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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE






(i)

After his March 1, 1979, review hearing, Billy Milligan was recommitted to the Athens Mental Health Center for another six months. All those working with him were aware of the threat hanging over him. He knew that as soon as he was cured and discharged, he would be arrested by the Adult Parole Authority of Fairfield County as a parole violator and returned to prison to serve the remaining three years of his two- to five-year term for the Gray Drug Store robbery. He might also be declared a probation violator and then be forced to serve a consecutive six- to twenty-five-year sentence on the roadside-rest assaults.

L. Alan Goldsberry and Steve Thompson, his Athens attorneys, filed motions in Fairfield County court to have his pleas of guilty dismissed. They argued that in 1975, unknown to the court, he had been a multiple personality, and because he had been insane and unable to assist in his own defense at that time, there had been “manifest justice.”

Goldsberry and Thompson held out the hope that if the judge in Lancaster would vacate the guilty plea, Billy would be a free man after he was cured.

He lived on that hope.

At about the same time, Billy was delighted to learn that Kathy and her longtime sweetheart, Rob Baumgardt, had decided to marry in the fall. Billy liked Rob, and he began to plan for the wedding.

As he walked the hospital grounds and saw the signs of spring, he began to feel the bad times had passed. He was getting better. On weekend leave, staying at Kathys house, he started painting a mural on her wall.

Dorothy Moore denied the allegations in the suicide note and agreed to its publication. Johnny Morrison had been mentally ill before he died, she said. He’d been involved with another woman—a stripper—and he had probably confused this woman with her when he wrote about the people she’d been hanging around with.

Billy made his peace with his mother.

0n Friday afternoon, March 30, back in the ward, Billy noticed unusual glances, hushed talking and a general sense of uneasiness.

“Did ja see the afternoon paper? ” one of the female patients asked, handing it to him. “You’re in the news again.”

He stared at the bold banner headline across the top of the front page of the March 30 Columbus Dispatch:

Doctor Says Rapist Allowed to Roam from Center By John Switzer

William Milligan, the multipersonality rapist who was sent to the Athens Mental Health Center last December, is allowed to roam free and unsupervised daily, The Dispatch has learned... Milligan’s doctor, David Caul, told The Dispatch that Milligan is allowed to leave the hospital grounds to roam Athens and is even given weekend leaves to visit relatives...

Athens Police Chief Ted Jones was quoted as saying that he’d had numerous expressions of concern from the community, and that he was “concerned about the mental patient roaming around the university community/’ The reporter also quoted Judge Flowers, who had found Milligan not guilty, as saying he was “not in favor of Milligan being free to roam at will.” The article ended with reference to “the man who spread terror among women in the OSU area during late 1977.”

The Columbus Dispatch began a series of almost daily follow-up articles deploring that Milligan was allowed to “roam free.” An editorial on April 5, referring to Milligan, was headlined: Legislation Needed to Protect Society.

Frightened readers from Columbus and anxious parents of students at Ohio University in Athens began to call the university president Charles Ping, who then called the hospital requesting clarification.

Two state legislators, Claire “Buzz” Ball, Jr., of Athens, and Mike Stinziano, of Columbus, criticized the hospital and Dr. Caul, and began to press for hearings to reconsider the statute under which Milligan had been sent to Athens in the first place. They also demanded a change in the “not guilty by reason of insanity” laws.

Some of Billy’s enemies on the hospital staff, outraged that he was making money by selling his paintings, leaked stories to the Columbus Dispatch, the Columbus Citizen-Journal and the Dayton Daily News about the large sums of money he had at his disposal. When he used some of the money from the sale of “The Grace of Cathleen” to buy a compact Mazda to help carry his paintings, it hit the headlines.

Representatives Stinziano and Ball demanded an investigative hearing at the Athens hospital. Mounting attacks and criticism stirred up by almost daily articles and front-page headlines forced Dr. Caul and Superintendent Sue Foster to ask Milligan to give up his furloughs and his privilege of leaving the grounds unattended until the furor died down.

Billy was unprepared for this. He had obeyed the hospital rules, kept his word and broken no laws since his illness had been diagnosed and treated. Yet now his privileges had been taken away.

Saddened, the Teacher gave up and left the spot.

When Mike Rupe came on duty at eleven o’clock, Milligan was sitting in a brown vinyl chair, huddled and rubbing his hands as if frightened. Mike wondered if he should approach him. He had been warned of Milligan’s fear of males, he knew about Ragen, and he had seen Dr. Caul’s training tapes about multiple personalities. Up to now, he had just laid back and let the patient be. Unlike a lot of others on the staff who thought Milligan was faking, Mike Rupe believed the diagnosis. After reading the history and nursing notes, he just couldn’t imagine that all those professional psychologists and psychiatrists could be taken in by a young man without even a high school education.

Milligan usually seemed stable to him, and that was all he really cared about. But for the past week, ever since the Dispatch headlines, he had gotten more and more depressed. Rupe felt bad about those lousy headlines and the fact that Milligan had been shafted by the politicians.

Rupe came around from behind the counter and sat on a chair near the terrified boy. He had no idea how Milligan would react, so he had to be as easy and as subtle as possible.

“How’re you feeling? ” he asked. “Anything I can do for you? ”

Milligan looked at him with frightened eyes.

“I can see you’re upset. I just want to know if you need someone to talk to, that’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m scared.”

“I can see that. Do you want to talk to me about it? ”

“It’s the younger ones. They don’t know what’s happening. They’re frightened too.”

“Would you tell me your name? ” Rupe asked.

“Danny.”

“Do you know me? ”

Danny shook his head.

“I’m Mike Rupe. I’m the mental health technician on night duty. I’m here to help you if you need it.”

Danny kept rubbing his wrists and looked around. Then he stopped, listened to an inner voice and nodded. “Arthur says we can trust you.”

“I’ve heard about Arthur, ” Rupe said. “You can tell him I appreciate that. I sure wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” Danny told him he thought Ragen was very angry about what was happening with the newspapers and all, and wanted to end it by killing himself. That frightened the younger ones. Rupe could tell by the fluttering lids, the drifting glazed eyes, that Milligan was switching again, and then a little boy cringed and sobbed and looked as if he was in pain.

The switching went back and forth, and they spoke until two in the morning, when Rupe led Danny back to his room.

