Another golden sunrise on the heartland, and Herb found himself back in the padded hole that reeked of moldy sweat and Ajax. Edgar had taken up his usual post behind the opposite chair. Herb twisted the brass fasteners on his briefcase and popped it open.

“What do you make of all of this?”

Edgar shrugged. “I think she’s certified, grade A, bat shit crazy.” His guard went down with his deflating chest. “Look. The way she goes on and on about this Land of Oz stuff. It’s like she’s been there – at least in her own mind.” The big guy strode to the door and peered out its window down the hallway. “I dunno.” Edgar returned to his post. “Did she do it? Yeah, I guess so, but I don’t think it was all just her idea.”

Herb turned his notes to where he’d left off. “You think this Wizard guy was involved?”

Edgar chuckled. “I’m not even sure he isn’t another figment of her imagination, boss.”

Halbert penned his thoughts: wizard real? “You’ve spent a considerable amount of time around Dorothy, haven’t you Edgar?”

“More time than most. Why?”

Herb took a sip of his water. Sulphurous and tasting of egg. Hallmark well water. “Do you think she’s got any connections to reality left?”

“If there are any left,” Edgar said, “they’re hangin’ by threads.”

The door whined open. Sprider and Dorothy meandered in, halting their conversation. “Good morning, all.”

Edgar crossed his arms. “Mornin’, doc.”

The doc looked to Halbert. “I trust your meeting went well.”

Herb shifted in his seat. “As well as can be expected. How are you holding up?”

Sprider grinned. “As well as can be expected.”

Dorothy took up her place silent and frowning.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Sprider said, closing the door behind him.

“Hello again, Ms. Gale.”

A glaze covered her eyes. The faint odor of singed hairs wafted into his nose.

Herb coughed. “We’ll pick up where we left off. Tell me about your journey after your encounter with the Scarecrow.”

A clear stream of drool snaked from the corner of her mouth. Her words came in slow garbled spurts. “Went into the orchard.” Her lips moved, but the words mashed together. “Wuh-hung…”

He crossed one leg over the other. “Say what?”

“Wuh, wuh, was huh-hungry.”

Herb wrote it down. “Okay. I’m following you. Go on.”

The streamer of slobber hung off her chin. “Apples. Ate some apples.”

“Fine.”

Dorothy’s blank stare widened. “Trees got mad. Told us not to steal.”

A bulb went off in Halbert’s head. “Continue.” He rummaged around in his case.

“S-Scarecrow teased them.” Her head wavered. “Muh, made them throw apples at us.”

He opened his folder and set a report on the table. “Peculiar.”

Dorothy’s numb gaze found his.

Halbert continued. “This report is from a homicide on the Fischer Farm. It sat right behind your aunt and uncle’s place. Neighbors.” He flipped the front page of the report over. “Let’s see. Jeb Fischer. Forty-one. Father of four. Had 253 acres. Owned and operated an orchard.” Herb looked to her, wearing a smirk. “How about that? Says here that they found ole Jeb lifeless in his fields. They recovered a bloody stone mere feet from his body.” He closed the file. “Likely stoned to death. The cops could never collect enough evidence to press charges. Prints were too smudged.” Herb’s mood went south. “That’s one hell of a coincidence, Gale.”

She shook her head in slow jerks.

“Another lie?” He massaged his eyes with his palms. “Let’s cut the shit. You killed the guy. No doubt. My question is, why? What did Fischer do to you?”

Dorothy blinked in slow motion. “Threw at us.” Her eyes moistened. “They h-hit us.”

Herb shook his head in disgust. “You threw something, Dorothy. You. No one else.” He turned his notebook over and continued writing. “Let’s move on. What did you do after the apples?”

She wiped the drool on a pajama sleeve. “We gathered them up. Found one lying next to a tin man.”

He referred back to his police file labeled, Series of Events. Herb flipped to the page for Crime Scene 4 – Mr. Hickory. “Tin man.”

Her head moved up and down. “An entire man made from tin. Rusted out.” Another line of slobber. “Used his oil can to free him. Storms. Rain. R-rusted out.” Her face shook. “Witch came. Fire. Warned us all.”

“Wait a sec.” Halbert glanced up from his furious scribbling. “Witch? Almira was there?” He eyed the record again. Not a single mention of Gulch being present this early in any timeline.

Gale nodded. “On the cottage. Threw fire.”

He noted in the margins: Gulch at CS 4? On a roof, or is this part of delirium? “The alternative to your claim, Dorothy, is far worse.”

Her wide eyes registered an absent fury that left Halbert chilled. “Fire. Burning.”

“Mr. Hickory,” he said, “had been on the far side of the barn cutting wood. He had gone into said barn to get the oil can for his chainsaw.” He held back a bile-soaked belch. “When he returned, Hickory ran into you.” Another wave of nausea crept up. “You. You impaled him on the chainsaw, and proceeded to hack a round crater into his chest.” Herb held up an unsteady hand. “Excuse me.” He took a few hits from his lukewarm water.

Halbert set the crime scene evidence on the table. A black and white still of a mangled corpse. His lungs and severed trachea left beside his opened torso. The heart, missing.

Dorothy looked up at Herb and through him. “He wanted to come with us. The Wizard was going to give him a new heart.”