The hospital and sheriff’s department really tried hard to keep Oliver’s rescue a secret from the public. For a while it worked. It worked the entire time he was in the hospital. It was not until he was transferred to the mental health side of the building that the staff thought the secret was over with.
Then things began to happen on their own. We all know the chattiness of city municipal employees. And it was only a matter of time until some paying journalist or amateur or professional art connoisseur found someone who knew something. One day there were perhaps eighteen cars outside of the cave where Oliver had stayed. Two days later the property was purchased by an unnamable prestigious university that took measures to preserve and duplicate what Oliver had painted in it.
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Addly commented that Oliver was within one of the oddest states of psychosis she had ever seen. Usually, she told Olivia, who was half listening, psychosis is coupled with extreme emotion, rage, despair, or paranoia. Instead, he almost had reverted to a newborn-type state, searching around him in confusion, treating each sense with a startling indifference. But Oliver didn’t concern himself over what would make their job easier, obviously, so Dr. Addly told Olivia that they would go the safe route: administering the usual strength antipsychotic medication and hope to break through.
Olivia, baggy-eyed and worried sick, curled back her lips and nodded. She hadn’t understood what was said, but she would sign off for on nevertheless. Before she left she gathered for herself the strength to peak through Oliver’s window. He lay on the bed, moving his right hand to a song only he could hear. She thought that it looked like he had two glass eyes.

Oliver was in the mental ward during Christmas and Elaine’s birthday (a fact that bothered Olivia more than Elaine) and was now on track to miss the onset of spring, those first few weary days without a jacket, the trees going green . .