Self-Defence

'Why,' she said, nearly breathless, 'can't… home?'

'Because they think you're a suicide attempt. They've got you on something called a seventy-two-hour hold. That means legally they can keep you here for three days and offer you psychiatric treatment. After that, if you're no danger to yourself or anyone else, you'll be free to go.'

'No!' She moaned and rolled her head from side to side.

'It's the law, Lucy. It's for your own protection.'

'No!'

'I'm really sorry you have to go through this, and I want to see you up and around as soon as possible. That's why you need to cooperate.'

'You… treat?'

'I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm not on the staff here. A psychiatrist named Dr. Embrey will be treating you, a woman. I'll talk to her first-'

'No!'

'I know it's frightening, Lucy, but please ride it out.'

'Three days?'

'I'll stick by you. I promise.'

More moans. She flinched and managed to raise a hand to her temple.

'Ohh!'

'Settle down,' I said. 'I know it's hard.'

'Ow!'

Her hand left her head and settled at her side. She poked her rib cage with one finger.

'What is it?' I said.

'Broken.'

'You think you broke a rib?'

Headshake. 'Me. Broken.'

'No, you're not,' I said, stroking her face. 'Just a little bruised.'

'No… broken.'

'You'll be fine, Lucy. Try to get some rest.'

'Milo.'

'You want me to tell Milo you're here?'

'Tell him… someone-'

'Someone?'

'Someone-' Struggling for breath, she took a deep, wheezing inhalation.

Her heart rate had climbed over a hundred. A hundred and ten…

'Someone-' she repeated. Poking her ribs. Terror in her eyes. 'Someone…'

'Someone what?' I said, leaning in closer.

'Killing me!'

9

She sank back and fell asleep. It took the monitors another minute to slow down.

I waited a while, then left to find some coffee. A man down the hall said, 'Excuse me, are you her doctor?'

He looked to be around thirty. Five-ten, broad-shouldered, stocky, and round-faced, with light brown hair, a golf-course tan, and wide brown eyes. His blue blazer had some cashmere in it, his burgundy shirt was broadcloth. Beige linen trousers broke perfectly over oxblood tassel loafers.

'I'm Dr. Delaware, her psychologist.'

'Oh, good.' He extended his hand. 'Ken Lowell. Her brother.'

Movement down the hall distracted both of us. An old man, waxy white and skeletal, was being eased by an orderly into a wheelchair. Blood dripped from under his hospital gown, painting a winding, crimson trail on the gray linoleum floor. His eyes were blank and his mouth was open. Only his tremoring limbs said he was alive.

Ken Lowell stared as the chair was wheeled away. No one rushed in to clean up the blood.

He turned back to me, looking queasy. The good clothes made him seem a tourist who'd wandered into a slum.

'Dr. Delaware,' he said. 'She was asking for you. I thought she was delirious and wanted to go to Delaware for some reason.' Shaking his head. 'How's she doing?'

'She's recovering, physically. Did you bring her in?'

He nodded. 'Has she done this before?'

'Not as far as I know.'

Pulling a burgundy silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he mopped his forehead. 'So what happens to her now?'

'She'll be here involuntarily for at least three days, and then a psychiatrist from the hospital will determine a treatment plan.'

'She could be committed against her will?'

'If the psychiatrist- Dr. Embrey- believes she's still in danger, she can go to court and ask for an extension. That's unusual, though, unless the patient makes another suicide attempt in the hospital or experiences some sort of massive breakdown.'

'What led up to this, doctor? Was she very depressed?'

'I'm sorry, but I can't discuss details with you- confidentiality.'

'Oh, sure. Sorry. It's just that I don't know much about her. For all practical purposes, we're total strangers. I haven't seen her in twenty years.'

'How'd you come to bring her in?'

'Pure chance. It's pretty scary. I was looking for Puck- my half brother, Peter- Lucy's brother. We had a dinner appointment at my hotel at seven, and he didn't show. It bothered me; I didn't think it was something he'd miss. So I waited for a while, then drove out to his apartment in Studio City. No one was home. He'd told me how close he and Lucy were, so, on a long shot, I decided to look for him at her place. It was after ten by the time I got there, and I wouldn't have gone up but her lights were on and the drapes were partially open. When I got to the door, I thought I smelled gas. I knocked, got no answer, looked through the window, and saw her kneeling on the kitchen floor. I tapped the glass hard and she didn't move, so I broke the door down and pulled her head out of the stove. She had a pulse and she was breathing, but she didn't look too good. I called 911. It took a really long time to get through. While waiting for the paramedics to arrive, I looked up hospitals in the phone book and found this place. When they still hadn't shown up, I said, Screw this, and brought her in myself.'

He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and shook his head.

'You're from San Francisco?' I said.

'How'd you know that?'

'Lucy told me.'

'She was talking about me?'

'I took a family history.'

'Oh. Actually, I'm from Palo Alto, but I'm down in L.A. quite a lot on business- real estate, mostly buyouts and bankruptcies. What with the economy, I've been down here more than usual, and I started thinking about connecting with Puck and Lucy- it seemed wrong that we never even tried to get together. Lucy wasn't listed but Puck was, so a few weeks ago I called him. He was shocked to hear from me; it was awkward. But we talked a few more times, finally agreed to try dinner.'

'Was Lucy going to be there, too?'

'No, he didn't want her to be- protecting her, I guess. It was a trial balloon. The deal was that if it worked out, we'd get her involved… he was pretty nervous about the whole thing. Still, I was surprised when he stood me