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The Maze - Eighteen more soundly than ever. As his good humor returned with his strength, he enjoyed talking with the staffers as well as with the patients. The two weeks of his residence in the hos- pital passed quickly, and Ted’s improvement was obvious. But in order to test the permanence of this change, the doctor recommended a trial run outside the facility. “T think you’re ready for a weekend pass,” the doctor told him. “A few days back home, nothing strenuous, just to see how you feel. If everything goes all right, that will tell us a lot about your progress.” “Fine,” Ted agreed, knowing that he really had improved and should have no trouble in the apartment again. Still, his first response was uneasy, a vague disturbance in the back of his mind, which he did his best to ignore. He checked out and returned home, but his first night in the apartment was not what he’d hoped. Even before the sky grew dark, Ted had turned on all the lights and tried to fight back against his increasing nervousness. He couldn’t concen- trate on the TV programs, but he kept it on for company, to block out the night’s uneasy quiet. As the hours dragged by, Ted’s energy waned and his nerves grew worse. Once or twice his breath would catch and his heart would flutter irregularly as a panic attack started, and Ted had to fight for control. He needed to rest, and no matter how long he delayed it, eventually he would have to go to bed. He gulped down his sedative and waited for it to take effect, and then he reluctantly walked to the bedroom door. The room was brilliantly lit, with even the night light shining in the corner, but it felt cold and wrong. He went through the motions, washed, brushed and got into the bed, turning off the overhead light. Ted was too tired to keep his eyes open, but as soon as he lay back, memories and images flooded into his mind. The room wouldn’t let him forget. Being back in the bedroom where he had experienced the fog and the shock of the light wand disturbed him so deeply that he couldn’t sleep. Even the medication had no effect, and his fear, shapeless and relentless, grew overwhelming. Less than ten minutes after trying to sleep, Ted was up and wide Masquerade of Angels 172 The Maze - Eighteen awake, back in the living room as far from the bed as he could get. He stayed up the entire night, walking the floor restlessly, smoking cigarettes, watching TV, anything to pass the time. The next night, it was the same story-no sleep, no rest, only inexplicable anxiety. And his depression returned with a vengeance, darkening everything within him. By the third day, Ted suddenly had the feeling that he just didn’t want to go on living. It had not been a conscious thought, but all at once it seemed like the only possible escape from his misery. “T’m just going to get it over with,” he told himself, and then he walked out onto the apartment balcony and climbed over the railing. The ground was two stories below, but there was no fear in his mind as he debated whether he should jump. In fact, he felt curiously free of emotion, as if that part of his mind was already at a distance. His only thoughts were logical ones, questions of execution and repercussion. He wasn’t sure that a fall of that distance would kill him, and he wondered if he would be committed involuntarily to a mental asylum if he failed to die. Leaning out from the railing, Ted looked around and noticed some trees in the near distance and behind them another apartment balcony. Somebody was there, watching him, and that realization triggered a response in Ted, snap- ping him back to reality. The stranger on the balcony stared at him intently for a moment and then called out, “Hey, man, what are you doing out there?” Guilty and embarrassed by his predicament, Ted won- dered what he could say that wouldn’t give away his suicidal intentions. The whole situation was quite obvious, however, and the stranger was clearly alarmed. “You’re not going to jump, are you?” he shouted. “No,” Ted shouted back, trying to sound very casual, “no, I’m just getting some fresh air. Everything’s okay, really.” It was a ridiculous statement, considering his precarious perch over the railing, but he was too flustered to come up with anything better. Masquerade of Angels 173