“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

“We’ll take him to the Salvation Army,” the young officer said, after joking with Fred about what a long walk it was from the airport. In retrospect, I still don’t know—the next day—whether Fred had visited the police station in West Elmira to ask directions to the hill house. He’d certainly not led me to believe that when we first met. Nor did the officer I met say so, although he may just not have been told that by the dispatcher on duty. But their reaction was quick enough once I explained the situation to them.

Fred Conyers stayed on my mind through the rest of the day, after I’d waved to him as the policeman backed out of the driveway and headed down the hill. He sat in the back seat very docilely, in his white shirt and dark-colored tie. Was he secretly relieved at the way things had worked out? Even in his drastic situation, I thought at the time, our society in some fashion had a way to take care of him, hopefully. But would society—could it—transport him all the way home to Denver, were he telling the truth about his origins?