Francine Howard was blazing her own trail. Her family had each made names for themselves in different areas: her father as a Colonel in the Marines, her mother as a Harvard law professor, her brother Mark in the CIA. After six years at the best schools money could buy, Francine had moved to the University of Illinois as a psychiatry major to take part in an experimental program studying levels of sanity among inmates at county jails across the country.

The front lobby was busy as Francine entered the Champaign county jail. With so many people coming in and going out, Francine wondered what kind of system tracked who should stay and who should go. She walked to the front desk, which was an office entirely encased behind steel and bulletproof glass.

“Francine Howard,” she said, leaning into the speaker. On the other side of the glass sat a thick middle-aged woman in a dark green uniform who obviously wasn't impressed.

“The shrink?” she asked, searching for the name on her clipboard. Her finger stopped at a name and she wrote down the time next to it. “You new?”

“This is my first visit,” Francine replied.

“Place your ID inside the drawer.”

Francine reached inside her wallet and placed two pieces of photo identification in the sliding metal drawer. The woman inside retracted the drawer and she looked at the identification cards, then at Francine. Red hair, brown eyes, five-foot seven, 127 pounds, strong cheekbones and a nose obviously sculpted by a doctor. Francine pretended not to notice the impromptu inspection.

“Enter the door to your right,” the woman said, returning the identification.

Francine walked toward the door and it clicked open.

“Have fun,” the woman said.

“I’ve read over a few of your reports. For a small town you have a lot of big city nutcases.”

Francine noticed that the presence of a psychiatrist consciously or sub-consciously caused self-doubt and a defensive attitude, so she had always attempted to inject humor into her initial conversations.

“You'll love this one,” the woman confided. “He’s in the exercise yard right now, but he’ll be back in solitary in about twenty-five minutes.”

Francine glanced at the quick erase board. Various names were written in each area of the jail. The exercise room had one small section and only one word was written in its box: Legion.

”I’ll just see him in the exercise yard. Hmmm. You don't have his name listed.”

“When we brought him in, he didn’t have any I.D. on him and he calls himself Legion. Weird thing is, I've seen him somewhere before.”

“Maybe I should visit you when I’m through out here,” Francine teased.

“No thanks! Insanity is the only thing that keeps me on this side of those doors!”

Francine smiled; she had won the initial confidence of the woman. The lock clicked open and Francine entered the housing portion of the jail. She ignored the silent leers and the blatant jeers of the inmates as she passed their cells. There was nothing remotely interesting about blatant psychosis, lust or maniacal tendencies. Demon posession, however, was. She reached the end of the hallway and a bulky guard was sitting next to the exercise room door eating potato chips. Francine looked up, offering a half smile as a silent greeting. The guard stood up, obviously annoyed, sat his bag of chips on the chair and reached for a buzzer.

“Open exercise room,” he said into the speaker.

“He’s got twenty minutes,” the guard said, tapping his watch. “And I mean twenty.”

“Thanks,” Francine said, giving him a preliminary diagnosis of an inferiority complex with tendencies toward external control and possible misogyny.

The lock clicked and the guard glanced inside before opening the door. Francine entered the exercise yard, which was a room almost the size of a basketball court, open to the sky, surrounded by walls twelve feet high. Several layers of concertino wire and spikes layered the top of the walls. She had been expecting the inmate to be exercising, but he was sitting quietly in a corner away from the sunlight.

The door clicked shut behind her.

“Hi, I’m Francine.”

The man opened his eyes. While he didn’t seem to notice she had even entered, he didn’t seem shocked that she was there. Two quick glances told Francine that he was sizing her up. The first glance determined the threat level Francine presented; the second glance was something akin to looking at meat. Francine glanced up at the cameras monitoring them, allowing him to establish his dominance.

Each camera was placed at a slightly different angle to allow all areas of the exercise yard to be seen and small red lights on each camera silently confirmed that she was being watched. The guard was not visible through the small window in the door. He had, no doubt, returned to his chips.

Francine walked toward the young man in a slow, non-threatening manner, stopping a safe distance from him. The more control he felt, the easier it would be for him to talk. She concealed an almost bored look. People were too easy to manipulate.

“What’s your name?” she asked with her most sincere voice.

“I sold my name,” the young man said, noticeably humoring her.

“So what am I supposed to call you?”

He looked down at the ground.

“Legion,” he whispered.

“Like in the Biblical story?”

“They are no longer.”

“So, how did you sell your name?”

“More easily than you can ask that question.”

“How many personalities do you have?” Francine asked, suddenly interested.

“You think I have a mental disorder?”

Legion lowered his head, shaking it in disapproval. Francine kicked herself for not using terminology from his viewpoint.

“I'm sorry; how many spirits are inside of you?” she asked. She shouldn't have slipped that easily.

“They don’t just stay inside of me, they swarm in and out of me. Hundreds of them surround me at all times.”

“Can you hear them individually?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time I hear several voices all at once, all saying the same thing.”

“What do they say?”

“Right now they say…” Legion paused and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked directly at Francine. “Right now, they’re talking about you.”

“Well, we’re talking about you.”

“What’s a young woman doing in a small county jail talking to a crazy guy?”

“Why did they choose you?” Francine asked, steering the interview back on track.

“We chose each other. Do you know what my mortal name was?”

Francine smiled. Maybe she would walk away with the prize after all.

“The guards say you won’t tell them.”

“My mortal name was erased. I can’t even utter it. A lot of the people working here know me, but no one can remember me or my name. Even my parents don’t remember me. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“What are your parents’ names? We can track you that way.”

