Coleman smiled benignly. "Certainly, Warden."
I walked out of my office, slowly and carefully.
Horbit was sitting in his detention quarters idly flicking through a book tape on the Civil War when I found him. The tic in his cheek marked time with every new page.
"President Lincoln," I said reverently.
Horbit looked up, his eyes set in a clever new way. "You call me that. Does it mean I am recovering? You don't mean now that I'm getting back my right senses?"
"Mr. President, the situation you find yourself in now is something stranger and more evil than any madness. I am not a phantom of your mind—I am a real man. This wild, distorted place is a real place."
"Do you think you can pull the wool over my eyes, you scamp? Mine eyes have seen the glory."
"Yes, sir." I sat down beside him and looked earnestly into his twitching face. "But I know you have always believed in the occult."
He nodded slowly. "I have often suspected this was hell."