From that time on, Rupe found he could relate to several of Milligan’s personalities. Though the male RN was pretty strict about bedtime (eleven-thirty weekdays and two o’clock in the morning on weekends), Rupe knew that Milligan slept very little, and he spent long night hours talking with him. He was pleased that Danny and the unfused Billy would seek him out to talk, and he began to understand why Billy was so difficult to deal with. Billy, he realized, felt that once again he was being punished for someone else’s crimes.

* * *

On Thursday, April 5, at three-thirty in the afternoon, Danny

found himself walking the hospital grounds. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was and why. Behind him he saw the old Victorian red-brick mansion with the white columns, and in front of him the river and the town. Strolling along the grass, he realized that before Rosalie Drake helped him at Harding Hospital, he could not walk outside like this— without terror.

Suddenly, he noticed some pretty little white flowers. He picked a few, but saw that on the higher ground the blossoms were larger. Following the flowers up the hill and around the gate, he found himself near a small cemetery. The markers had no names—only numbers—and he wondered why. The memory of being buried alive when he was nine years old made him tremble, and he backed away. There would have been neither a name nor a number on his grave.

Danny saw that the blossoms were largest at the top of the hill, so he kept climbing until he reached a cliff that dropped off sharply. He moved to the edge and braced himself against a tree as he looked at the road below, the river and the houses.

Suddenly he heard cars screeching and saw flashing lights in the curved road beneath him. Looking down made him dizzy. Very dizzy. He started to sway forward when he heard a voice behind him say, “Billy, come down.”

He looked around. Why were all these people surrounding him? Why wasn’t Arthur or Ragen here to protect him? His foot slipped and pebbles under his feet bounced down the cliffside. Then a man reached for his hand. Danny took it and held on as the man pulled him back to safety. The nice man walked back with him to the big building with the pillars on it.

“Were you going to jump, Billy? ” someone asked him.

He looked up at a strange lady. Arthur had told him never to talk to strangers. But he could tell there was a lot of excitement in the ward, and people were looking at him and talking about him, and he decided to go to sleep and let someone else have the spot...

Allen walked the ward that evening, wondering what had happened. His digital watch said ten forty-five. He hadn’t been out for a long time, satisfied, along with the others, to listen and learn from the Teacher’s story of their lives. It was as if each of them had possessed just a few pieces in the giant puzzle of consciousness, but now the Teacher, in trying to make the writer see it clearly by putting it all together, had made all of them aware of the lives they had lived. There were still gaps because the Teacher hadn’t told everything, just the memories that would answer the writers questions.

But now the Teacher was gone, and the lines of communication between the Teacher and the writer, and between himself and the others, were broken. Allen felt confused and alone.

“Whats the matter, Billy? ” one of the female patients asked.

He looked at her. “I’m kinda groggy. Guess I took too many pills, ” he said. “I think I’ll go to sleep early.”

A few minutes later Danny woke to see several people rushing into his room, pulling him out of bed.

“What’d I do? ” he begged.

Someone held up a pill bottle, and he saw some had spilled on the floor.

“I didn’t take any, ” Danny said.

“You’ve got to go to the hospital, ” he heard, and someone yelled for a wheeled cot to take Milligan away. Danny left and David came...

When Mike Rupe approached him, Ragen, thinking he was going to hurt David, took the spot. As Rupe tried to help him to his feet, Ragen grappled with him, and they fell back onto the bed.

“I vill break your neck! ” Ragen roared.

“No you won’t either, ” Rupe said.

They had each other by the arms and rolled over onto the floor.

“Let go! I break your bones! ”

“In that case, I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ go.”

“I hurt you if you don’t release me.”

“I ain’t lettin’ go as long as you’re tellin’ me that shit, ” Rupe said.

They wrestled back and forth, neither able to subdue the other. Finally, Rupe said, “I’ll let go of you if you let go of me and promise not to break my bones.”

Seeing it was a stalemate, Ragen agreed: “I vill let go if you let go and you move back avay.”

“We both let go at the same time, ” Rupe said, “and everything’s cool.”

They looked into each other’s eyes; then each released the other and moved away.

Dr. Caul, who had appeared in the doorway, gave instructions for the other attendants to move the wheeled cot in.

“I do not need that, ” Ragen said. “No one took overdose.” “You’re going to the hospital to be checked out, ” Dr. Caul said. “We have no way of knowing how much of his leave medication Billy saved up. Someone said something about taking too much medication. We’ve got to be sure.”

Caul spoke to Ragen until he finally slipped away. Then Danny’s knees buckled, and as his eyes rolled back, Rupe caught him and helped him onto the stretcher.

They went out to the waiting ambulance. Rupe sat inside with Milligan as they drove to the O’Bleness Memorial Hospital.

Rupe felt that the emergency room doctor didn’t much like the idea of having Billy Milligan there to treat. He tried to explain to the doctor, as well as he could, that Milligan had to be handled carefully: “If he starts to talk in that Slavic accent, the best thing is to back away from him and let a female nurse deal with him.”

The doctor ignored him and watched as Danny’s eyes rolled back. Rupe could see he was switching from David to Danny. “He’s faking, ” the doctor said.

“He’s just switching and—”

“Listen, Milligan, I’m going to pump your stomach. I’m going to put some tubes down your nose and pump your stomach.”

“No, ” Danny moaned. “No tubes... no hose.”

Rupe guessed what Danny was thinking. He had told Rupe of an incident with a hosepipe being shoved up his rear end.

“Well, I’m going to do it, ” the doctor said. “Whether you»like it or not, it’s going to be done.”

Rupe saw the switch.

Ragen sat up^quickly, completely alert. “Listen, ” he said. “I do not allow two-bit doctor vorking his vay through medical school practice on me.”

The doctor took a step back, his face suddenly pale. He turned and walked out of the room. “Fuck him, ” he said. “I don’t care if the sonofebitch dies.”

Rupe heard him phone Dr. Caul a few minutes later, explaining what had happened. Then the doctor came back, less nasty and mouthy, and had one of the nurses bring a double

dose of ipecac to make Milligan vomit. Ragen left, and Danny came back.

When Danny threw up, the doctor had the vomit checked. No signs of medication.

Rupe rode back with Danny in the ambulance. It was two o’clock in the morning, and Danny was quiet and confused. All he wanted to do was sleep.