Legion shook his head.

“It’s not that easy. Wanna see a trick?” he asked, a smile growing on his face.

“If you think it’s that important,” she answered, accepting the challenge.

“Get the guard to go to the library and bring last year’s high school yearbook.”

Curiosity peaked, Francine walked to the door and pushed the intercom button.

“Excuse me? Can I get a copy of last year’s high school yearbook?”

“You gonna be alright?” the guard replied, as if his eating potato chips on the other side of the door made a difference.

“I’m trained to defend myself,” Francine replied, staring Legion directly in the eye. The guard walked off and Francine stayed by the door.

“They’re only letting me talk with you for twenty minutes,” she said. “Is it really worth that much?”

But Legion had lowered his head and closed his eyes again.

Two minutes later, the guard signaled to Francine through the window and a green hardback book slipped through the food slot. She brought it to Legion, still seated in the corner. Legion thumbed through several pages, and when he reached a certain section, handed the book, open, back to her.

The top of the two-page spread read “Kung Fu Fighting” and had the individual pictures of eight young men who had competed in martial arts at the local high school. A name was listed below each photo. As she scanned through each photo, she reached a picture of Legion. As aged as he looked, it was hard believing he was a senior last year. And although she knew that his name was listed below the picture, her eyes would not focus on the words. She blinked and rubbed her eyes with her fingers. The words were still an unfocused black and gray, seeming to float above the page.

She looked at the picture of the boys in front of him and behind him. She easily read each name. Darren Young. Frank Nelson. Richard Peebler. Al Morris. Rob Tankersley. Bill Wheat. Nick Carroll. She returned to Legion’s picture and the words were out of focus so badly that it hurt her eyes to look at them.

Francine hadn't noticed that Legion had stood up. She was determined to focus on the words, decipher this puzzle and return this man his name, and thus his sanity.

“I told you, I sold my name,” a voice said from behind her.

Francine was so startled by the voice she dropped the book, but Legion was still standing in front of her.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” the voice said, again coming from behind her. Legion’s mouth, though open, didn’t move. Francine felt a body-wide chill roll just under her skin. She quickly turned around to see where the voice was coming from.

No one was behind her.

“So, what, you’re a ventriloquist?” she nervously asked, trying to reassert control.

“No more than you’re a psychiatrist, Francine,” the voice said, each word coming from a different direction. “I don’t have a name, but you do. Francine…Harold?  No...Howard.”

Her nametag didn’t list her last name. Francine was now in full panic mode, her feet frozen to the asphalt floor. She couldn’t even move to motion for help to the cameras.

“I know what you’re thinking. This must be some kind of trick.”

“Uh….,” was all Francine could respond.

"I am flesh. I am blood. But we are more. And we are less."

Her face flushed and her heart pounded in her chest. Legion leaned his face next to hers and whispered into her ear.

"We are your damnation."

Legion grabbed the pen from her hand. Ceremoniously raising it high above his head, he brought the pen down quickly, stabbing himself in the arm. The pen embedded deeply into his forearm and blood began to seep around the edges. He tore the pen from his flesh and blood began to flow, though it quickly stopped, leaving a gaping wound. Legion smiled as he saw the blood dripping from the pen.  Legion cocked his head as if listening to someone and then looked at Francine and nodded in silent agreement.

Francine noticed she had begun shivering even though she was sweating. Legion walked toward her until he stood directly in front of her. She could feel his breath on her face and a smell from deep within triggered a primal revulsion.

"You read enough books that you think you know something about personality. What you don’t realize - what none of your kind realizes - is that personality is more than random neurons firing collectively inside an organic brain; a worm has an organic brain. Let me teach you something... the spirit is the organ of personality; the brain is just the filter through which it physically manifests. Your spirit has already detected who and what I am and has been trying to tell you, but your mortal arrogance won’t accept what it's saying. In reality, it is the true you showing through this shell of flesh."

Francine stood frozen, wanting to scream, to move, even just motion for help, but she was entranced; motionless, except for an involuntary shiver that would not go away.

"Curiosity is a trait for those who do not know," Legion railed. "Empathy is for those who cannot help; desire is for those who do not have."

Francine tried to concentrate on something else, the sky, the wall, anything to break out of her fear. Then she remembered the cameras. Someone had to be watching, she consoled herself. Legion was standing too close and his arms were flailing too wildly not to be noticed.

Sensing a spark of hope, Legion stepped back, looking for the source, finally settling on the cameras. As one, they exploded into a thousand sparks. The door buzzed from the inside and the bolt locked into place. The guard heard the commotion, but pounded uselessly on the door, shattering any thought of rescue.

"Hope...is for those without faith," Legion said, leaning into her face. "And it is so sweet to dash."
He grabbed her by the chin and kissed Francine fully on the mouth. Internally, she screamed at his touch.

"Don’t get your hopes up," Legion said, winking. "That was a goodbye kiss."

The brutal change in his face came so quickly that it caught Francine’s breath. Legion picked her up by the throat with one hand. A swift turn of his wrist snapped her neck. A guttural wail erupted from his throat, echoing eerily off the exercise yard walls, finally settling into the surrounding neighborhoods like an audible mist.

Legion displayed her lifeless form as a trophy, effortlessly holding it high above his head.  Dropping the body, he turned to see the look of shock on the guard’s face as he peered helplessly through the wired glass. Legion blew a kiss at the man and then leapt over the twelve- foot wall, clearing even the concertino wire.