Is that the way in?, asked the people who saw the entrance to Bonnie's Ranch and didn't know Bonnie's Ranch.

Yes, but not out, said those who knew it.

Elizabeth also saw the gate.

Most people who came to Bonnie's Ranch stayed there a long time. If not forever. Everyone went through the gate. Prisoners and guests. But few, like Elizabeth and Katherine, came back out.

Their car approached the high outer walls of the mental hospital in North Boston.

Cameras jutted out from between the barbed wire, not wanting to match the ivy on the walls and the castle-like face of the vast property. Temple of Madness, some said of Bonnie's ranch.

Just then, they received a call from the lab in the car. The DNA from the blood on the unknown man's gloves was not identical to the DNA from the cut feet or the squished brain tissue on the soles of the boots. Still, they needed to talk to the junkie as soon as possible before the man fell into a coma. Or maybe he died, and his foul mouth would never give up the secrets, like the gate of Bonnie's ranch never gave out the people just waiting to die here in preventive detention.

They drove through the front gate. Elizabeth and Katherine would go out through that gate as well. For others, however, the journey through this gate was something final. That's why there were often fire alarms in such institutions. Triggered by the inmates. Because when a fire raged, the doors were opened. Like this gate. Which let Elizabeth and Katherine through but would be closed forever to many others. Elizabeth remembered a passage from Dante that a priest had once recited while they were in Rome a few years ago, standing before Michelangelo's painting of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. In front of the same artwork that had caught her eye in Katherine's office back then.

Hell and Prophecy. An infinite depth opened up in the painting, depicting things that couldn't be described. And among them was Charon, the ferryman of the Styx, who poured out his entire yacht like a bucket of fish. Thus, the priest had said, he made the unfortunates leap down into the flames and the smoke as if Dante had whispered Charon's words from the Divine Comedy into Michelangelo's ear as he worked: You who come, abandon all hope ...

They passed through the gate and arrived inside. You who come abandon all hope ...

Elizabeth nodded briefly at the officer on duty. He looked like an ordinary law enforcement officer. And here, Bonnie's ranch was just like any other prison. There was an access bundle with seventeen items, including a plate, cutlery, bowl, disposable razor, shaving cream, brush with a few soft bristles, bed sheet, towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, and a few other things for cell waiting for prisoners. Name, first name, date, and time were recorded, and the steel door opened. From then on, the detention time was counted. Whereas in Bonnie's ranch, it could also last indefinitely. Similar to the eternity in which the damned were trapped forever in Dante's hell.

Whoever passed through this gate had surrendered his life. Now it was the state's turn. It dissected the inmates' time and determined exactly what happened and when it occurred within that unit of time.

Bonnie's ranch was both a jail and a sanitarium.

Elizabeth looked again at the gate. A colossal mouth that sucked up the horror and closed it. Swallowed.

And perhaps one day, spit it out again. Or kept with it forever.

Its innards of chalky white corridors, its guts of padded cells, and its nervous system of syringes, needles, and wires.

Dr. Claire Galloway, head of the Department of Psychiatry and, more recently, director of Bonnie's Ranch, was one of the nation's leading experts, specializing in schizophrenia, addictive disorders, and anxiety psychoses, as well as all the so-called affective disorders of the nervous system. A legend, Claire Galloway was, too.

One of her patients had been Christopher Yanlin, a psychopathic killer of the worst kind. A murderer who had previously been a blameless citizen. And then became one again. It turned out that Yanlin had a brain tumor pressing on the amygdala, the center in the brain responsible for fear and also called the 'fear center'. Or panic button. After this tumor was surgically removed, the patient was a different man. As peaceful as he had been before his transformation. Galloway was celebrated. Was this the breakthrough in the medical analysis of mental states? Was it all matter after all - and nothing mind? The euphoria didn't last too long, however, because Yanlin died due to the procedure. But he died a reborn, peaceful man.

Dr. Lacey Walsh, Galloway's assistant, led Katherine and Elizabeth through various white hallways, some of which had a greenish-blue hue resembling foul water and the clinical white. It was the rule that only Bonnies Ranch doctors and nursing staff could unlock the doors, and it always drove Elizabeth crazy. The certainty of being unable to get out of this ... without the keys of others ... psychiatric facility... ...without the keys of the others, always made her throat tight.

