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''Don't pay any attention; it's the narcotic. He's hallucinating. I gave him enough Mellaril to knock him out for days. There's no way he could be rational." |
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Bartholomew's head turned mechanically toward the old man. With each word, his voice was growing stronger. "Quite the contrary, Dr. Freeman. I am in complete control of my faculties. I am, as you so delicately put it, 'rational.' In fact, I think you can already see evidence of how completely in control I am. You saw them. I willed that to be done." |
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Linda Cavitt inched her way back, away from the man. "Bart, you're talking nonsense. What's the matter with you?" |
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A sinister smile slowly inched its way across the deputy's swollen face. "It is so simple. I have a mission." |
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"Don't pay any attention to him," Freeman admonished, "he's on overload. Doesn't know what he's saying." |
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"I have a mission," Bartholomew repeated. His voice was growing stronger and more direct. |
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"Mission," Linda cried. "What kind of a mission?" |
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Freeman stepped forward again, his fevered eyes fixed on the man. |
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"Which one of you is the one called Ruthie? Is it you . . . or the other old woman?" |
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