ("Mother!" That still feels so weird) enters from the other end of the room and rushes towards me. I haven't seen her since the night they arrested the Howler.
Dr. Dolos moves between her and me, holding up a forbidding hand. "Madam, please. Do not encourage him to become emotional. This is an important process." He softens slightly and adds, "There will be time afterwards."
She reaches out and straightens my tie, allowing her hand to softly brush my cheek. "The beard suits you," she whispers, her fingers caressing the hair that has grown on my face.
That I now have a beard has not occurred to me; it has been so long since I looked in a mirror.
I touch her hand too. It feels cold. She must have been so worried. Politely, Dr. Dolos directs her to an area in the back of the room where there are a few white plastic chairs. She takes her hand from my cheek and walks away.
"State your name."
I look up at the old man sitting in the center of the panel of doctors (or should I say, "judges"). He speaks the words sonorously into the microphone in front of him.
"Adamos Angelides," I reply.
"Records show that upon initial questioning you stated your name was Adam Vanolf."
"Yes. That is the name I had been made to believe was mine by the kidnapper who abducted me shortly after birth." I turn to look at Doctor Dolos who is by my side nodding approvingly.
"Hmm. Then, Mr. Angelides, records show that upon initial questioning, you claimed to be of inhuman origin. "Endohuman," if I am reading correctly. Is this true? Are you an Endohuman? I see here that you claim to have supernatural strength, and can grow fangs and claws, and run faster than the wind. Is all this true, Mr. Angelides? Do you have claws?"
"No."
"Are you an Endohuman?"
"There is no such thing as an Endohuman." I state the words firmly, surely.
"Is that so? Then how convenient to have claimed it when you were arrested."
"Dr. Zool, if I may?" intervenes Dr. Dolos.
"Proceed."
"I have been treating Adam for the past six weeks and have been researching the Howler for the past sixty. When Adam first came here, he was a very confused boy. All his life he had been made to believe he was part of some ancient, superhuman cult. A terrible, horrific plot, devised by a man with a very sick mind to avoid being discovered. The Howler has been on the Most Wanted List with the CIA, the NSA, and the FBI for decades, wanted for abductions and war crimes of unimaginable brutality." The doctor pauses to hold back his emotions as his mind appears to travel back in time to a scared little five year old boy that lost his family. "This boy has been his unwitting prey for the past eighteen."
Dr. Dolos takes a small container from a pocket in his gown and quickly unscrews the top. The familiar scent sends a flood of emotions rushing through me.
"Adam, can you identify this?"
"That is the energy mush that Pap—I mean, the Howler, fed me."
"How often did you eat this?"
"Every day, I think," I answer truthfully.
Dr. Dolos raises his voice. "Honored doctors of the Committee, this is NDH. One of the most dangerous designer drugs the world has ever known. I have been researching this substance ever since I was a teenager and years before I even finished medical school." He turns and points an accusatory finger to a screen on the wall. "It was designed by Eric Vanolf during World War II when he worked in the Research Department of the Greco-Russian Special Forces, later discovered to be a double agent working with the Nazis and also in charge of a covert, brutal experimentation program on human DNA and metaphysical abilities."
A photo of Grandpa appears on the white screen fixed to the wall to my left.
"Dr. Dolos. We know your personal interest in this. The committee sympathizes. But we are not here to judge the Howler. That has been dealt with elsewhere in a court of law and is awaiting trial. We are here solely to assess the medical condition, if any, of the accused Adamos Angelides."
"Of course," Dr. Dolos nods solemnly and continues. "Respected doctors, NDH, this dreadful poison designed by Eric Vanolf is known to cause dangerous hallucinations and the misperception of immense physical power. This poor boy has been tricked for the past five years into regularly consuming this poison. It has caused irreparable damage to his neurovascular center, as well as the brain meninges consisting of the dura, arachnoid, and pia maters, which, as you know, are responsible for allowing humans to feel pain. This poor boy has been subjected to hallucinogenic pharmaceuticals and cannot be held accountable for any of his actions."
"Is this true, Mr. Angelides? Do you recall your actions? Do you recognize the footage on the screen now?"
I look at the screen and am shocked to see video footage of me exiting a black car in a busy city street. It looks like Pallford.
"I do not remember."
"How do you recall travelling to Pallford on the night Mary Tobor was abducted, Mr. Angelides?"
I turn to Dr. Dolos. He nods reassuringly. "I thought I had flown there."
"You mean in a plane?"
"No. Using the wings of a fallen angel."
"So can you fly, Mr. Angelides?"
"No."
"And did you kill Mary Tobor?"
"No. The Howler did."
I close my eyes in pain as the memories Dr. Dolos has helped me to recover over the past few weeks return in mangled flashes. Mary's cold face. Harry. A knife.
"And what has caused this recent surge of rational thinking?"
"If I may again, Dr. Zool," Dr. Dolos interrupts once again. "We have been treating Adam with HMN, an anti-hallucinogenic, which has been central to his rehabilitation process. I also conducted deep hypnosis to try and separate the hallucinations from real events. There is still a lot of ground to cover, but I believe, if he is allowed to leave and reunite with his mother and community, he will recover. Live a normal life. Learn the meaning of love."
"Love?" Dr. Zool asks.
Dr. Dolos continues, his face grim. "Yes. Adam has not been allowed to know what love is. Neither to love nor to be loved."
"Is this true, Mr. Angelides?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Why?"
"I was told it is against the Ancient Rules. I was told if I loved a human, that love could endanger all humans, and inhibit my abilities of fulfilling the mission." I am embarrassed.
"What mission?"
"To protect the secret that protects mankind"
"What is this secret?"
"I was never told. My alleged training was not complete."
"Dear Lord, what nonsense." Dr. Zool smiles and turns to look at the other members of the council.
Dr. Dolos speaks again. "Dear doctors! This is a scared child. He needs to be reintroduced to society. He does not belong in a prison cell. Please."
"Mr. Angelides. What do you want to happen now?"
"I just want a normal life..."
The microphone switches off, feedback echoing through the cavernous room. Dr. Zool collaborates in whispers with the rest of the committee who have been quiet the whole time, yet still staring disapprovingly at me.
Three minutes pass in silence except for the panel's whispers. Then the microphone comes audibly back to life. Dr. Zool stands to announce the verdict.
TO BE CONTINUED...