Madison was home late that Wednesday night, and as soon as he saw her face, Ethan knew something was wrong. She was trying so hard to look relaxed that she looked like absolute hell.
"You look a little tired," he told her lightly. He didn't want to say much else while Shaun was there. "You missed dinner, but there's leftovers. I can nuke them, or I can even put them back in the pot to heat them up."
Shaun was looking up from the sofa: "You're late," he said.
"Yep," she agreed. "Really late. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so late. I'm starving. I hope you guys left enough food for me."
The two adults acted like everything was all right until Shaun was in bed. Ethan grabbed her as soon as his son's bedroom door closed. He let her hang in his arms, use him for support.
"What is it?" he asked her. "What happened? What do I need to do?"
She laughed a little bit against his shoulder, about how thoughtful he was. "There isn't much you can do about it. I got some bad news, is all. I wanted to interview Norman Jayden, you know, for my book, and I finally tracked him down."
"Yeah?"
"Well, the FBI would only tell me he was on leave. He was kind of hard to find, because he's in a hospital. I mean, a mental institution. He's sick. I guess he's really screwed up. It would help if you gave me a kiss."
He gave her one. He was already miserable, himself, at the news. "Why? What happened to him? Can we help him?"
"You're such a nice guy," she responded. "You're, like, crazy nice. I'm not exactly sure what's wrong, just that his doctor said it's the best place for him right now. I talked to him, the doctor, I mean, and he said Norman would like to see me, so I'm allowed to visit. The doctor said Norman really wants to see you. That makes sense, I guess, because of what he did for Shaun. The place is out in Virginia. Saturdays are visiting days. I wanted to –"
Ethan cut her off: "Of course I'll come. Of course. Shaun will be back at Grace's on Saturday. You and I can drive out to Virginia. Don't be so sad. Were you late because you were spending time being sad? Do you feel like you're not allowed to be sad here? I'll still love you whether you're sad or not. Let's go see Norman Jayden, see what's wrong."
"Thank you so much," she whispered. "You always know the best thing to say. I don't know what to say about it to Shaun. He thinks the guy's like Superman. What do you want to do?"
"I'll take care of it," Ethan responded. "I'll tell Shaun that he's sick, that he's in a hospital, and we're going to go see him. He can write a get-well card." He kissed her cheek. "How can I help you feel better right now?"
"Can we go to bed? I don't think I'm done being . . . sad. Sorry, I just can't help it." He immediately pressed her to his shoulder and half-carried her to their bedroom, squeezing her so hard she could barely breathe. She was so thankful she felt weak; she couldn't hug him as hard as she wanted to.
The next few days exploded by. Ethan handed the card Shaun had made to Madison in the car on Saturday morning. "Check it out," he said.
She was already grinning at the picture Shaun had drawn on the front: Brightly-colored balloons. When she opened it, the photograph slipped out. It was of the three of them, from the time they'd asked someone to take their picture in the park. They were all smiling. The inside of the card just said, "Thank You."
"Oh my god," she said, as they backed out of the driveway. "This is the best thing ever."
"I don't know," Ethan said, lightly. "Those balloons are a little lopsided. I've got to teach that kid some design skills."
"No," she responded. "They're gorgeous. I want to keep it, myself. Oh, he did a wonderful job. Did you put the picture in?"
"Shaun did it," Ethan said, softly. "He wanted it in there, so Agent Jayden could see us happier than when he was here. Swear to god, that's what he said."
Madison teared up a little, then fell asleep on the way. It was a long, long drive.
Ethan gently shook her awake. "Hey, Madison. We're here. We're . . . we're at the place." Just looking into his eyes told her how much it was hurting him to be there, to think about the FBI agent in there.
"Goodness," she responded, and grabbed him in a hug. Ethan had levels of empathy that were almost terminal, and she wasn't sure he was going to be okay inside. "Thanks. Oh, honey, you look worn out. Thank you so much for driving. Do you want to stay out here?"
"No," he told her firmly. "I want to come in. I want to thank him. I want to tell him that I'm sorry he's sick."
She hugged him all the way to the front door. Neither of them had ever been to a mental institution before, and the experience of emptying their pockets of all potentially dangerous objects was surprising, upsetting.
"We've got people on suicide watch," said the bored-looking man supervising the process. "You're lucky you get to keep your shoelaces."
The nurse who led them towards the dayroom, however, was a sweetheart. "When you see Norman, talk to him," she said. "Say his name. If he answers you, he's fine, and you can keep talking. If he doesn't say anything, that probably means he's having a seizure. Don't touch him or talk to him, just tell one of the staff, okay?"