The next day the therapy team informed Billy that they had decided to transfer him to Ward 5—the men s locked ward. He didn’t understand why. He knew nothing about the alleged overdose or the trip with Mike Rupe to the hospital. As several strange male attendants started through his door, Ragen jumped up on the bed, smashed a drinking glass against the wall and held up the sharp edge. “Do not approach! ” he warned them.

Norma Dishong ran to the phone and called for help. Seconds later, the words “Code Green” reverberated over the loudspeaker.

Dr. Caul came to the doorway and saw the tense expression, heard the voice of an angry Ragen: “I have not broken bones in long time. Come, Dr. Caul. You are first.”

“Why are you doing this, Ragen? ”

“You have betrayed Billy. Everyone here has betrayed him.”

“That’s not true. You know all these problems are because of the Dispatch articles.”

“I vill not go to Vard Five.”

“You’ll have to go, Ragen. It’s out of my hands. It’s now a security matter.” He shook his head sadly and walked away.

Three guards, holding a mattress in front of them, rushed Ragen, pinning him to the wall. Three others pushed him, face down, on the bed, holding his arms and legs. Arthur stopped Ragen. Nurse Pat Perry heard Danny scream, “Don’t rape me! ”

Arthur saw another nurse with a hypo and heard her say, “A shot of Thorazine will stop him.”

“Not Thorazine! ” Arthur shouted, but it was too late. He had heard Dr. Wilbur say that antipsychotic drugs were bad for multiple personalities and caused worse splitting. He tried slowing the flow of blood to keep the Thorazine from going to his brain. Then he felt himself being lifted by six pairs of hands and dragged out of his room, down into the elevator, out onto the second floor and Ward 5. He saw curious faces peering into

his. Someone stuck out his tongue. Someone talked to a wall. Someone urinated on the floor. The smell of vomit and feces was overwhelming.

They threw him into a small bare room with a plastic-covered mattress, and locked the door. When Ragen heard the door slam, he got up to break it down, but Arthur froze him. Samuel took the spot, dropping to his knees, wailing, “Oy vey! God, why have you forsaken me? ” Philip cursed and threw himself to the floor; David felt the pain. Lying on the mattress, Christene wept; Adalana felt her face wet in the pool of tears. Christopher sat up and played with his shoes. Tommy started to check the door to see if he could unlock it, but Arthur yanked him off the spot. Allen started calling for his lawyer. April, filled with desire for revenge, saw the place burning. Kevin cursed. Steve mocked him. Lee laughed. Bobby fantasized that he could fly out the window. Jason threw a tantrum. Mark, Walter, Martin and Timothy raved wildly in the locked room. Shawn made a buzzing sound. Arthur no longer controlled the undesirables.

Through the observation window, the young Ward 5 attendants watched Milligan bang into walls, spin around, babble in different voices and accents, laugh, cry, fall to the ground and get up again. They agreed that they were witnessing a raving lunatic.

Dr. Caul came in the next day and gave Milligan a shot of Amytal, the one drug that had a calming and restorative effect. Billy felt himself coming together into partial fusion, but something was missing: Without Arthur and Ragen, who stood apart, as they had before the trial, he was the unfused Billy, empty, frightened and lost.

“Let me go back upstairs to AIT, Dr. Caul, ” he begged. “The staff on the open ward is afraid of you now, Billy.”

“I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Ragen almost did. He had a broken glass. He was going to cut the security guards. He was going to break my bones. The hospital staff has threatened to go out on strike if you’re brought back to an open ward. They’re talking about sending you away from Athens.”

“Where to? ”

“Lima.”

The name frightened him. In prison he had heard stories of the place. He remembered Schweickart and Stevenson fighting to keep him from being sent to that hellhole.

“Don’t send me away, Dr. Caul. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever they say.”

Caul nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can do.”

(2),

Continuous information leaks from somewhere in the Athens Mental Health Center kept the headlines sizzling. On April 7, the Columbus Dispatch proclaimed: Milligan in Security Ward After Faked Drug Overdose.

The Dispatch’s attacks on Milligan were now also directed against the Athens Mental Health Center and Dr. Caul. Caul began to receive abusive telephone calls and threats. One caller shouted, “How could you stand up for that rapist, you jive no-good dope-fiend motherfucker? I’m gonna kill you! ” After that, Dr. Caul always looked around carefully before getting into his car, and he slept with a loaded revolver on the bedside table.

The following week, the Dispatch reported Stinzianos protests against the attempt by the Athens Mental Health Center and hospital superintendent Sue Foster to find a new hospital for Milligan.

Stinziano Doubts Athens Aides on Milligan Transfer

State Rep. Mike Stinziano, D-Columbus, is skeptical about efforts by Athens Mental Health Center officials to down play the possibility that William S. Milligan could be transferred to another institution.

The Columbus Democrat is convinced that newspaper publicity early last week stopped state officials from quietly transferring the 24-year-old mentally ill rapist and robber.

“Frankly, without the publicity, I feel certain he (Milligan) would have been transferred out of state or to Lima (State Hospital), ” Stinziano said...

During the Wednesday press conference in Athens, Mrs. Foster said, “Treatment of Billy Milligan has been compromised by the press and his reaction to the press.”

The superintendent referred to the numerous reports which followed The Dispatch’s revelation that Milligan had been allowed on unsupervised leaves from the Athens Hospital.

Mrs. Foster’s comment brought a rebuff from Stinziano. “Blaming the press for reporting the facts is irresponsible, ” he said...

When Stinziano and Ball demanded that the Ohio Mental Health Department call in outside experts to evaluate Milligans treatment, Dr. Cornelia Wilbur agreed to come to Athens. Her report praised Dr. Cauls treatment program. Setbacks like this, she explained, occurred often with multiple personalities.

The Columbus Dispatch reported on April 28, 1979:

Sybil’s Psychiatrist Approves of Leaves in Milligan Therapy By Melissa Widner

The psychiatrist asked by the Ohio Department of Mental Health... to consult on the case of mental patient ^William Milligan has recommended that no major changes be made in his treatment.

In her report to the department, made public Friday, Dr. Cornelia Wilbur supported Milligan’s therapy, which until recently included frequent furloughs from the Athens Mental Health Center, where he is a patient.... Dr. Wilbur said he is no longer dangerous after 13 months of therapy in state and private mental institutions. She suggested his treatment at the Athens facility be continued.

She said the unchaperoned leaves as part of his treatment were well conceived, but publicity about those leaves had had a negative effect...

