Harry knew Alister’s history extensively, as far as any stranger would’ve known.

July 19th, 2016. The day Alister got into a car accident. A local police station held the relevant records - victims, charges, all the juicy information. Harry hadn’t bothered looking into that. No reason, as far as he believed.

But now, he searched for a motive - a motive, he believed, that would shade light into his suspicions. A motive that spans well over this little case, a possible cog amidst a possible series of machinations he had yet to understand.

Two little hints sparked a nice little flame amidst the shadow of doubt.

First was Alister’s journal, outlining his motive. In a rather blunt fashion. Judging by his past as your average college activist, it was very reasonable to think ‘killing capitalist pigs’ served as enough of a motivator. But little incongruencies nagged at Harry’s mind - Alister spent most of his time as a quite, well-behaved person in the past two years.

Why would a person decide to step away from activism - to resort to murder?

Alister hadn’t bothered numbering or dating the entries, but the creation date of that document could easily be determined. August 20th, 2016. Less than a month after his accident, he had started planning this paranoid conspiracy.

Harry knew from stories shared amongst officers how morbid cases regarding insanity could be. Could Alister Moore simply be insane? Humans were very fragile - a little rattle to the brain could do the job. After all, the details indicated that it was indeed rather messy. A couple cracked ribs, both legs broken…

Harry shook his head. He wouldn’t make assumptions, yet. Assumptions should be saved for later, when he had more information.

Fairview, as a mid-sized city, had a couple of clinics. Amongst them, the Fairview Hospital was the oldest and the largest. It loomed over the city, complacently resting on a hill, like a neighbourhood grandma.

A young nurse sighed, absentmindedly nibbling on her pen when Harry walked through the sliding door. He quickly walked over and fumbled for his badge.

“Good morning, miss.” Harry said, unfolding his wallet. “My name is Harry. Harry Jackson. I’m a detective.”

She eyed him curiously, hiding her pen in embarrassment. “Um, hello.” She said, glancing at his badge. “Can I help you?”

Harry smiled. “I need some files, miss.” He said. “Could you find them for me?”

“Files?” She asked. “I… What kind of files do you need?”

Harry unveiled a folded document from his jacket. “I need information on this patient.”

The nurse accepted the crumpled page with a startled blink. “Alister Moore…” Hey eyes quickly glid across the page. “Uh, is this for an investigation?”

“Yes.” Harry said. “Would it be better if I talked to a superior?”

She looked panicked. “I can get them for you.” She said. A little hint of inconvenience usually worked well, Harry found. “I just needed to confirm that it’s official business.” She awkwardly turned towards her computer.

“Thank you.”

Harry watched wordlessly as she gracefully toyed with her keyboard. He himself did not like these modern thingamajigs; in his heart, Harry disliked too much of this technology shtick. Now kids played with smartphones instead of branches and used laptops for classes. He had to admit it proved very useful for investigations, however.

While bemusing himself, the nurse turned to him. “I’ve found it, I think.” She said. “You’re looking for an Alister Moore, committed during the period of July 19th and August 25th of 2016, right?”

“That sounds right,” Harry said. “What have you got?”

She shrugged. “Not much,” she said. “Just some records regarding his stay here, like the medicine administered, insurance fees, that kind of stuff.”

“Can you print it out for me?” Harry asked.

“Sure.” She said, soon pulling out a single document from a printer. “Here.” She handed him the paper.

Harry quickly read the document, his trained eyes looking for any signs of irregularity. However, he could find none. If there were any, they hid behind large mounds of jargon.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked. The nurse had already pried her attention from him, but turned back with a jolt.

“Um, how can I help you?” She asked, looking nervous.

Harry gave a reassuring smile. “I was just wondering,” he said. “Do you happen to know anything about this patient?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I always worked here, behind the counter. I don’t know much about any patient.”

Harry sighed. “Well, could you point someone out for me who did?”

“I think you could try talking to Lorraine.” She said, pointing at a stout woman gently guiding an elderly patient across the room. “If he stayed at the third floor of the C-wing, there’s a good chance Lorraine took care of him.”

