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Adrian quickly signed the paper allowing him access to Fred. The guard
withdrew the clipboard, opened the security door and led him down the long
dank hallway to where Fred was locked in a large padded room. The guard
retained Adrian's metal objects, including his watch, for safety's
sake. "Near closin' time," said the guard. "Fifteen minutes."
"Fred?" Fred sat hunched in a corner making pictures with finger paint. He had been doing this since the trial. "Fred? Yes. That is a nice picture. May I see the others you made? Yes. Underpants." Fred giggled. Adrian began going through the pileof papers in the corner of the room. It looked like trash, but Fred had not let anyone throw them out. Adrian took out a picture of the murder scene Fred had painted and studied it carefully. No blood. But when she came to the morgue . . . He found another finger painted picture. Little red on this one too. But there were pictures with pools of blood. And now, two patients in the ward had come down with a strange anemia. Of course, the patients could say nothing. They were crazy. Adrian looked at Fred. "You may be in danger." Just then the door swung open. "Time to go," said the guard. Adrian looked at the guard. There was something strange about him. Teeth.
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