The following article appeared in the Columbus Citizen-Journal on May 3, 1979:

Milligan Doctor’s Objectivity Questioned

State Rep. Mike Stinziano, D-Columbus, is questioning the objectivity of a psychiatrist who recommended treatments for William Milligan... In a letter to Myers Kurtz [sic], acting director of the Ohio Department of Mental Health and Mental Retardation, Stinziano said Dr. Cornelia Wilbur should not give advice on the Milligan case “since she was originally responsible for the placement of William Milligan in Athens.”

Stinziano said the selection of Dr. Wilbur as an outside physician “makes about as much sense as asking Miss Lillian what kind of job Jimmy Carter is doing in the White House.”

On May 11, the Columbus chapter of the National Organization for Women wrote a three-page letter to Dr. Caul and sent copies to Meyers Kurtz, Mike Stinziano, Phil Donahue, Dinah Shore, Johnny Carson, Dr. Cornelia Wilbur and the Columbus Dispatch. It opened with the following:

Dr. Caul,

The treatment program you have prescribed for William Milligan, which according to newspaper accounts, includes unsupervised furloughs, unrestricted use of an automobile, and assistance in financial arrangements for books and movie rights, displays a deliberate and flagrant disregard for the safety of women in the surrounding communities. It cannot be tolerated under any circumstances...

The letter went on to say that not only did Dr. Cauls treatment program not teach Milligan that violence and rape are unconscionable, but he was in fact getting positive reinforcement “for his reprehensible actions.” It charged that with Cauls collusion, Milligan had learned “the cultures subliminal but actual message—that violence against women is an accepted occurance [sic], a commercialized and eroticized commodity...”

The letter argued that Cauls “lack of clinical insight is as misogynist as it is predictable. The claim that the rapist personality was a lesbian is a transparent ruse to excuse the patriarchal culture... The fictionalized, lesbian character is a convenient but fallacious, stereotypic scapegoat who can be blamed for Milligans own retaliative violent/aggresive [sic] sexuality. Once again the male is relieved from responsibility for his actions and the woman gets victimized.”

As a result of Dr. Wilburs recommendation, the decision was made to keep Billy in Athens.

The staff on the Admissions and Intensive Treatment ward, upset by the publicity and Billy’s reaction to it, demanded changes in his treatment plan or, they warned, they would strike. Because some of them felt he was spending too much time with Billy, they insisted that Dr. Caul turn over authority for day-to-day management to the staff team and limit his own involvement to medical and therapeutic concerns. To keep Billy from being sent to Lima, Caul reluctantly agreed.

Social worker Donna Hudnell drew up a “contract” for Billy to sign in which he promised to abide by a series of restrictions, the first of which was that there would be “no threats of alienation nor depravation of character and position made toward any staff member.” Tlie penalty for the first violation of this clause would be the restriction of the writer’s visits.

Milligan was not to have glass or sharp objects in his room. No general privileges without prior agreement by the morning treatment team. No incoming phone calls. Outgoing calls were limited to once a week to his attorney, and twice a week to either his mother or his sister. Visitors were to be limited to his sister and her fiance, his mother, his attorney and the writer. He was forbidden “to give advice of any nature whether it be medical, social, legal, economical, or psychological to any other patient on AIT.” He would not be allowed to withdraw more than $8.75 per week from his account at the business office, and he was not to have more than that in his possession at any time. His paint supplies could be given to him foi limited amounts of time, but he had to be supervised while painting. The finished paintings had to be removed weekly. Only if he complied with the rules for two weeks would his privileges be restored in stages.

Billy agreed to their terms.

The unfused Billy followed the rules, feeling that the staf had turned the hospital into a prison. He felt he was agair. being punished for something he hadn’t done. With Arthui and Ragen still gone, the unfused Billy spent most of his time watching television with the other patients.

The first of his privileges to be restored after two weeks waj visits by the writer.

The Teacher had not reappeared since the beginning of the Dispatch attacks. Unable to provide memories or details o what had been happening to him, Billy was embarrassed. Tc avoid confusion, he and the writer decided to refer to tht unfused Billy as “Billy-U” when the writer asked who he wa: talking to.

“I’ll be all right, ” Billy-U said to the writer. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. But I’ll be all right when my Arthur and Ragen come back.”

(3)

When the wnter arrived the following Friday, May 22, he was still facing the unfused Billy. The halting speech, the distracted gaze, the general air of depression, saddened the writer.

“For the record, ” he asked, “who am I talking to? ”

“Its me, Billy-U. Still unfused. I’m sorry, but Arthur and Ragen are still gone.”

“No need to apologize, Billy.”

“I won’t be much help.”

“That’s okay. We can talk.”

Billy nodded, but he looked listless and drained.

After a while the writer suggested they ask if he would be permitted to take Billy out for a walk. They found Norma Dishong, who agreed, as long as they stayed on hospital grounds.

It was a bright afternoon, and as they strolled along, the writer urged Billy to walk the route Danny had taken the day he went to the cliff.

Uncertain of the path, but with a general sense of the direction, Billy tried to reenact what had happened that day, but it was no use. His memory was vague.

“There’s a place I like to go when I want to be alone, ” he said. “Let’s go over there.”

As they walked, the writer asked, “What’s happening to the other people in your head when you’re only partially fused? Whats it like? ”

, “I think it’s changing, ” Billy said. “What they call ‘co-jconsciousness.’ Its like I’m piercing co-consciousness with some of the other people. I think it’s happening gradually. I don’t think everybody has co-consciousness with everybody else, but things are opening up. Every so often, So-and-so,, knows what’s going on with So-and-so, and I don’t know why or (how.

, “Like last week there was a big argument in one of the.meetings upstairs with Dr. Caul, another psychiatrist, and that.clients’ rights advocate. Allen was there, arguing with them. But then he got up and said, ‘The hell with ya. I’ll see ya in

Lima, ’ and walked out. I was out in the lobby sitting in a chair and all of a sudden I heard exactly what he’d just said.

“And I shouted, ‘What? Hey, wait a minute here! Whaddys mean “Lima? ”’ I’m sittin’ on the edge of my chair, getting scared, because I’m hearing the conversation that just happened seconds ago, like an instant replay, and it was somebod> | else saying that. I saw the other psychiatrist, who came out o\ the room, standing there, and I said, ‘Look, you guys, you gotta help me.’

