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different parts of my cell and try to triangulate the source. Best I can tell, it’s coming from the under the bed across the way.
    Now that I’m here, it’s easy to come up with a whole list of things I should have brought. A camera, flashlight, walkie talkie, or even one of those portable tape machines would have been handy. But I was fixated on doing this just like The Big Four did.
    Some things made perfect sense when I was in my living room and my wife was getting ready to give our son his bath. They make a lot less sense now.
    The chalk sound stops.  
    I chew my cheek and return to my notebook.
    Assuming I guessed the dates correctly, and assuming Jeremy’s calendar model was correct, tonight will be the seventh time that this cell became infectious. The first time turned Al. The second time, the place happened to be uninhabited. Dumb luck moved the inmate to the infirmary with a burst appendix just as the night approached.
    And, of course, the place has been empty ever since Chris got the whole wing shut down. So the place was empty during its last cycle. I wonder if that helped the cell build up a charge, so it will be even more potent tonight. David Mitchell was here after a vacancy, and he was a messed up guy. Then again, he was the most unpredictable criminal of the bunch even before he stayed in the cell. Some might argue that he didn’t need any help in going crazy.
    Lucky for me, I don’t believe in ghosts, or goblins, or psychic things. I believe in science, and statistical analysis, and reporting. That’s why I’m here. If there is a pattern to The Big Four, and if there is a reason why they all shared this cell before they turned bad, I’m going to witness it firsthand and document it. In the name of science, I will observe and report before this place can be torn down and plowed under in the months to come. Perhaps, for my great achievements, they’ll erect a plaque on this location.
    It will read, “This is the location where Thomas Hicks proved, once and for all, that he is definitely afraid of rats, but never feared in the face of demonic possession from building or other architectural landmark. Oh, he’s also afraid of chalkboard noises.”
    The chalk sound starts again.

CHAPTER 5: BALCONY
     

     
    Present Day

    J AMES WOKE UP IN the afternoon. The sun was still pretty high in the sky, so he didn’t bother to check the time. If he knew the time precisely, he would only end up counting down the minutes until sunset. He shaved and showered. With clean clothes and brushed teeth, he felt almost like a human being again. He cooked a real meal—one with representatives from actual food groups.  
    He ate on the balcony.
    His was a second floor apartment on the side of the building with the parking lot. A couple of tall trees gave him shade and also blocked his view of the highway. The constant hiss of passing cars sounded almost like the ocean. He could imagine that the horns of angry motorists were really fog horns, warning ships of hazards. Weighed down by the meal, he felt himself drifting off to sleep again, which was fine. During naps, he rarely dreamed.
    A thought startled him awake. James unlocked the door to his living room, navigated the columns of boxes, and looked through the peephole. It was there. While he’d slept, his provisions had come. He was lucky someone hadn’t walked off with the box.
    James watched for a minute or two, to convince himself that nobody was going to come up the stairs while his door was open. He fumbled with the deadbolt and slid the huge box inside. James was panting by the time he got the door shut again. He left the box there. He could move it to the kitchen later, when his strength returned.
    Back on the balcony, he discovered that a breeze had picked up. If anything, it made the afternoon even nicer.

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    The creaking sounded like a rocking chair. James pictured the rockers on the front porch of that unfortunate farm family, where