The latest results from the drug study that had occupied much of her time since last Wednesday were in a file on her desk, but Amanda was not studying them. Instead, she studied the wall, and then the fine line along the ceiling where the paint changed from eggshell white to antique white, or some such color. The line was faint because the colors were so similar, but if you stared hard, it was there.

Jonathan had not called. Not on Thursday, or Friday, or even Saturday. She had spent several hours yesterday in the office, catching up on her work, but the phone had remained silent. And now here she was on a freaking Sunday, of all days, supposedly working with the drug file but really waiting for him (and staring at the wall).

Actually, what she was doing was avoiding the decision she had become increasingly sure she would have to make. Maybe if I wait, he’ll check in. Maybe if I wait, things will turn out fine. Maybe if I wait, I won’t have to get on a fucking plane and fly God-knows-where to find God- knows-what.

It was that last thing that scared her the most.

Her mind went back to her patient, Ron King, the one who had thought he was being chased by the Mafia. He had spun out of control, run for his life, changed identities, stolen things. And finally, when he thought he couldn’t take it any more, he had gone ahead and attacked someone. During delusions of persecution, patients sometimes showed signs of aggression. It became a last resort for them, the only way out as they saw it.

Get rid of them before they get rid of you. The problem was, the patients were not living in the real world. Jonathan is different, she decided quickly. But things could change, people could change, and she was not as sure that the solitude he was enduring was such a good idea anymore. A job was good for him, yes, but maybe not this job.

Why do I feel so frightened? she asked herself. She lost track of former patients all the time, and nothing catastrophic ever happened. They always checked in eventually, or she heard from someone else close to them, or they ended up back in the hospital. Why was this one case upsetting her so much? The answer, she decided immediately, was right in front of her.

She picked up the file on the drug tests and opened to the first page, which contained a description of a junkie’s “trip” on DMT. She had become interested in drugs and their effects in medical school when she was still thinking of becoming a surgeon, before the transfer to psychology. Now, the effects of drugs still interested her because they held possible answers to the causes of many psychological conditions, including paranoia.