William rolled over to his back, clenched his eyes tight.  The fog covered the pain, the exhaustion, the injuries, but it also made it harder to think.  When the fog and the voices were there, something in his rational mind seemed to diminish.  Control over what he did almost automatically went to them.  That was his only excuse for strangling one man and shooting another with his own gun.  And he didn't even know if he had killed any of the racists in his last fight. 

"No."  He almost hissed aloud, only able to tamp down the word at the last second.  This, he wouldn't do.  The detective hadn't arrested him tonight.  He didn't know why not, but he knew that if he attacked the police here, the detective would treat him like a criminal.

The Advisor turned, looked at William.  He needs you.  He would still ask for your help.

William glared back.  It had only been for a minute, but the man had talked with him.  It had been so long since someone had just sat and talked with him.  And he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt like someone believed, like someone didn't care what he could see or hear.

He wouldn't let that go.  He wouldn't betray it. 

Through the window in the fog he saw the police moving.  Red targets still waited on their bodies and weapons.  They were moving away, in opposite directions, but he knew they would work their way back to him.

He turned to The Hunter.  He mouthed the words silently as he pushed his thoughts out at the voices.  No.  I won't.  His eyes settled on The Advisor.  Find another way.

All three voices stopped and stared at him. 

Slowly, the red targets began to dissolve on the two patrolmen.  William waited.

He had to clear his head, put together some kind of plan, but the need to think was set against the needs of his body.  If he pushed the fog away, he knew he'd be too weak to escape; even his labored breathing would give him away.  And heaving up the sparse contents of his stomach would be another easy way of showing them where he was hiding.

William let himself relax and breathe in a few deep quiet breaths before he craned his head up and looked over the outer wall of the parking garage.

One floor below, a parked police car sat, lights flashing.

He wasn't going that way.

Quietly, he wormed onto his back and inched down the ramp, under the front bumpers of the parked cars.  He looked out to the middle of the ramp.  One more car down and he'd be right between the two patrol cars.  Beyond them, past the inner row of parked cars, steel cables served as guard rails between the crisscrossing levels of the garage. 

He looked back and forth between where he thought the two officers would be as the voices continued to stare at him.  Slowly, windows began to open in the fog and he saw the first cop shine a flashlight between two of the parked cars.  The second one was further down the ramp, but both were closing in, their weapons drawn. 

With The Caretaker steadying his breath, William watched both police.  The first was only four vehicles away.  The second, further down, stopped to inspect the bed of a pickup truck.  Quickly, William checked the first man and saw his outline step behind a van. 

He dashed out, head and body low, and snuck between the two patrol cars.

Once through, he turned and checked the police again through the windows in the fog.  They both continued their search on the far line of cars.  William backed into the inner row of vehicles and continued down the ramp on hands and knees.  He let the second cop pass by, then scurried to the ramp's center, where the rising and descending levels crossed.  He looked up and whispered to the voices.  "Up there?"

The Advisor and The Hunter stared up.  The Advisor nodded and The Hunter bounded up the narrow gap to the next floor.  William grabbed the top steel cable and felt it twang beneath his fingers.  One good jolt on the wire would sound a note that would tell the police exactly where he was.  He ducked behind a support pillar and eased his weight onto the thick wire.  Above him, The Hunter waited, arm extended.

As William took the hand into his own, he felt the fog thicken and his anxiety melt away.  For a moment he'd had control, but he knew that control wouldn't get him out.  Knew it wouldn't protect Jess.

With the voices' help he climbed up three flights, stopping just one level below the roof and crossed to the far side of the ramp.  Down below, the cables and concrete of each floor continued to a small street and side alley.  He saw there were no exits for the cars on this side, and no police vehicles patrolling the street.  Overhead, the helicopter thumped by and panned its light in a broadening search pattern.

He looked at the voices, resentful that he had wanted and needed their help.  How could he be rid of them, be someone that Jess would want if he had to ask for their help? 

He grabbed the top railing, ran his hands across the twisted steel strands.  The fog began to dissipate and with it came the pain.  He focused on it, felt the ache in his elbow, the burn in his legs and chest.  Then the nausea.

He vomited the remains of the sandwich onto the concrete, then waited for the dry heaves to pass.  As his mind cleared he wondered how long it had been since he'd been sick like this.  It had to be over three years.  He'd had the flu then and Jess had insisted on caring for him.  With her so near, he had kept the voices at bay and suffered through the illness, not let them dull it.  It had been worth it.

After taking a step back from the mess, William turned his mind to the voices.  How could he rid himself of them?  Why were they dragging him into fight after fight with these skinheads and nazis?  How did that protect Jessica?  Even clear headed, he couldn't see it.

He let his focus drift and the voices formed up around him.  "Why?" he asked before his brain clouded over.  The voices only stared back.

"Why am I out here?  Why the fighting?  You made me kill those men."

The Advisor stepped forward.  She has to be ready.  You have to help her.

"How?  You showed me the fire, where I saved the detective.  I found him; I've been to her apartment.  There's no fire."

Not yet.  You have to force it to happen.

Overhead, the helicopter started another loop, further out.  It looked like he had done it.  All he had to do was get out of the ramp and he would make it out without hurting any of the police.  But that was little comfort.

William looked at all three voices.  Their half answers made him sicker than all the running and fighting.  What did he have to force? 

He wanted them gone.  Forever.

But he knew he couldn't get rid of the voices until Jessica was safe.  Though they wouldn't tell him anything he could understand, he knew he needed them to help protect her.

He let the fog roll in and started climbing down the outside of the parking ramp.

The last twenty feet of the ramp was a solid wall of concrete.  The voices wrapped around him as he dropped and rolled onto the street below.

He lay there a moment.  The pain, exhaustion and nausea began to overwhelm the hold the fog had on him.  They became all he could feel.

Slowly, he rose and limped down the alley.