“He says, ‘What do you mean? ’ And I started shaking and told him what I just heard in my head. And I asked him if i1 was true: ‘Did I just say to send me to Lima? ’ He said yes. Then I started crying, ‘Don’t listen to me. Don’t listen to what I’m saying’.’”

“Is this a new development? ”

Billy looked at the writer thoughtfully. “I guess it’s the first sign of co-consciousness without complete fusion.”

“That’s very important.”

“But its scary. I was crying and yelling. Everybody in the room turned and looked at me. I didn’t know what I’d just said, and I’m wondering, ‘Why is everybody looking at me? Then I heard it over again in my head.”

“You’re still the unfused Billy? ”

“Yes. I’m Billy-U.”

“Are you the only one who gets this instant replay? ”

He nodded. “Because I’m the host, the core, I’m the one developing the co-consciousness.”

“How do you feel about it? ”

“It means I’m getting well, but it’s scary. Sometimes 1 wonder: Do I want to get well? Is all this fear, all this shit I’m going through now worth it? Or should I bury myself back here in the brain and forget about it? ”

“What’s your answer? ”

“I don’t know.”

Billy became quieter when they reached the small cemetery near the Beacon School for the Mentally Retarded. “This is where I come sometimes to try and sort things out. It’s the saddest place you can imagine.”

The writer looked at the little headstones, many of which had fallen over and were overgrown with weeds. “I wondei why they just have numbers, ” he said.

“Well, when you don’t have family or a friend in the world, ’’ Billy said, “and nobody really gives a damn and you die here, all your records are destroyed. But there’s a list of who’s buried, where in case anybody shows up again. Most of these people died during the fever of... 1950, I think it was. But there’s markers over there from 1909 and earlier.”

Billy began to wander among the graves.

“I’d come up here and sit on the bank over there near those pine trees, to be alone. It’s depressing to be in this graveyard and know what it’s about, but it’s also got a kind of peace to it. You notice how that dead tree hovers over it? There’s a kind of : grace and dignity about it.”

The writer nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

: “What they did when they started to build this graveyard

was to make it in a circle. You see how they go around like a big spiral? Then when that big fever came and they started running out of space. They had to start burying them in rows.” “Do they still use this graveyard? ”

“If someone dies and they have no family. It’s painful. How would you like to come up here looking for a long-lost relative and find out he or she’s number 41? And there are so many of these stones lying over there on the bank, just thrown in piles. That’s really depressing. No respect for the dead. The good markers haven’t been put up by the state. They’re set up by people who discovered their relatives. They have names on them. People like to chase back and want to know where they’re from. When they find their ancestors and relatives have been planted out here with a number over their heads, it kind of pisses them off. They’ll say, ‘That’s my family. There’s got to be a little more respect than that.’ It doesn’t matter if they were the black sheep or sick or whatever. It’s sad that there are, only a few nice stones out there. I spent a lot of time around here when I was able to roam around—’’ He stopped, chuckled and said, “When I could ‘roam’ around.”

The writer knew he was referring to the word used in the. Dispatch headline. “I’m glad you can laugh at it. I hope you. don’t let it get you anymore.”

“It doesn’t. I got over that hump. I realize there’s going to be a lot more, but I don’t think they’ll be sprung on me, and I’ll be able to handle them easier.”

During their conversation, the writer realized he had been sensing a barely perceptible change in Billy’s expression. His

gait was quicker. His speech had become more articulate. And now the mocking reference to the headline.

“Let me ask you something, ” the writer said. “In talking to you now, if you hadn’t told me you were Billy-U, you could have fooled me, because you sound like the Teacher...”

His eyes brightened and he smiled. “Well, why don’t you ask me? ”

“Who are you? ”

“I’m the Teacher.”

“You sonofabitch. You like to spring things on me.”

He smiled. “That’s the way it goes. When I become relaxed, it happens. It’s got to take an inner peace. That’s what I’ve found out here... talking with you, being able to see these things again and relive and remember.”

“Why did you wait for me to ask you? Why didn’t you say, ‘Hey, I’m the Teacher’? ”

He shrugged. “It’s not as if I’m re-meeting you. The unfused Billy has been talking to you. And then all of a sudden Ragen joins the conversation, and then Arthur, because they have something to contribute. And in a way it’s also very embarrassing to say, ‘Oh, hey, hi, how are you? ’ as if I haven’t been talking to you all the while.”

They walked on, and the Teacher said, “Arthur and Ragen really want to help Billy explain to you what happened during the last mix-up time.”

“Go ahead, ” the writer said. “Tell me.”

“Danny was never going to jump off that cliff. He was only following the flowers up the hill to where the bigger ones were growing.”

The Teacher walked ahead, showing the writer the path Danny had taken and the tree behind which he had braced himself. The writer looked down. Had Danny jumped, he would surely have killed himself.

“And Ragen never intended to hurt those guards, ” the Teacher said. “The broken glass was for him. He knew Billy had been betrayed, and he was going to ice himself.” He held his hand up to show that what had been seen by outsiders as a threat to them was actually the glass at his own neck level. “Ragen was going to cut his own throat and end it all.”

“But why did you tell Dr. Caul you were going to break his bones? ”

“What Ragen actually intended to say was, ‘Come, Dr. Caul. You first vatch me break some bones.’ I wasn’t going to hurt that little man.”

“Stay fused, Billy, ” the writer said. “The Teacher is needed. We have work to do. Your story is important.”

Billy nodded. “That’s what I want now, ” he said. “For the world to know.” _

As therapy went forward, outside pressure on the hospital administration continued. Billy’s two-week contract with the staff was renewed. Privileges were slowly restored. The Columbus Dispatch continued to run hostile Milligan stories.

The state legislators, in response to the newspaper reports, pressed on with hearings. When Stinziano and Ball learned: hat a book on Milligan was being written, they introduced House Bill 557 to prevent offenders—including those found lot guilty by reason of insanity—from keeping any of the noney they might make from the stories of their lives or from •evelations about the crimes they commited. The hearings on his bill before the state Judiciary Committee were to begin in wo months.

(4)

3y June, despite the ongoing newspaper attacks and upheavals hey caused in his living conditions and treatment, Billy renamed stable. He was once again allowed to sign himself out o exercise on the hospital grounds (but not to go to town inattended). His therapy sessions with Dr. Caul continued, ie started painting again. But now both the writer and Dr. Haul agreed that there was a noticeable change in the Teacher, iis memory was less accurate. He was becoming as manipulate as Allen and as antisocial as Tommy, Kevin and Phillip.