Some cleaners were coming out of a cell.

"The wolf kid," Dr. Walsh said offhandedly. "He smears his cell regularly."

"With what?" asked Katherine, unconcerned.

Walsh screwed up his face. "With his excrement. He came into the world without a natural anus, and now he's twenty-five years old." Elizabeth's gaze followed the two cleaners, who probably endured considerably more than usual, much like the crime scene cleaners. "When he's in a bad mood, he opens his floodgates, as he says. He pulls out his tubes, and well ... that's when it happens."

Katherine looked closely at the other doctor. "Is he in a bad mood a lot?"

"Several times a week. Sometimes he'll set his mattress on fire. He's done time for all kinds of things. Burglary, rape, vandalism, exhibitionism. All the other prisons are overwhelmed. They told us, "If you can't handle him: Who will?"

They crossed another corridor and reached Dr. Galloway's office. Oak-paneled walls, a giant bookcase, and, in the back, a couch that looked almost like Sigmund Freud's in Vienna. It was an office that Katherine visibly liked, and Elizabeth found it a bit too old-fashioned, although the huge desk, also made of oak, at which Galloway was enthroned, certainly looked the part.

Galloway rose from her desk chair. Her furrowed brow looked as if it anticipated every disaster in the world. "You two come for the nameless patient with the box?" Galloway got right to the point as she shook hands with the detective and the psychiatrist.

Elizabeth nodded with a furrowed brow. "We need to see him."

Galloway pressed her lips together. "You can see him, but I assume you want to talk to him, too."

"Yes." Elizabeth and Katherine looked at each other, puzzled.

Galloway took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that's not possible for now. You've read Dr. Carter's report. Beginning clouding, the delayed light response of pupils. Beginning pressure on the brain stem."

"I thought you had to sedate him first?" asked Elizabeth.

Galloway nodded slowly. "We had to at first. We administered lorazepam."

Tavor. Elizabeth had heard of it before. Lorazepam was a benzodiazepine. The most famous drug of this genus was Valium, this drug had a strong sedative effect and relieved anxiety disorders. The so-called benzos were a further development of barbiturates, whose uses were severely restricted after many people killed themselves with an overdose of barbiturates. This was not possible with benzos because they were taken in excessive form; it immediately caused violent vomiting. And the suicidal candidate threw up his overdose right away. Unless he was brilliant, as had been a pharmacist who had successfully killed himself with benzos. The man had also taken one of the most potent anti-nausea drugs usually given to tumor patients to make the side effects of chemotherapy bearable.

"Lorazepam," Elizabeth murmured. "Is he calmer now?"

Galloway tried to smile. "Calmer is good. We had to take him to the ICU, and he had to breathe off CO2, or he'd die. But not only that."

Katherine looked at her mentor and raised her eyebrows a little. "The brain swelling?"

Galloway nodded again. "Yes. When he got here, he was already having respiratory failure. If we don't do something about the brain swelling, his brain stem may be affected. And that means --"

Katherine gritted her teeth. "Exitus."

Galloway nodded another time. "Exactly."

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. "How did it come about? The drugs?"

Galloway took a deep breath and circled her desk. "Yes, an extreme overdose. We don't know what the drug is yet. The problem is also that there aren't antidotes to all drugs. We already have some antidotes to heroin, but to this Eastern European mushroom stuff, which this guy most likely must have ingested, we're pretty bare bones." She paused for a moment. "The man suffers from neurogenic pulmonary edema from the overdose because the respiratory center is no longer functioning properly. That means too much lung water, lung swelling, and respiratory failure. That adds to the brain swelling I mentioned."

Elizabeth licked her lips. "So what now?" She would be happy if Galloway would say for once what was still possible rather than first discussing what all was no longer possible. In that respect, the older woman reminded her of the IT service in BPD.

Galloway sat on the edge of her desk and frowned. "We had to administer draining medications and initiate intracranial pressure lowering therapy," she said.

"The hard way or the soft way?" asked Katherine, who obviously knew the difference as a medical professional.

Galloway took a deep breath and looked closely at her protégé. "The hard one. In addition to the medication, we need to saw open the skull and release the pressure. Lift parts of the skull to give the brain room to swell."

Katherine pressed her lips together for a second. "That's what artificial coma means?"

"That's what it means, Kate."

