December 6, 1945

Boston, Massachusetts

Charlene taps her long red fingernails across the table, "Hmmmm. We could claim we're doing a study analyzing which names the inmates are most likely to have."

I look it her with a big question mark on my face. "Or," I say, "We could just go back to Boston and ask for an interview with that one guy."

"I've got it. We go back for more analysis of the conditions and get the name of the facility he was out in New York. He'll want to barter for the information. Chocolate. That's a precious commodity in prison."

"How do you know that?" I ask.

"Patty, I do routine research on prisons and mental facilities. No one gives anything away for free."

So we end up back in the asylum a day later thanks to a phone call that went something like this:

"It's Charlene Madlee."

Pause.

"I'm calling to do an interview with one of the inmates. My supervisor thinks it would make a much more realistic piece if the information came firsthand from an inmate."-Charlene

Pause.

"Well, I find that inmate particularly interesting." -Charlene

Pause.

"The one that was screaming at us from down the hall."-Charlene

"What's the problem? Hiding something?" -Charlene

Pause.

"You have a great day too."-Charlene

Phone back on hook.

December 7, 1945

Boston Massachusetts

"Wow," Charlene says to me on the drive up to the asylum. "December 7, 1941. I still remember where I was. Oh, Patty, what has the world become?"

"No idea," I respond. It's begun to snow again outside. I focus on that to drown the anxiety in my chest. "There's going to be a clue, I just know it." I kiss the ring on the chain around my neck.

The director is waiting for us on the steps.

"Hello, Director," Charlene extends her hand in the way a queen would for her subject to kiss.

"Hello, again. Your supervisor is very curious about the mentally ill."

"Indeed," she says, and we enter.

"The name of the patient is John Walker. If he starts talking about things flying in the sky that means it's time for the visit to end. He gets jumpy after that, paranoid. Might even see you as a threat. He won't even talk to you with anyone else in the room, that paranoid. Remember, this man is in here for a reason. He is mentally ill," The director looks at us intently.

"Thanks for the warning, Director. I'm sure we'll be fine."

We enter a visiting area that's completely empty except for one anxious man eyeing us suspiciously.

"Hello, Mr. Walker, my name is Charlene Madlee, and I'm writing an article about the conditions of the facility. And this is-"

"Patty, yes I know. P.B."

"How do you do?" I shake his hand. "So you knew Anton?"

Mr. Walker begins eyeing Charlene. "Maybe I did."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"How do I know, Ms. Madlee that you aren't one of them. This conversation is between P.B. and I. Why do you care? You know, the newspaper and radio stories are the first sources they will use to blind the public."

"Oh God, you are crazy, aren't you?" Charlene crosses her arms, but I know this is a tactic to get more information.

"If you call me crazy for believing the government has taken some of the darkest Nazi technology and is using it against the U.S. population, you are wrong." He says completely serious.

I glance over at Charlene as she arches an eyebrow and leans forward. "Oh really?"

"I was in the unit in charge of getting it out. I'm a scientist myself. A chemist. However, I wouldn't call that stuff chemistry. It's more like playing God."

"So," Charlene says, skepticism coloring her voice. "You're telling me, when I go on my trip to document the evidence against the Nazis, I won't even find a damn paper trail of the rumors that have been circulating around the U.S.? It's already gone." She flickers her fingers in the air mimicking birds.

Mr. Walker leans forward. "They'll let you find what they want you to find. Besides, they wouldn't want the Soviets getting their hands on it first." He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Did you happen to bring anything? For my story?"

Charlene tosses a bar of chocolate at him.

"You know, he's probably gone by now, anyway. But it's not like you two would have a chance getting into a government building.

I break my silence. "So what do you suggest we do?"

"How much chocolate do you have?"

I sigh. "You know we just got out of a war. How much chocolate do you think?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to keep helping you at this point. I could just keep taking chocolate and lead you on a wild goose chase, but before I got in here, I was an honorable man."

"You were a spy."

"Who was set up by the government. They made me do their dirty work against my own country. I didn't even know what I had till I got curious. But it was already too late. They put in here to shut me up. So everyone would think I'm a loon." His face becomes even more serious. "I have one thing that connects me to the outside world."

Mr. Walker looks around then pulls something out of his shirt. Something I recognize immediately.

"He wrote in this. It's kinda like a journal or diary or whatever. It talks about you. Here, just take it."

"What…" I take it quickly from him. "You were just going to keep this?"

"Can you leave now?"

"Yes," Charlene says, "Let's go."

"But where did you come from? Before here." I beg.

"They put a bag over my head. I don't know. But I do know the speed we were going and for how long. I would say it's about 200 miles." He eyes the tablet longingly.

"Okay, thank you," I leave with Charlene not sure how I feel.

"No telling where that thing has been," She mutters to me on the way out. "Well hide it!" She hisses.

The director is waiting by the door. "Hope you got everything you need. And please, remember I let you have a special interview. Don't forget that in your generous writing."

A threat to make the facility look good.

"Not a change I could take a peek at that basement?"

"What basement?" He says, opening the door for us. "Good day."

In the car, I open it. "This just a jumble of madness."

"No, it's not. It's a word scramble. That's how he was able to keep it. Anyone who would look at it would just think its craziness. Look."

P.B. fi ouy rvee etg hist, ouy ear lelw no rouy ayw ot dgfniin em

P.B. if you ever get this, you are well on your way to finding me.

Later, I sit at the kitchen table with a pen and paper frantically.

I remember watching the train pass by and into distance. I thought I had wanted my freedom disappear. But I was left with you standing in front of me. And thoughts of freedom disappeared.

One passage I transcribe and read over and over.

Oh my leibe, I am lonely tonight. I wish that we could be at the opera in this moment. I wish we were back in your little hideout. I wish that I had held you longer because I don't know if we'll ever see each other again.

I can't explain what is happening without feeling guilty for putting this on you. They're torturing me. And I'm starting to run out of things to tell them. I was a soldier pulled out of my studies with terrible shooting skills. What could I possibly know?

I put my hands to my mouth, heart beating fast. "Oh my God, oh my God, I can't breathe." Tears pour down my face. "Oh, please no."

Charlene runs into the kitchen, a baseball bat in hand.

"We have to find him, Charlene," I wail. "They're torturing him!"

Shocked, she reads over my notes.

"I can't believe this. I'm so sorry, Patty." Charlene's own eyes are filled with horror.

"Mr. Walker was telling the truth…"

"I'll fix a pot of tea," Charlene says.

I decided to take a break from reading. It feels so private to me, and I want Anton all to myself. We drink our tea in silence, but the silence is not awkward. The silence is acceptance of neither of us having a thing to say.

Eventually, she goes back to bed, and I stay up in the lamp light, transcribing and reading.

It's dreadfully cold down here, P.B. When will this winter end? I just hope you're looking for me. I'm not dead. I don't want to complain too much to you. I've put you through enough… I hope you and your father have found a way to live together… By the way, who is Antonia Alexander? No, I know it is you. I'm just making jokes to pass the time. Possibility is small that you will ever find this.

So he does get the paper wherever he is. An idea blooms in my mind. Yes. A way to communicate.

"Charlene!" I yell. "Charlene!"

She looks at me groggily and clearly not exactly happy about being woken up. "What is it, Patty?"

"He gets the newspaper."

"Okay?"

"He gets the newspaper."

Realization dawns on her face. "We can get him a message."