"Oh my god." Madison couldn't repress her horror. "Oh, god, it's that bad?"
"He's getting better," the nurse reassured her. "But he's hurt. He's pretty hurt. He'll be okay if you're careful."
Ethan asked: "Is he . . . dangerous?"
"Oh, no, no. Only to himself, a little, because he's a little accident-prone. He's on the least-restricted ward, mostly temporary voluntary committals and patients who are nearing release. Don't be nervous about violence, not from him, or any of the other patients you'll see in the dayroom. Nobody there hurts anyone. Norman's just sick. He's been so excited for your visit, he really has. He's not the most demonstrative guy in the world, but he actually gave me a hug when I said you were coming. He has trouble remembering days and times, though, so he might be a little disoriented. Just so you know. Oop." They were in the doorway of a large room, now. "There he is, by the window. See him?"
"Yeah," Ethan agreed. Norman was slumped in a chair, staring aimlessly out a wide window. "We're good." He clasped Madison's hand, and they moved together towards the man they'd come to see.
He looked tired, untidy, and startlingly thin, almost gaunt. He also, incongruously, reminded Madison of a high-school gym coach – dressed in sweats and sneakers, a stopwatch hanging from a cord around his neck.
"Agent Jayden?" Ethan asked.
His face immediately shot up towards them, and he sprang out of his chair. "Not in here," he corrected Ethan, extending his hand out in greeting. Ethan grabbed at it. "Here, I'm just Norman. Good to see you. Let's head over to a table."
Norman led the way, awkwardly. "Sorry, it's strange to talk to people in this setting. I bet you're uncomfortable as hell."
Madison laughed as they sat down: "Okay, yeah, a little."
"I would be, if I were you. Thanks for coming. I forgot you would be here today, or I would have shaved. Sharon told me I shouldn't look like such a slob when I have visitors, but I don't exactly have any of my suits here, anyway. Sorry, Sharon is someone who works here. Did you meet her? Oh, shit, I sound crazy as hell, don't I. Sorry. I'm nervous about trying to not sound crazy, and it's making me say crazy things. I was just trying to say I'm sorry I don't look classier."
"It's not like we look that much better," Madison smiled at him. "We had breakfast in the car, and these pants did not have this big coffee stain when we left this morning, I swear." Everyone relaxed a little.
"I really was glad to have the chance to talk to you again," Norman murmured towards the table. "It's good to see survivors of something like what you went through and see that they're doing well. But my doctor said you wanted to talk to me, too. Anything you want, I'll be happy to help with. What do you want?"
There was a little pause before Ethan spoke: "I really just never formally thanked you afterwards, not really," he said shyly. "Everything was so chaotic, and Shaun and I were both in such rough shape. I would have liked to have brought Shaun, he'd like to say thank you, too. But it's sort of a long trip and . . ."
"They don't let kids visit in here, anyway," Norman said, so that Ethan wouldn't have to. "I think some of the other patients get to go out to lunch with their own kids when they come, but I'm still restricted to grounds-only. I can't leave here." His voice sounded a little desolate.
"Shaun made you a card, though," Ethan said swiftly. "A thank-you card." Madison pulled it out of her notebook and handed it over; Norman accepted it with a small smile of surprise, studying the front. The photograph slipped out as he opened it, and he deftly caught it before it could flutter all the way to the floor.
"This is great," Norman finally said, looking back and forth between the card and the picture. "Really great. Tell him thank you. Or that he's welcome. Tell him both. And, of course, you're welcome, too. Cute picture. You three look good together. How's Grace doing, if you don't mind me asking?"
"She's still a little edgy about everything that happened," Ethan answered him. "But she's getting better and better. She sends her thanks, too. We're still sharing custody, and she has Shaun on weekends. That's where he is today. She's back at work, and I think she's doing pretty well."
"How are you doing?" Madison asked Norman, quietly. Ethan flinched a little at her bluntness.
Norman tucked the picture back into the card and folded it again. "What did they tell you?"
Madison shrugged. "Not much. That you're sick. That you have seizures and we should be careful around you if you have one. That's seriously almost everything we know."
"They're not true seizures, they're lengthy hallucinations," Norman said flatly. "But it's more a physical problem than a psychological one. Brain damage. They don't quite know what to do about it. I don't necessarily need to be in a psychiatric hospital, it's just that there's only so many places to keep someone who needs as much supervision as I apparently do. My doctor says that if I do well enough in here, I could go to an assisted living facility." There was little enthusiasm in his voice at the prospect. "They can't do much about patching up the holes in my brain, but I'm supposed to learn here how to live with it."
