“And then what?”

“And then I got in a bar fight and got my ass kicked. That cover it for you?”

“And you’d been to that bar before?”

“No. I like to try new spots. I’m what you’d call daring.”

“I am too, but picking a bar in the middle of the highest crime area in the District of Columbia at eleven-thirty at night? Think that was a wise choice?”

She smiled and said politely, “Didn’t turn out to be, did it?”

“Did you know the brick wall you got in the fight with?”

“No. I’m not even sure how it started, to tell the truth.”

“Which I’d like you to start doing, Michelle, telling the truth, and I think you can.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“According to the police report every eyewitness in the bar said you walked up to the biggest bastard there, tapped him on the shoulder and then sucker-punched him.”

“Well, eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable.”

“Sean talked to the man you attacked.”

Michelle visibly flinched at this news. “Really, why?”

Horatio didn’t bite on that. Instead he said, “The guy told Sean something interesting. Would you like to know what?”

“Well, since you’re obviously dying to tell me, go ahead and fire away.”

“He said you let him nearly kill you.”

“Well, then he was wrong. I made a bad move and he got hold of me, end of story.”

“Last night, the nurses said you kept shouting in your sleep, ‘Goodbye,

Sean.’ Do you remember saying that?”

Michelle gave a brief shake of her head.

“Were you thinking maybe of leaving your partnership with Sean? If so, shouldn’t you tell him that? Or do you want me to?”

Michelle said quickly, “No, I-” She broke off, evidently sensing a trap.

“How am I supposed to know what I meant? I was sleeping.”

“I’m a pretty good dream analyzer and I throw in nightmare interpretation for no extra charge. It’s a special I’m running this week because business is so damn slow.”

Michelle rolled her eyes.

Unperturbed, Horatio said, “You trust Sean, don’t you?”

“As much as I trust anybody,” she said tersely. “Which isn’t much these days.”

“These days. So has something changed for you?”

“Look, if you’re going to jump on every word I say, I’m just not going to say anything, okay?”

“Fair enough. I understand that your parents don’t know that you’re here. Would you like us to contact them?”

“No! I mean you call your parents if you made the Dean’s List or got a new job. Not because you checked yourself into the psych ward.”

“And why did you check yourself in here?”

“Because Sean said I had to. To avoid jail time,” she added defiantly.

“Is that the only reason? Isn’t there something else?”

Michelle sat back in the chair and curled her long legs up to her chest.

Twenty minutes later she hadn’t broken her silence and Horatio hadn’t either. Finally the psychologist switched off the recorder and rose. “I’ll be back tomorrow. In the meantime I’m available by phone at any time. If I don’t answer, you can just assume I’m either at my favorite bar or dealing with another whack job like you.”

“I guess this session was pretty much a bust. Sorry,” Michelle added sarcastically. “But I guess you get paid the same regardless, right?”

“You bet I do. But I thought our session was dynamite.”

Michelle looked confused. “How do you figure that?”

“Because you actually sat there and thought about why you wanted to be here. And I know you’re going to keep thinking about it once I leave, because you just won’t be able to help yourself.” He started to leave but then turned back. “Oh, just to warn you about something coming up.”

“Yeah?” Michelle said, the look on her face begging for a fight of some kind.

“They’re having Salisbury steak for dinner tonight. Get the PBJ option instead. The steak sucks. I don’t even think its real meat. I think it’s something the Russians invented to make dissidents talk during the Cold War.”

After Horatio left, Michelle sat down on the floor and slumped back against the wall. “Why am I here!” she screamed, kicking the chair clear across the room with one snap of her powerful right leg.

By the time a nurse came rushing in, the chair was upright and Michelle was on her feet. She said ceremoniously, “I understand the steak sucks.”

“It does. So you want the PBJ instead?” the nurse said.

“No, put me down for the steak, double helping,” Michelle said as she sauntered out the door.

“What, you a glutton for punishment?” the nurse called after her.

You bet your ass I am.

LATER THAT NIGHT Michelle lay on the bunk in her room, the rancid grub they called Salisbury steak burning a hole in her belly. Since she was in here on a voluntary basis, her movements were fairly unrestricted and she was leaning toward a walk over hugging the toilet. Not all patients here had such liberty. There was a separate ward, locked down and patrolled by guards, that housed involuntarily committed patients who were deemed to be violent. Michelle had heard some staffers refer to it as the “Cuckoo’s Nest.”

The door opened and her roommate, Cheryl, walked in; last names were not used here. Cheryl was grossly underweight, about forty-five, with ringlets of graying hair plastered against her gaunt face. She carried a drinking straw with her and constantly sucked on it. Michelle didn’t know exactly why Cheryl was in here, but assumed anorexia figured in somehow.

Cheryl collapsed on her bunk and started sucking on the damn straw.

It’s no wonder I keep having nightmares, Michelle thought. Great, big sucking beasts coming after me in bed.

“How’s it going, Cheryl?”

The sucking sound stopped for an instant and then started again.

Michelle started pacing. She wanted to call Sean, but what would she say? I’m sorry about the whole bar thing. Come get me, I’m fine now.

In desperation she turned to Cheryl. “That steak was something, wasn’t it? Feels like I’ve got a tire in my gut.”

Cheryl turned away from her and started sucking louder.

Michelle gave up and headed to the small workout area. For obvious safety reasons all exercise equipment was locked up when it was not being used. However, a large rubber ball had been left out. Michelle used it to work her abs and legs. That took thirty minutes and it felt good to use her muscles again. Yet she still had the rest of the night to kill, and she wasn’t sleepy.

She walked back down the hallway, passing two other patients dressed in scrubs and blue slippers accompanied by a nurse. On another of the corridors one of the burly attendants passed her and stopped. “You need any help, Michelle?”

He was a muscle-bound six-footer running to fat in his fifties with close-cropped blond hair and three gold chains visible from under his green scrub V-shirt. His nameplate read, “Barry.”

The way he asked she didn’t like, but maybe it was just her bad attitude. Then he touched her elbow and his intentions became clearer with just the feel of his fingers against her skin. “You need help back to your room maybe?”

She pulled her arm away. “It’s not that big a place. I can find it.” She strode off, but could feel his gaze burning into her. She whipped her head around and caught him smiling at her.

She hurried back to her room. Cheryl was still sucking on her straw. Michelle lay on her bunk, staring at the door. There were no locks on the rooms, so patients couldn’t barricade themselves in. But it also meant that you couldn’t stop others from coming in, like Barry.

An hour later the lights went dark and still Michelle did not close her eyes. She was waiting for footsteps, stealthy and motivated by evil purpose. Around one in the morning she finally told herself, “He just touched your arm, for God’s sake, and made a suggestive comment.” Was she adding paranoia to her other issues? No, she told herself, I don’t have issues.