The Teacher told the writer that one day, when he’d been vorking with Tommy’s CB equipment, he’d heard himself say loud, “Hey, what am I doing? Broadcasting without a license s illegal.” Then without switching to Tommy, he said, “What he hell do I care? ”

He was shocked and worried at his otvn attitude. He had ome to believe that these personalities—as the Teacher he iow accepted the term “personalities” rather than “people”— lad been part of him. Suddenly, for the first time, without witching, he felt like them. This, then, was the real fusion.

He was becoming the common denominator of all twenty-four personalities, and that made him not a Robin Hood or a Superman, but a very ordinary, antisocial, impatient, manipulative, bright, talented young man.

As Dr. George Harding had earlier suggested, the fused Billy Milligan would probably be less than the sum of his parts.

At about this time Norma Dishong, his morning case manager, felt she no longer wanted to handle Billy’s case. The pressure had gotten to her. None of the other mental health technicians wanted the case, either. Finally, Dishong s “case buddy, ” Wanda Pancake, new to the AIT unit, although she had been at the hospital for ten years, agreed to be his case manager.

A young divorcee, with a square-shaped face and a short, stocky figure, Wanda Pancake approached her new patient with trepidation. “When I first heard he was coming here, ” she later admitted, “I thought to myself: That’s all we need. I was scared to death of him because of what I’d read in the papers. I mean, he was a rapist. And he’d been violent.”

She recalled the first time she saw him, a few days after he’d been admitted to AIT the previous December. He was in the recreation room, painting. She went in to talk to him, and found herself trembling so hard that she could see a lock of her hair that had fallen across her forehead was vibrating.

She had been one of those who didn’t believe in multiple personalities. But after he had been there a few months, she lost her fear of him. He made it a point to tell her what he’d told all the women on the unit—that they should not worry if he ever switched to Ragen, because Ragen would never harm a woman or a child.

She got along well with him now. She would check on him in his room from time to time, and they would have long talks. She found herself starting to like him and to believe he was a tormented multiple personality. She and Nurse Pat Perry defended him to those of the staff who were still hostile.

Wanda Pancake met Danny for the first time when she saw him lying on the couch trying to pull the buttons off the tufted vinyl back. She asked him why he was doing that.

“Just tryin’ to pull them off, ” he said in a boyish voice. “Well, stop it. Who are you, anyway? ”

He laughed and pulled harder. “I’m Danny.”

“Well, if you don’t stop, Danny, I’m gonna slap your hands.”

He looked up at her and gave a few extra tugs to have the last lick, but when she came closer, he stopped.

The next time she met Danny, he was throwing clothes and some of his personal possessions into the trash can.

“What are you doing? ”

“Throwing stuff away.”

“Why? ”

“Ain’t mine. I don’t want ’em.”

“Now, you’ve got to stop it. Take that stuff back into your room, Danny.”

He walked away, leaving the things in the trash, and Wanda had to pull them out and put them back in his room.

Several times she caught him throwing away clothes and cigarettes. Other times people would bring back things he had thrown out the window. Later, Billy would always ask who had been taking his things.

One day she brought her eighteen-month-old niece, Misty, back to the recreation room, where Billy was painting. When he leaned over and smiled, the baby drew back and cried. Billy looked at her ruefully and said, “You’re kind of young to be reading the newspapers, aren’t you? ”.

Wanda looked at the landscape he was working on. “That’s really good* Billy, ” she said. “You know, I’d like to own one of your paintings. I don’t have much money, but if you’d paint me a deer, just a small picture, I’d be glad to pay for it.”

“I’ll work on something, ” he said. “But first I’d like to do a portrait of Misty.”.

He began painting Misty, pleased that Wanda liked his work. She was down-to-earth, easier to talk to than most of the Dthers. He knew she was divorced, had no children, jind that she lived in a trailer near her family in the small Appalachian town where she’d been born. She was rugged, a tough young woman with a dimpled smile and probing eyes.

He was thinking about her one afternoon while he jogged around the building when she pulled up in her pickup truck, a sharp new four-wheel drive.

“You’ve got to let me drive that someday, ” he said, jogging in place as she got out of the truck.

“No way, Billy.”

He saw the CB antenna and the call number on the back window. “I didn’t know you were a CBer.”

“Yep, ” she said, locking up and turning to walk into the hospital.

“What’s your handle? ” he asked, following her inside.

“Deerslayer.”

“That’s a strange handle for a woman. Why’d you choose that? ”

“Because I like to hunt deer.”

He stopped and stared at her.

“What’s the matter? ”

“You hunt deer? You kill animals? ”

She looked him in the eye. “I shot my first buck when I was twelve years old, and I’ve hunted every year since. I didn’t have much luck last season, but I can tell you I’m lookin’ forward to goin’ out next fall. I hunt for the meat. I think it’s right. So don’t start arguing about it.”

They rode up together in the elevator. Billy went to his room and tore up the sketches for her deer painting.

On July 7, 1979, boxed in red on the front page, the Columbus Dispatch ran a banner-headlined story by Robert Ruth:

Rapist Milligan Could Be Free Within Few Months

Describing the possibility that Milligan might be found sane in three or four months, and that he might be released under U.S. Supreme Court interpretations of federal law, the article concluded:

“He [Rep. Mike Stinziano] predicted Milligan’s life might be in danger if some Columbus residents found him wandering in the city.”

After reading the story, Dr. Caul said, “I’m afraid that newspaper article is going to put ideas into some people’s heads.”

Kathy’s fiance, Rob Baumgardt, and his brother Boyce, wearing Army fatigues from work as extras in Robert Redford’s movie Brubaker, came to pick Billy up a week later for his chaperoned weekend leave. As he walked down the steps witf the uniformed men Billy saw the officers staring through the window of the security office. He tried to keep from smiling while he was driven off by what must have looked like i military escort.

* * *

Billy told the writer of disturbing changes he was noticing in himself. Without switching to Tommy, he opened locked doors without keys. He rode his new motorcycle without switching to Ragen, yet he rode it as Ragen would have, up steep hills. He felt the pulsating adrenaline, as Ragen had felt it, physically aware of himself every muscle working well to do the things he was now able to do, though he himself had never been on a bike before.