Harry tipped his hat. “Thanks.” He said, giving a tiny bow. “You were a great help.”

The nurse muttered a small “No problem” with a blush and looked away.

Harry approached Lorraine but stood still as he arrived. She was occupied, helping the elder descend to a comfortable lounge chair. She smiled brightly at the old man when he gave her an appreciative nod.

Harry coughed. “Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Lorraine?”

Lorraine turned towards him. “That would be me,” she said. “Do you need something?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, Mrs…” Harry dragged the final syllable.

“Fidditch.” Lorraine said. “I think I would prefer Lorraine.”

“As you wish.” Harry said. He preferred formal titles when working with citizens - informal titles, and informal language, was usually reserved for criminals. At least the informal language he used. “Could I have a little of your time?”

Lorraine glanced at the elderly man beside her, who gave her a nod. “What is this about?”

“I just wanted to talk to you a little.” Harry said, pulling out both his badge and the still-warm document. “I have some questions about this patient. Do you recognize him?”

“Alister Moore…” Lorraine whispered distantly. “Ah, yes, I do.” She said, snapping her fingers.

“Do you have a moment, then?”

Lorraine looked at the elder once again. He gave her a reassuring look and waved her away. “I suppose I have a minute or two.”

“Is there anywhere private?” Harry asked.

“Follow me.” Lorraine said, starting down an empty hallway. She led Harry down a long, thin path, finally pushing open an old wooden door. Inside waited a washroom. “It’s probably a bit stuffy here, with all the dry racks and all… But nobody will disturb us, I think.” She stared apologetically.

Harry showed contentment. “This is fine,” Harry said. “I just need a moment, anyways.”

“So…” Lorraine asked, a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. “What do you need, Mr. Detective?”

Harry produced the document again. “As I told you, I needed some information on this man.”

“Well… I don’t know what I can tell you.” Lorraine said. “I took care of him, but he didn’t stay for long. He looked a bit lost, or tired.”

“Is that so?” Harry said, fumbling for a pocket recorder. “Do you mind if I take some notes?”

“No, that’s fine.” Lorraine said. “Anyways - yes. He looked a bit contemplative, I guess. From the small conversations we did have, I think he had a falling-out with some college friends. Pretty typical, I suppose.”

“Did he seem angry at the prospect?” Harry asked.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“No, not angry. Just sad.” Lorraine said. “I think what made me sad was how much he cared about some subjects. He told me a lot about civil rights and stuff. But he always looked a bit disappointed.”

“Was there anything… Odd about his behaviour or his stay?” Harry asked. Harry felt that insanity could be a part of this case - not strong indications, but just a hunch.

“Nothing major,” Lorraine paused. “There was something small.”

“What would that be?” Harry asked excitedly.

“It was… Well, I mean, I don’t know any details, but…” She said. “He didn’t spend his entire stay in his room.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“There was a small period. Three days, I recall.” Lorraine squinted her eyes. “He was outsourced to another wing for emergency treatment.”

“Is that usual?” Harry asked.

“No, that’s why I remember it.” Lorraine said. “It does happen sometimes with more serious patients, like the life-threatening sort. But I remember Alister’s condition being very stable.”

“Do you know where he transferred to?” Harry asked.

“No,” Lorraine said. “I asked, but the doctors wouldn’t say. Something about patient privacy and whatnot. I don’t think it got noted down. It’s still in the same hospital, after all.”

“When did it happen?”

Lorraine stopped to think. “It’s been a while, Detective.” She said. “My memory isn’t perfect, so I have to guess a bit, but I think it was very early August.”

“I see.” Harry paused himself to think. Three days in outsourcing? How did that fit in? “Did you observe any changes after he came back?”

“Nothing.” Lorraine quickly replied.

“Nothing at all?” Harry asked, looking for any changes in her expression.

“Nothing notable, at least.” She said. “If anything, I think he was remarkably normal. You usually don’t see people as calm or stable he is after an accident.”

“Although,” She added. “There were two little thing.” She added quickly.

“Please, go on.” Harry said, patiently waiting.