"Is it . . ." Ethan swallowed hard. "Is it because of something that happened when you were helping us?"
"Sort of," Norman said thoughtfully.
"Oh, God," Ethan blurted back. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."
Norman looked confused for a few seconds, then his eyes widened in realization. "No, no, it's not your fault. Or Shaun's fault. Or even Scott Shelby's fault. You've got nothing to apologize for. This is something I did to myself because I was careless, and it almost certainly would have happened sooner or later, even if I'd never gone to Philadelphia. Don't . . . you look horrified. Don't be horrified. This is my fault."
Madison planted a kiss on Ethan's cheek. "You really do look so guilty. Stop it." The other man nodded.
Ethan had to smile a little at how fragile she appeared to think he was. "Sorry. I get it. I mean, I'm sorry you're in here, but I – oh, hell. That was a bad thing to say. Hell."
"I'm not offended," Norman said, helpfully. "I'm really not. I'm sorry I'm in here, too. I'm very glad you came."
"I'd really like to interview you a little, if I could, Norman," Madison interjected. "I mean, you can put limits on what I say about you in print, but I'm trying to write a book about the Origami murders and it would really be useful if you could tell me anything you're willing to about your background on the case."
Norman grimaced. "I don't mind," he explained, "But I don't have access to any of my old notes any more. You should call the Bureau; they'll have assigned someone new to cleaning up the odds and ends, and whoever that is will have the materials. I have some real memory problems now, and I don't want to tell you anything false."
"Oh, yeah, I know I have to call them again. I sort of have a picture for what I need to call them about. But you were the one who was there, and who put all the pieces together. Can I try asking you about it, and you can just answer anything you feel comfortable with?"
He tapped the table thoughtfully for a few seconds. "All right," he answered abruptly. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Ethan excused himself, unfolding out of his seat, and rubbed at his eyes as he drifted towards the windows. He could hear Madison's voice behind him: "Ethan can't really talk about it, it's really hard for him, still. But he came along today because he wanted to thank you." She kept murmuring to Norman, and Ethan was grateful both for her thoughtfulness and the excuse to escape the uncomfortable conversation. He took over Norman's abandoned chair, and spent some time, himself, staring out towards the trees.
Madison opened her notebook to the right place and asked the first question: "When did you start working on the case?"
"May 27th of last year," he said promptly. "I . . . no, no. Of 2011. I, oh god, I don't know what year it is." His knuckles were white.
"That's last year. You were right." He nodded, but he wasn't meeting her eyes. "Am I making you upset? Don't feel like you have to do this. Ethan got to thank you and we gave you the card, and those were the really important things. I can just call the FBI if you're uncomfortable. Just say the word, and I'll leave you alone."
"No," he blurted back at her. "I just can't deal with dates very well. I spend so much time inside my head that it's very hard to tell when things happen. But I can talk about the case. I'm embarrassed about not knowing dates, but if you help me with them, this will be fine."
Madison was already mentally crossing off about twenty of the questions she'd been planning to ask, because they were all about dates. "Well, let's start with something else. What was your first impression of the case? What's your earliest memory of working with it?"
"All of those kids' faces," Norman said immediately. "All those poor dead boys. It made me want so badly to make it stop."
Madison smiled at him in sympathy. "Tell me more."
He did, and after a few more questions that he answered easily, he stopped looking like a deer in headlights. He began speaking quickly, fluidly, gesturing elaborately with his hands. She was scribbling with lightning speed.
"How would you describe your interaction with the local law enforcement?" she asked. He didn't answer her, and after a long pause, she looked back up at his face.
Norman looked far more startled by the question than Madison had expected; he'd jerked his head back, his eyes were wide, and he blinked wildly over her shoulder for a few seconds. He looked so shocked that she shot a glance behind her – nothing. She turned back to him. Slowly, he composed himself, then looked down at the stopwatch hanging from his neck. Solemnly, he took it in one hand, pressed a button, and then stretched his hands out in front of him, staring at them.
Madison was confused. "Norman? Are you okay?"
He didn't answer her, but patted gingerly at the table.
"Norman?"
He stood up abruptly, and she was so startled that she did it with him. He didn't react to her at all. He rounded the edge of the table and immediately collided with the chair she'd just stood up from. It made him crash spectacularly into the next table over, and he ended up almost completely flat on the tile floor. He looked frightened by the fall, and she automatically jumped to help him up.