He also found himself becoming antisocial, annoyed at the other inmates, impatient with the staff. He had the strange sense of wanting desperately to get a six-foot metal rod with a hook at the end and go down to the electric terminal. He knew where the U-80 current transformer was. By pulling it down, he could turn the juice off.

He argued with himself that it was wrong. If the pole lights went off in the street, someone might have a wreck. But why did he want to do it? Then he remembered one night when his mother and Chalmer had been arguing. Unable to stand it, Tommy had gone off on his bicycle down Spring Street. He’d [ridden to the terminal, crawled in and knocked the electricity out. Tommy knew that when the lights went out, people got [calmer. They’d have to stop fighting. Three streets had lost power—Hubert Avenue, Methoff Drive and Spring Street. When he got back it was dark, but the argument was over, and Dorothy and Chalmer were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee by candlelight.

That’s what had made him want to do it again now. He’d heard from Kathy that Dorothy had been having some bad arguments with Del. Billy smiled as he looked up at the power xansformer. Just a case of sociopathic deja vu.

He also suspected there was something else wrong with him iow, because he had little interest in sex. He’d had opportunities. Twice when he was supposed to be on leave at his sister’s louse, he had checked into motels in Athens with young vomen who had shown interest in him, but both times, seeing fie police cars watching him from the road, he had given it up. He felt like a guilty kid anyway.

He intensified his study of himself watching the phases of the)thers inside him, and he knew their influence was getting milder. He had bought a drum set during the weekend, after playing on it n the store and being amazed at his skill. Allen used to play the drums, but the ability now belonged to the Teacher and even the unfused Billy. He also played the tenor sax and the piano, but the drums gave him a more powerful emotional release than any of the other instruments. They stirred him.

When the news reached Columbus that Milligans treatment plan once again included furloughs, the attacks against Dr. David Caul were renewed. The Ohio Ethics Commission was instructed to begin an investigation with a view to pressing charges against Caul for improper conduct in the performance of his duties. It was alleged that Milligan was receiving special privileges because Caul was secretly writing a book about him. Since the law required that a complaint be lodged before such an investigation could take place, the Ohio Ethics Commission had one of its own attorneys file the complaint.

Finding himself now attacked from another quarter, his efforts to treat his patient compromised and his reputation and medical career threatened, Dr. Caul filed an affidavit on July 17, 1979:

Events of the past several months concerning the Billy Milligan case have created issues and upheavals that reach proportions beyond appropriateness and beyond what I believe to be within the bounds of logic, reason and even the law...

My clinical decision as to how the patient was treated is the thing that generated most if not all of the controversy. My clinical decision was supported by all the professionals who are knowledgeable on this subject...

It is my belief that I have been abused and attacked for some very base motives, the least of which is publicity for a legislator and material for some very questionable journalism...

Later, after many months of complex and expensive legal manuevering, including subpoenas, depositions and countersuits, Dr. Caul was unanimously cleared of any wrongdoing. But during this period, he found that more and more of his time and energy had to go into protecting himself his reputation and his family. He knew what everyone wanted, and that he could stop the threats by keeping Billy locked away, but he refused to give in to the emotional demands of the legislators and the newspapers when he knew Billy’s therapy demanded that he treat him as he would any other patient.

* * *

(5).

On Friday, July 3, Billy was given permission to carry some of his paintings to the Athens National Bank, which had agreed to display his art in the lobby for the month of August. Billy worked happily, preparing new work, mounting canvases, painting and framing. He also spent time making arrangements for Kathys wedding, now set for September 28. He used some of his money from the painting sales to hire a wedding hall and had himself fitted for a tuxedo. He looked forward to the celebration.

The news of his art exhibit brought reporters and TV cameras from Columbus. With his attorneys approval, Billy granted interviews for the evening news to Jan Ryan, of WTVN-TV, and Kevyn Burger, of WBNS-TV.

To Jan Ryan, he talked of his artwork and of his feeling that therapy at the Athens Mental Health Center was helping him. ‘When she asked how much of the artwork was done by his other personalities, Billy said, “Basically it’s a touch of all..They’re all part of me, and I have to learn to accept that. Their labilities are my abilities. But I am the one responsible for my own actions now, and I want to keep it that way.”

He told her that the proceeds from his artwork would go to pay his state hospital bill and his lawyer and to contribute to work against child abuse.

He also told her he felt his personalities were joining into one whole and he was now able to turn his attention to his future work—the prevention of child abuse. “I would like to see more foster homes adequately investigated, ” he said, “to make sure that they’re safe and a comfortable environment. A child’s needs must be taken care of emotionally as well as custodially.”

The biggest change Jan Ryan found in Billy from the previous December, when she had filmed a half-hour documentary on him, was in his attitude toward society. Despite the severe abuse he had suffered as a child, he now faced the future with hope.

“I have put a little bit more faith in our judicial system as it stands. I don’t feel that everyone in the world is against me now.”

On the six o’clock news, Kevyn Burger pointed out that Milligan’s therapy program at the Athens Mental Health Center had been controversial and harshly criticized, but that Billy felt a sense of belonging in the community now.

“I feel a lot better about the people in Athens, ” he told her. “They are not as hostile, because they’re getting to know me. They’re not afraid of me, as they were when I first came here. That was stirred up by... other means...”

He pointed out that he had selected, very carefully, the paintings he was putting on public view. He was holding others back because he feared people would try to analyze him through his artwork. He was worried, he admitted, about how people would judge his work. “If they come to see my work, ” he said, “I hope it’s not because they’re thrill-seeking, but because they’re interested in art.”

He wanted to go to school, he said, to improve his techniques, but because his reputation had preceded him, he felt he wouldn’t be accepted in a college classroom. Perhaps that would change someday. He would wait.

“I’m facing reality now, ” he told her, “and that’s what’s important.”

Billy felt the staff at the hospital reacted well to the evening newscasts, which showed him hanging his paintings and talking to the newscasters. Most of the staff had become warm toward him; few were openly critical. He’d even gotten word that some people who had been openly hostile before had recently written positive statements about him in the progress notes. It amazed him that some would tell him what went on in team meetings and what had been reported in his charts.

He knew he’d made a lot of progress since Ward 5.

