Phil Candorelli removed the abaya and dropped it to the dirt floor. He was wearing a pair of white running shorts and a matching T-shirt underneath, thin and fit. His feet were bare and he grinned at me. The ESFL official stood approximately four feet away the bed and asked, “Do you know where you are, Mr. Knight?”
I admit, I was terrified, shook my head with the rest of my body, and replied, “I don’t know.”
He let out a boisterous laugh and said, “Under the Chuck Chutney statue in Talon Park, of course. You thought these rooms didn’t exist, did you? And to think you consider yourself a journalist.”
The asylum under Talon Park was hearsay in our little city of Vanmer, but now I realized that the many rumors of the Talon Rehabilitation Institute had existed in the early forties, was empt
