This lasted a year. By the end of it, he was talking more freely to her than he ever had to anyone in his life, discussing the world outside the hospital, his fear of people watching him wherever he went. His delusions about the government continued to haunt him, and he was convinced that the men in power were taking bribes from gangsters and drug dealers and that they all were aware that he knew what was going on, and wanted to “keep him quiet.” Delusions of persecution, the doctor called it. A form of paranoia. Understanding the problem was the first step towards treating it, she said.

Finally, it all ended. She came to one of their sessions visibly upset, and he asked her what was wrong. Cutbacks, she said. The board has ordered all nonviolent patients into release programs.

He didn’t know how to react. The thought of being back outside was as exciting as it was frightening. She had helped him a great deal, and he felt more confident than ever before. But he would miss her terribly.

“There is good news,” she said, sitting him down. “We have been contacted by a group looking for a man like you. They want to give you a job. This one is special, like you. There won’t be many people around, so you don’t have to be scared of anyone. It’s perfect, really.

You’re much better. I’m very happy with how well you’re doing. I’ll want you to check in with me by phone, and come in when it’s over. It will last for a few months, and then after that we can talk again and see how things went. Would you like that?”

He thought about it, and nodded. He was ready.

She smiled, and stood up. “I’d wish you luck, but you won’t need it. You’re going to do great.”