"Don't touch him!" someone shouted at the same instant she curled her hand around his upper arm, and she was still realizing what had been said when Norman screamed and jerked violently out of her grasp. Startled out of balance, she sprawled onto the floor herself now, while Norman scrambled frantically backwards away from her, his face locked in an expression of terror. He shot right into the wall, banging his head, and dropped fully prone, cowering, his hands raised palm-out in front of him as though he was afraid of being hit.
"Don't ever touch Norman when he's like that," Madison heard the same voice say, and looked up into the accusing stare of a moon-faced man in a bathrobe. She looked quickly around the room; the visitors' faces looked startled, the patients' ran the gamut from mildly interested to bored. Ethan had risen from his chair by the window and was staring open-mouthed at Norman with an expression that suggested horror. The bathrobe-clad man went on: "He can't see you or hear you. It scares him when someone touches him. It scares him a lot."
"I forgot," she apologized weakly. "I just wanted to help him get up." An enormous male nurse was hovering attentively over Norman, now. "Is he hurt? Norman, did I hurt you? Oh, no, did I hurt him?"
Ethan was already helping her pick herself up. The nurse who'd shown them in was helping, too. "He's supposed to stay still," the nurse fussed. "He's got to stop trying to walk around when he's hallucinating. He's got so many bruises. Oh, crud, I hope he didn't get too hurt. He hit the wall very hard just now. Did you notice if he at least started the stopwatch?" The nurse moved her hand in a motion that echoed Norman's.
"Yeah, I think so." Madison felt numb. She wasn't sure if she'd still be standing up if Ethan wasn't holding on to her so firmly.
"Good, he's getting better at remembering that. He just has so much trouble figuring out how much time has passed when he doesn't."
All three of them watched as Norman pulled himself off the floor and drifted out of the room, hands running along the walls. The enormous male nurse followed him.
"He might come back to reality in about fifteen minutes, or it might take hours," the other nurse said, softly. "Barry will make sure he's okay. We usually just monitor him so he doesn't hurt himself, because he's very difficult to communicate with when he's like this, and we like to try to avoid unnecessary sedation. But as soon as he wakes up, so to speak, he'll be absolutely rational. I couldn't tell you just how long he'll be gone this time. I don't know if you'd want to wait or not."
"Let's get some lunch," Ethan suggested, gently rubbing Madison's back. "Do you think that would work, if we went out to lunch and came back?"
The nurse nodded. "He might be back before then; if not, then almost certainly sometime this afternoon. You folks had a long drive, didn't you?" They nodded. "I'm sure he'd at least like to say goodbye, if you don't mind waiting." She gave them directions to a few nearby places they could go for food.
"Are you Sharon?" Madison asked. "Because if you're Sharon, he really likes you."
The nurse was immediately flushed. "I'm Sharon. He's very nice when he's got his head straight. I know he likes me. Not in like a romantic way, not in an inappropriate way, but I know he likes me. I'm trying to help him get a place to go when he's able to leave. Do. . ." Sharon looked away. "I know you're not family, but if you know anyone that he could live with, that would be really, really good. He's very unhappy here. He's not ready to go yet, but when he is, he's going to need help, and he doesn't have anyone who could take him that we know about. His family is very distant. It would be really good if you could just try to think of someone."
They were silent all the way out to the car; as soon as Madison closed her door, she turned to Ethan: "Holy shit," she said.
"No kidding. Did he make sense while you were talking to him?"
"Yeah, absolutely. It was a little weird at first, but then it was just like talking to him back when I was interviewing him in Philly. Incredibly cautious; wouldn't say anything unless he was totally sure it was accurate. A perfect model of FBI restraint. Then he just stopped talking like someone flipped a switch, and he got up and walked away and took that header into the table."
"That woman was asking us to take him, wasn't she." Ethan looked like he was working himself up, approaching desperation.
"Yeah, she was." Madison bit her lips. "She wants us to say we have a place he could go to. I should have said we've got a little kid to think about. Shaun would be terrified if Norman was wandering around the house, hallucinating. Wouldn't he?"
"Yeah. I'd like to help him, but we can't help him like that."
"No, we can't. Do you want me to drive? You look really upset."
". . . yes. It would be very nice if you drove us out to lunch, because I can't even remember where that woman said to go."
"Okay," Madison responded. "Get out, I'll drive. You deserve a break."