Elizabeth took a step toward the two medics and furrowed her brows. "Wait a minute," she said forcefully. Were the people at Bonnie's ranch going to put the perp in a coma before they got the information from him? "This guy is dangerous. We emailed you the report. He had a box with two human feet, and his boot has a human's brain matter stuck to it."

The words the man had yelled out also echoed in Elizabeth's head.

Cut away the flesh ... Between the anus and the vagina. Then the stake fits through. And then they sit ... on the stake. And slowly slide down.

You can sit there and time it.

I bit them ... so I could fall asleep.

The blood! The blood of the living!

In thirty minutes... another one can die!

Galloway licked her lips and looked closely at the detective. "I know all that, Elizabeth. But if we don't operate now, you'll need a necromancer for this man's testimony. Either you get the testimony later." She looked at the siblings. "Or not at all."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and didn't let up. "And how long will he be in an induced coma?"

Galloway raised her shoulders. "It could be as little as a week."

Elizabeth's cell phone rang. It was her wife, Maggie, whose cynical humor had driven her to despair on more than one occasion. "What's up, Mags?" She switched the speaker on her cell phone to loud.

"Well," Maggie began, "the feet have been severed post-mortem. According to Eli's report, he released the feet from the joint, Liz. Not with a scalpel, though, but with a serrated knife. The edges of the wound are serrated. Otherwise, however, released at the ankle joint, as would be done for an amputation. We have no bled incision edges. No vital signs. That is --"

Elizabeth took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Meaning?"

"He cut the feet off pretty cleverly. It's a lot easier that way. In any case, he knew his way around."

Great, thought the detective. A mad professional, too. "Okay, and what else?"

"You guys were wrong about the surgery. Even if the guy did seem to have some basic knowledge."

Elizabeth frowned a little. "So no surgery?"

Maggie paused dramatically. "No, Nick and I called the hospitals in and around Boston. There hasn't been a foot amputation anywhere in the last few days or weeks. That being said, yes, the feet have been severed post-mortem. Why would you cut off a body's feet in an OR?"

Elizabeth blinked a few times and frowned a little. "Maybe as an organ donation?" At that moment, she would have liked to slap herself.

Maggie was silent for a few seconds. "Listen. I'm in charge of the stupid jokes in this relationship, not you."

Elizabeth couldn't help but smirk at the doctors. "You've got a point there, Mags. Would be too easy, after all."

Maggie chuckled on the other end of the line but immediately became serious again. "Would be unusual, too. Why amputate two healthy feet? But we have something else for that."

"Namely?"

"We had the DNA of the brain mass and the feet analyzed and put it into the database. It's not registered anywhere. Nick, Eli, and I are querying other databases, but we can't say anything about it."

"Great," Elizabeth growled. "But he severed the feet post-mortem? That's for sure?" She fervently hoped the perpetrator hadn't done this to the living object.

"Post-mortem," Maggie agreed, sounding like she was nodding.

"Greetings, Dr. Ross," said Galloway, who recognized Maggie's voice immediately.

"Dr. Galloway," said the redhead, who recognized the other doctor's voice. "Hi. Have the investigators invaded Bonnie's ranch again?"

Galloway smiled as Elizabeth rolled her eyes again. "They are. I had just explained to the ladies that getting a statement from a dead man would be difficult. But they say, doctor, that you can talk to the dead?"

Maggie chuckled. "With some."

"And are you hearing anything yet?"

"Not yet. Could be because your guy isn't dead yet, though."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes once more.

"Maggie, you'll get back to me when you have more information on the DNA?" Elizabeth tried to conclude.

She could see her wife nodding and smiling. "Why, yes. And if the dead man does get back to me."

The detective quickly ended the call.

Katherine's eyebrows drew together, and she crossed her arms. "Where is this unknown patient, anyway?"

Very valid question, Elizabeth thought. Even though she found the word patient a bit odd in this case, what else could you call a man who couldn't remember his name and had no identification documents with him? And he was already in a coma anyway. Customer, hardly.

"In OR," Galloway said flatly. "We took the liberty of starting the operation right away, or he would have come through the gate at the same time as you guys in the hearse." She took a deep breath. "We can look in the gallery, and maybe we'll catch the moment they're sawing open his skull. It's a little noisy, but always very ... interesting!"

Very tempting, Elizabeth thought, as the three of them set off.