“I noticed that sometimes, when he spoke about things he cared about,” Lorraine said. “He would get upset. Angry, even.”

Harry frowned. Did this mean Alister really was insane?

“Also, I would sometimes come to the room to check on other patients.” Lorraine said. “Since it’s a hospital and all, I get late calls sometimes. Very late calls. I remember him typing away at a laptop during one or two of these nights.”

Harry felt no surprise at this reveal. The document was created during his stay, after all. “Where did he get that laptop from?”

“His family brought it in, along with a bunch of other stuff.” Lorraine said. “He left behind a stack of old Superman comics, actually. We still keep them here for the kids to read. He must’ve taken very good care of them. They’re already falling apart from the kids.”

Harry nodded. “Is there anything else?” He asked.

Lorraine shook her head. “I don’t remember anything else.” She said. “If anything, Alister’s stay was pretty uneventful. You’d have to hear about that boy, Ron, if you want some crazy stories.”

Ron? Harry’s ears perked up at this reveal. Had he heard that name recently? “Ron… What’s this ‘Ron’’s last name, if I may ask?”

Lorraine hushed and whispered. “Ron Smith.” She said. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say this, but he’s in jail for killing a man, you know?”

Harry knew. He knew very well. Instinctively, he began poking for answers. “What do you mean, by ‘crazy stories’?” Harry asked, uncontrolled curiosity dripping into his voice.

“It’s mostly office gossip.” Lorraine said, looking a bit worried. “Just a few nurses talking, but…”

“What?” Harry demanded.

“Well, he said he’d been brainwashed!” Lorraine’s worried smile washed away. “A fascinating story, that one.”

----------------------------------------

“We got a reply.” Alister said without enthusiasm.

A bag of chips spilled the floor and George lazily stared into a kid’s show on television, not paying much attention to anything that was going on. He missed Alister’s words. Instead, his focus lept back both recently and far into time.

Alister crawled up close to him. “George!” He said, lightly tapping him with his foot. “Wake up.”

George jolted and looked about. “What? Huh? Hm?” He said, his pupils wide in surprise. “Oh, what’s up?” He looked at Alister with a mixture of pity and disappointment.

Alister turned back to his screen, shying away from George’s gaze. “We got an email from the guy on the imageboard.”

“Oh, yeah,” George said, huddling close to the screen. “We did tell him to contact us, huh?”

“This is your investigation,” Alister said, giving George a bit more space. “I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

George ground his teeth. “Right,” he said. “My investigation.” He didn’t bother contesting the statement. It wasn’t worth the argument.

“Um, Alister?” He said, pointing at a screen. “I don’t think emails from a Nigerian Prince will do us any good.”

“That’s your fault, dumbass.” Alister lazily replied. “That’s what you get for posting your email address on an imageboard like that. This is the one.”

Alister guided the cursor to a particular email - ‘URGENT’, it read.

“Open it up.” George said. Alister did just that.

George began scanning the rather short email. The punctuation was precise, although the page was littered with unnecessary highlights and capitalizations.

“Greetings,” the email read. “I have heard your request to talk, and am giving you my official response.”

“This is a burner email, which will remain active for the following month. You should reply back then. Attached to the email should be confirmation that I am the originator of that post, and that no IMPOSTOR is intercepting your request.”

“I do not feel confident with talking over the net, however. Those EVIL technology companies employ some of the highest-tech profiling software and backdoors; it is common knowledge the scum-sucking devils sell out to the so-called ‘lawmen’, as if that title means anything.”

“If you wish further contact, we will need to set up a place to meet. I won’t divulge much information over the net. Suffice to say, my precise location can’t be tracked over my IP or email; I have a burner laptop and switch IP’s rather regularly, together with additional protection measures.”

“I don’t have a fixed location, however, and I am willing to travel pretty much anywhere if you want to talk. Reply to this message, and we may set up a meeting date - you may pick the state, but I will pick the precise location and time.”

“Regards, A Fellow Sovereign Citizen.”

George stifled a chuckle as he read the last passage. “Well, I guess it’s settled.” He said. “This guy’s a bit cooky, isn’t he?”

