"You've been doing very well lately Johnny." Dr. Cole clasps his hands together on the other side of the mahogany table. The last few sessions have been sitting across the office desk from him, conversing as equals. None of that lay on the couch pop-psych nonsense. "Your moods are the most level of your fellow patients, yet they have all managed to remember their names. Or at least adopted an identity outside of the John Doe persona."

I scratch at the back of my neck. "Yeah, doc. I don't know. I feel okay, but it's just not coming to me. I still can't remember a life outside of this hospital. Maybe if I had something from my past... Some kind of trigger..."

"Yes. That's something I wanted to bring up. As you've been told, when you John's were found, you were all carrying a single item. We have all of your personal effects here in lockup. Michael's and Raphael's are simply too dangerous to allow back into their custody. We showed JD his, earlier today. An ancient piece of paper, covered in script. In fact, all of your belongings are ancient. Honestly, they should probably be in a museum. Unfortunately, JD seems to have regressed horribly. He left our session speaking in tongues. You may understand why I'm apprehensive to show you yours."

"Okay. Well, I'm not gonna lie doc. I'd love to see it. But you're the one with the degree, so all in due time, I guess."

"I'm willing to take a chance on you, given your demeanor. And assuming you're able to hold steady after this, I may decrease your medication even further. Are you ready?"

I take a deep breath. "Yes doctor."

Cole reaches under his desk and retrieves a long case. He pops the latches on it, then lifts the lid, turning the case to face me . The inside reveals a slick, silver instrument. Perfectly crafted, without an indent or scratch, save for the beautifully scrawled engravings. Hieroglyphs, or some dead language that I vaguely recognize.

I gingerly lift it from the case, turning it over for careful inspection. "Now is this the chicken, or the egg?"

"Come again?"

I point at the markings on the instrument, tracing them with reverence. "See this? It's Enochian."

As the doctor leans forward to examine the script, his radio clicks on, as if powered by a poltergeist. Frank Black's nasally voice interrupts our examination. "Then the devil is six, the devil is six, the devil is six. And if the devil is six..."

Dr. Cole switches the radio off, looking bewildered. "I keep this on the classical station. How on Earth?"

I whisper, "Then God is seven."

The room shakes, books fly off of shelves, and the doctor's diploma falls to the floor. Glass and paper litter the ground. We both grab the desk, the doctor covering his head with his arms, as the tremor continues. Cracks spread throughout the foundation, the facility threatening to swallow us whole. After a minute and a half, the trembling subsides, leaving Cole and I among the shambles. We check ourselves for cuts and bruises, any damage sustained in the quake.

Reverend Harkell bursts through the office door, brandishing a hypodermic needle like a knife. "Keys to the front door and the gate! Doc. Now!" He turns and wields the syringe at me. "You stay back, or I'll fuckin' kill him! Hear?"

The doctor scrambles to hide underneath his desk. I reach for the instrument, which has remained unscathed. "Good news, Cole. I remember my name." I lift the trumpet to my lips and blow. The shatter-proof windows explode, the safety bars curling inward with a metallic squeal.

The Reverend's face peels away from his skull before disintegrating in a mist of blood and gray matter.