BZRK

sounds leaked through steel doors of individual rooms: cells, in reality.
    Noah didn’t want to feel those screams inside himself, but he wasn’t armored, he wasn’t impervious. Each wild trill of mad laughter made him flinch as if he was being whipped.
    A nurse and two scruffy attendants were making their way from door to door. One of the attendants pushed a squeaky cart loaded with little plastic cups, each designated with a code number and containing no fewer than half a dozen and sometimes a baker’s dozen brightly colored pills.
    The pill crew came to a door, knocked, warned the inmate to stand back, waited, then unlocked and opened the door. One attendant—no, let’s cut the bull, they were guards, turnkeys, screws, but not attendants—went inside with the nurse while the remaining guard stood ready with a Taser.
    Noah reached Alex’s cell. Number ninety-one.
    “Don’t worry, he’s shackled,” the guard said. “Just don’t try to touch him. He don’t like people touching him.” The guard grinned ruefully and shook his head in a way that suggested Noah knew what he meant.
    The door opened on a room five feet wide, eight feet deep. The only furnishing was a steel bunk. Fat steel bolts fixed the cot to the cracked tile floor. There was a radio on a high shelf, too high for a person to reach. The BBC was on, soft, some politician being grilled.
    Alex Cotton sat on the edge of the bunk. His wrists were handcuffed to steel rings on either end. The effect was to stretch his arms out and limit his ability to move anything but his head.
    The ghost of Alex Cotton turned hollow, vacant eyes on his little brother.
    Noah couldn’t speak for a moment. Because what he wanted to say was, “This is the wrong room. That’s not my brother.”
    Then a low growl that at first sounded as if it might be coming from the radio. An animal sound. Alex Cotton’s mouth snapped suddenly, like a shark missing the bait.
    “Alex,” Noah said. “It’s me. It’s just me, Noah.”
    The guttural sound again. Alex’s eyes suddenly focused. He stared at Noah, shook his head as if the vision caused him pain.
    Noah made just the slightest move to touch his brother’s strained arm. Alex yanked his whole body as far away as he could, which was no more than a few inches. He strained so hard that the handcuffs drew blood.
    Noah backed away, held up his hands reassuringly.
    “Told you, don’t try and touch him, he’ll start screaming about his little spiders and shit,” the guard said.
    “Alex, it’s just me. It’s Noah.”
    “Nano nano nano nano,” Alex said in a singsong voice, and then giggled. He wiggled his fingertips like he was acting something out.
    “Nano? What is that, Alex?” He whispered it, speaking as he would to a frightened child. Gentle.
    “Heh heh heh, no. No. No no no nano nano nano. No.”
    Noah waited until he was done. He refused to look away. This was his brother. What was left of his brother.
    “Alex, no one can figure this out. No one can figure out what happened to you. You know what I mean, to have you end up here.”
    Explain your craziness, crazy man. Tell me what happened to my brother.
    “Nano, macro, nano, macro,” Alex muttered.
    “He says that a lot,” the guard offered. “Mostly nano.”
    “Is this from the war?” Noah asked, ignoring the guard. He wanted an explanation. None of the doctors had been very convincing. Everyone said it was probably the war, but Alex had been examined for post-traumatic stress when he came home, and everything had seemed fine with him. He and Noah had taken in some sports, gone on a road trip to the Cornish coast for the beach and for some girl Alex knew. His brother had been a little distracted, but that was all. Distracted.
    The guard hadn’t answered.
    “I mean, is it memories and all that?” Noah pressed. “Is that what he goes on about? Afghanistan?”
    To his surprise, it was Alex who answered.
    “Haji?” Alex laughed a crooked-mouth laugh, like half his face was paralyzed. “Not Haji. Bug Man,” Alex said. “The Buuug Man. One, two, three. All dead. Poof!”
    “That’s pretty good for him,” the guard opined approvingly.
    And for a few seconds it almost seemed as if the crazy had cleared away. Like Alex was straining to make his mouth say words. His voice went down into a whisper. He nodded, like he was saying,
Pay attention to this; this is important
.
    This. Is. Important.
    Then he said, “Berserk.”
    Alex nodded, satisfied