He barely acknowledged the patients who shuffled awkwardly out of his path, parting like innocent animals meandering about a barnyard, making way for one with purpose. He managed to nod at the patients he knew, who greeted him with the usual assortment of stares, smiles, snarls, averted looks and the occasional curse that was the day-to-day standard of the locked wards. He knew that his swift pace would cause some conversation behind his back; it was unavoidable. In a world reflecting the constancy of routine, any behavior that spoke of some external need or force was cause for discussion, debate, and unwavering curiosity. His own sense of intrigue ran equally unchecked. As he hurried along, he speculated shamelessly about the arrival of the homicide detective; considering as he reviewed the membership of the Lost Boys, trying to think which one might have mentioned being in Miami within the past few years, which member of the group might have been oddly reluctant to talk about some recent event.
