`And I thrust a knife into its heart,' Kentucky continued, the volume of his voice rising with excitement. `Blood, blood, everywhere blood. And I take the knife and hack him. And I hack and hack and hack.'
Kentucky jumped up from the table and began shouting, thrusting one arm downward through the air with an imaginary dagger, `And I hack and I hack and I hack!'
Then Kentucky went suddenly still. Everyone at the table froze. No-one dared move for fear of driving him over the edge. Par's stomach had jumped into his throat. He tried to gauge how many seconds it would take to extricate himself from the picnic table and make a break for the far side of the room.
In a daze, Kentucky walked away from the table, leaned his forehead against the wall and began mumbling quietly. The jewellery heister slowly followed and spoke to him briefly in hushed tones before returning to the table.
One of the guards had heard the ruckus and came up to the table.
`Is that guy OK?' he asked the jewellery heister while pointing to
Kentucky.
Not even if you used that term loosely, Par thought.
`Leave him alone,' the heister told the guard. `He's talking to the aliens.'
`Right.' The guard turned around and left.
Every day, a nurse brought around special medicine for Kentucky. In fact, Kentucky was zonked out most of the time on a cup of horrible, smelly liquid. Sometimes, though, Kentucky secreted his medicine away and traded it with another prisoner who wanted to get zonked out for a day or so.