On Saturday, August 4, he was heading out the door of AIT when he heard the elevator alarm. The elevator was stuck between the third and fourth floors. A mentally retarded young girl was trapped inside. Billy could see the sparking and hear the crackling and sputtering and humming of the outer electrical box, and he realized there must have been a short circuit. As several of the patients gathered in the hallway, the girl began screaming inside the elevator and banging on the panels. Billy shouted for help, and with the assistance of one of the workmen, he pried the outer door open.

Katherine Gillott and Pat Perry came out to see what the commotion was about. They watched as Billy went down into the elevator shaft, squeezing through the overhead trap door. Billy dropped down beside the girl and began talking to keep her calm. They waited while an elevator serviceman was called. Billy worked on the electrical box from the inside.

“Do you know any poems? ” he asked her.

“I know the Bible.”

“Recite some psalms for me, ” he said.

They talked about the Bible fur nearly half an hour.

When the elevator maintenance man finally got it moving, and they came out on the third floor, the girl looked up at Billy and said, “Can I have a can of pop now? ”

The following Saturday, Billy rose early. Though he felt good about his art exhibit, he was upset about the Dispatch article that described the exhibit, rehashing—as they always did—the ten personalities and calling him a “multi-personality rapist.” He had to get used to handling mixed emotions. It was a new kind of feeling—confusing but necessary to his mental stability.

This morning he decided to jog to the Ohio University Inn, adjacent to the hospital grounds, and get a pack of cigarettes. He knew he shouldn’t be smoking. In the old days only Allen had smoked cigarettes. But he needed it. There would be time enough to give up the habit when he was cured.

He walked down the front steps of the hospital and noticed two men in a car parked opposite the entrance. He assumed they were visiting someone. But when he crossed the road, the car passed him. Coming around the building to a secondary road, he saw it again.

He cut across the freshly mowed field, walked toward the footbridge over the creek that bordered the hospital property, and saw the car for the fourth time, turning up Dairy Lane, the road between the creek and the inn, the road he would have to pass after he crossed the footbridge.

As he stepped on the bridge, the car window rolled down. A hand held a gun. Someone yelled, “Milligan! ”

He froze.

He defused.

The shot missed Ragen as he turned and jumped into the k creek. The second shot also missed. Then another. Ragen grabbed a broken branch from the creek bed, scrambled up the bank and, using the branch as a club, shattered the rear window of the car before it sped off.

He stood there for a long time, trembling with rage. The Teacher had frozen on that bridge—weak and indecisive. If not for his own quick action on the spot, they would all have been dead.

Ragen walked back slowly to the hospital, discussing with Allen and Arthur what to do. Dr. Caul had to be told. Here in the hospital, they were an easy target. They could be found and killed anytime.

Allen told Dr. Caul about it. Furloughs from the hospital were now more important than ever, he argued, because he had to find a place that would be safe until his hearing in Lancaster to vacate his guilty plea. Then he could arrange to leave Ohio and go to Kentucky to be treated by Dr. Cornelia Wilbur.

“It is important, ” Arthur told Allen, “not to release word of this attack. If those men read nothing about it in the newspapers,.they will be off balance. They will fear that Billy is doing something.”

“Do we tell the writer? ” Allen asked.

“No one but Dr. Caul must know, ” Ragen insisted.

“Well, the Teacher has his regular one o’clock appointment with the writer. Will the Teacher be there? ”

“I don’t know, ” Arthur said. “The Teacher is gone. I believe he’s ashamed of freezing on the bridge.”

“So what do I tell the writer? ”

“You are good talker, ” Ragen said. “Pretend you are Teacher.”

“He’ll know.”

“Not if you tell him you’re the Teacher, ” Arthur said. “He’ll believe you.”

“You mean lie? ”

“It will upset the man if he knows the Teacher has unfused and disappeared. They’ve become friends. We cannot take a chance of jeopardizing the book. Everything must go forward just as before this attempt on Billy’s life.”

Allen shook his head. “I never thought you’d tell me to lie.” “If it’s done in a good cause, ” Arthur said, “to keep someone from being hurt, it’s not really a lie.”

* * *

But during the meeting, the writer found himself uncomfortable with Billy’s attitudes and actions. He seemed too arrogant, too manipulative and demanding. He had always been taught to look for the worst, Billy said, and hope for the best. Now his hopes had been turned around. He was sure he’d be sent back to prison.

The writer felt this was not the Teacher, but he couldn’t be sure. Billy’s lawyer Alan Goldsberry arrived, and the writer sensed it was Allen explaining why he wanted to make out his will, leaving everything to his sister: “At school there was a bully who always picked on me. One day he was going to punch me, but then he didn’t. I discovered later that Kathy gave him her last twenty-five cents not to hit me. That’s something I’ll never forget.”

That weekend at Kathy’s, Danny and Tommy painted a mural while Allen worried about the upcoming court hearing in Lancaster. If he won, and Dr- Caul sent him to Kentucky, he knew Dr. Wilbur could help him. But what if Judge Jackson ruled against him? What if he were destined to spend the rest of his life in mental hospitals and prisons? The state was sending him hospital bills now at the rate of over a hundred dollars a day. They wanted all his money. They wanted him broke.

He couldn’t sleep Saturday night. At about three in the morning, Ragen went outside, wheeling his motorcycle silently from the house. A fog was drifting into the valley, and he felt like riding until early light. He started down the road toward Logan Dam.

He loved the fog best in the dark of night, and often he would wander out into the densest, deepest fog, whether in the middle of the forest or the center of a lake, watching the foreground blend into nothing. Three in the morning was his favorite hour.

As he approached the top ledge of Logan Dam, a narrow ridge just wide enough for his cycle wheel, he turned his headlight off; its reflection in the fog would blind him. With the headlight out, he could see black on two sides and the light strip of the ridge down the middle. He kept his wheel centered. It was dangerous, but he needed the danger. He needed, once again, to conquer something. It didn’t have to be something illegal, but every now and then he had to do something dangerous, had to feel the adrenaline pumping. He needed to be a victor.

He had never ridden the dam ridge before. He didn’t know how long it was. He couldn’t see that far ahead. But he knew he had to go across it fast enough, with high enough torque, to keep from falling to either side. He was terrified, but he had to give it one hell of a tfy.

He kicked off and roared down the center of the narrow ledge. When he was safely across, the turned and came back again. Then he screamed and cried and the tears rolled down his cheeks, chilled by the wind in his face.

He went home exhausted and dreamed he was shot and dying on the footbridge because the Teacher had frozen and let them all down.






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