“Get the restraints,” Dr. Evans barks. He is a man whose bedside manner rivals a brick wall. “He’s a danger to himself. We need to sedate him. Now.”
“What’s going on?” Luke asks, stepping into the fray.
“Patient in 704,” Evans snaps, not looking at us. “Elias Winthrop. Twenty-two. Came in for anxiety, but the storm triggered a psychotic break. He’s barricaded himself behind an overturned bed. He thinks the water is rising inside the room.”
“So you’re going to tackle him?” I ask, stepping up beside Luke.
Evans sneers at me. “He’s violent, York. Unless you want to go in there and get hit with a bedpan, stay back.”
I look through the small observation window.
The kid inside isn't "violent." He’s terrified. He’s crouched in the corner, eyes wide and unseeing, clutching a pillow like a shield. He’s shaking so hard I can see it from here.
“Don’t go in there with security,” I say, my voice dropping. “If you rush him with guards in the dark, he’s going to snap. You’ll have to hurt him to subdue him.”
“We don’t have time for therapy!” Evans yells over a particularly loud thunderclap. “Move!”
He signals the guards.
“Wait.” I step in front of the door.
Evans stops. “Excuse me?”
“Give me five minutes,” I say. I look at Luke. I’m not asking Evans; I’m asking the Chief Resident. “Luke. Five minutes. If I can’t talk him down, you can send in the cavalry.”
Luke looks at Evans, then at the guards, and finally at me. He sees the sweat dripping down my face, the exhaustionin my eyes.
“Three minutes,” Luke says. He turns to Evans. “Stand down for three minutes. That’s an order.”
Evans huffs. “On your head, Silva.”
I unlock the door.
I slip inside and close it behind me. The room is dark, lit only by the strobe-light flashes of lightning outside.
“Get away!” Elias screams, hurling a plastic water pitcher. It smacks against the wall inches from my head. “The water’s coming in! The vents! It’s in the vents!”
“It’s not water,” I say calmly, not moving. I don't use my doctor voice. I use mynegotiating with a drunk board membervoice. Low. Even. Bored, but safe. “It’s just noise, Elias. Just wind.”
“You’re lying! We’re trapped! We’re going to drown!”
“We aren’t going to drown,” I say, taking a slow step forward. “Do you know who built this building?”
Elias blinks. “What?”
“My father,” I lie. “Alistair York. He’s a terrible human being, honestly. Very cheap. But he has a massive ego. He built this place with reinforced steel and concrete thick enough to stop a tank because he wanted his name on something that would last forever.”
I take another step. Elias lowers the pillow slightly.
“He’s too vain to let his building leak, Elias,” I continue, leaning casually against the wall. “If a single drop of water got in here, he’d sue the rain. He’d sue the clouds.”
Elias lets out a shaky, hysterical sound that might be a laugh. “He’d sue the rain?”
“Class action lawsuit against the Atlantic Ocean,” I nod. “So you’re safe. Not because of luck, but because of my father’s massive narcissism. The walls are holding. I promise.”
I hold out my hand. “I’m Preston. I’m stuck here too. And I’m terrified of thunder. It’s embarrassing.”
Elias stares at me. “You’re scared?”