“I think that’s an understatement,” Alister sighed. “What now?”

“Email him back, of course.” George said. “We’re meeting this guy ASAP.”

Alister frowned. “You sure about that?” He asked. “I mean, this guy’s probably insane, after all?”

George shrugged. “Sure, but what else can we do?” He asked. “We don’t have any other leads.”

“We could give up.” Alister whispered passingly.

George sighed. “What do you want to do, then?” He asked, annoyed. “You wanna just sit in this room and play Mario all day? It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

Alister shot him a fierce look. After a tense moment, he turned back to the laptop screen, and grumbled. “Alright, I guess.” He said, clicking on the reply button.

“Sure. I am in Arizona. I will meet you as soon as possible.” Alister read aloud as he typed, and quickly pressed send. “Have fun meeting a lunatic, George. Tell me about it sometime.”

George smirked mischievously. “Why would I need to do that?” He asked. “You’re coming with.”

Alister turned, his jaw dropping. “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re coming.” George said. He emphasized each word.

“No, I’m not.” Alister shook his head. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving this place.”

“Look, man,” George said. “This is a good opportunity, if anything, if you know what I mean.”

Alister looked at him like he would an idiot. “I don’t follow.”

“You can’t stay here forever.” George said. “This can be like practice, you know? I’ll hide you in the trunk of my car - nobody’s going to search that. We can use this opportunity to find some new hiding places for you, in case this place gets raided or something.”

Alister mulled over the suggestion for a second. “That still sounds crazy as shit. Why would I ever do that? Can’t you do it alone?”

“Contrary to what you think, Alister,” George said. “Most people don’t know you, you know? You came up in local newspapers a once or twice, but most people in-state - nevermind out of state - don’t really remember some knifing from weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but I’m getting fucking arrested if I get caught, dude.” Alister said with worry.

“You’re going to get arrested eventually if you stay in one place, dude.” George replied. “At least think about it, man. Besides, what if the guy’s legit and he really can help us out? Wouldn’t it be good if you could talk to another guy who’s been hypnotized?” George paused. “Maybe he even knows how to fix your… Habit.”

Alister shuffled uncomfortably. “If I’m even hypnotized.” He said, challenging the notion.

“What else would it be?” George asked, repetition creeping into his tone.

Alister did not have a response to that.

“Come on,” George said. “Consider it, at least.”

Alister sat in silence. “Alright.”

----------------------------------------

2013 / 04 / 23 - Committed to the Fairview Hospital for Intensive Care after a mugging.

Those words seared into Harry’s mind - much like the alcohol he sipped. Harry sat at a desolate corner booth of a classic bar, the smell of cigarette smoke to him like air. He stared at nothing, not at the barkeep, washing the glasses, the customers, chattering away, or the imposing door. He was lost in his mind.

Ron Smith. The murderer of Arnold Palmer. He’d spent time at that hospital as well.

It disturbed Harry. On one hand, it seemed to affirm what he’d been thinking the whole time - that somehow, the murders were linked. But so far, no ribbons had come together to shape a tie. Loose threads, all hanging loose in the air, simply gathered, no connections visible.

But now, there was a possible connection. Alister Moore had spent time in the same hospital as Ron Smith, although years apart. Harry’s hunch told him this had to be pursued, so he did. He researched the other possible linked murders - and to his surprise, found that all murderers had spent some time in hospitals across the country.

Truthfully speaking, this hadn’t been much to go by. People got sick or hurt all the time - hell, George had spent time in the Fairview Hospital. And yet, he hadn’t killed anyone, and neither was he part of some nefarious conspiracy.

So he waited in that bar. Both Alister’s and Ron’s documents in hand, he waited patiently for his contact to arrive. Although ‘contact’ felt a bit contrived for this person - a childhood friend.

Soon enough, a middle-aged man strut into the bar. He glanced about, but rested his eyes when he found Harry in the corner booth. Smiling, he made his way towards Harry.

Slipping out of his jacket, the middle-aged man took a seat. “Hey, Harry.” He said, offering Harry a firm handshake with a grin.

This man was Ronald Davis, a doctor.