“Go,” Archie told the orderly, mustering all his authority. Archie looked around the room. “Everyone go,” he said. The woman who’d gasped started crying, and hugged the woman with her. The counselor crouched frozen on the floor. Frank sat in his chair, smiling.

Archie needed to clear the room. There were too many people. He needed Courtenay calm. Angry, excited people made bad decisions. There were already too many unpredictable elements. Hostages were bad enough to manage. Mentally unstable hostages made things very dangerous.

Archie turned to the orderly. “Trust me,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know how to do this. Get out.” The orderly glanced over at Courtenay. Then he turned back to Archie, nodded, and backed away. As he did, it was like a seal had been broken. The counselor ran for the door, gripping his bleeding arm, and the two women went out behind him. Frank didn’t move.

The telephone started to ring.

“Security will be here in a few minutes,” a nurse called to Archie from the door.

It was the three of them then: Archie, Courtenay, and Frank.

Courtenay’s nostrils flared with each breath and her knuckles were white around the shard of Formica.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Archie said softly. He slowly extended his hand. “Please give that to me.”

Courtenay looked him in the eye and pushed the Formica deeper into her neck, and blood trickled down her chest.

“You don’t have to do that,” Archie said.

She let up on the Formica, the color returning to her hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m fat,” she said.

She wasn’t fat. She wasn’t even generously proportioned. Her pajamas hung a size too big over her body. This was what had driven her to attack a counselor and jam a countertop into her neck?

“It’s the lithium,” said Frank from his chair.

“You’re not fat,” Archie said. “So if that’s why you’re cutting yourself with a countertop, it’s massively moronic.”

The phone was still ringing.

Behind him, Archie could hear chaos in the hall. People shouting. Someone crying. Psych wards were like preschools—tantrums were contagious.

Courtenay cocked her head at Archie. “How did you do it?” she asked.

Archie wondered if she could somehow see it on him, like he could see her bandages. “Pills,” he said.

“Do you have kids?” she asked.

“Two,” Archie said. “Six and eight.”

The phone continued, insistent. It was all Archie could do not to rip it out of the wall.

Frank started to stand up and move for it.

“Frank, sit down,” Archie said.

Frank looked up, startled by Archie’s tone, and then lifted a finger at the phone. “It’s for me,” he said. “It’s my sister.”

“It’s not important,” Archie said through clenched teeth.

Courtenay wiped some snot off her lip with her forearm. “I cut my wrists,” she said. “But I did it wrong. I went horizontally. You’re supposed to go vertically. Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Archie said.