"In Clyde's case, he must be avenging some injustice that has to do with the hospital. Or psychiatrists."

Dash shrugged, dreadlocks swaying. "Or nurses. His victims were two women in scrubs. He probably believes he attacked two nurses."

"Do you think he's a psychopath?"

"I don't. Psychopaths are glib and superficial. He seems to have deeply felt emotions. Rapidly fluctuating emotions. He went from cooperative to scared to angry like a Porsche going zero to sixty. I wouldn't be surprised to find some guilty rumination, depression, internal conflict, chronic feelings of emptiness-you know the symptom cluster."

David nodded. "Differential diagnosis. Not Otherwise Specified."

"NOS. The psychiatrist's crutch. Until I can get more out of him."

"I'd like to turn him over to LAPD a bit more sorted out. He certainly won't be in the most sympathetic hands."

"He seems to have some sort of bond with you. Maybe you should see if you can get him to open up. If you lead him to talk about the fear behind his crimes, rather than the crimes themselves, he might be more likely to talk. Zero in on his sense of injustice."

David stood, squeezing his fist so his knuckles cracked. "Well, I need to check in on him anyway. See if he's ready to ship out." He rested a hand on Dash's massive shoulder on the way to the door. "Thanks for the input."

Dash drew himself to his feet and glanced down. "Hey, David?"

One hand on the doorknob, David turned, an eyebrow raised quizzically. Looking at Dash's face, he could not locate the affability to which he had grown accustomed.

"Be careful."

Chapter 25

A burst of noise sped David around the corner, where he saw the UCPD officers standing in the open doorway, one of them shouting for help. David saw Jenkins explode through the swinging doors of the lobby. Jenkins sprinted for Clyde's room, boots hammering, and swept inside.

David was already running down the hall, past the startled faces and the UCPD cops. He entered the room just after Jenkins. Clyde was thrashing violently on the bed in a seizure, limbs rattling the gurney rails to which he was bound. His eyes were rolled back, showing strips of white, and a line of drool ran down his cheek.

Pistol gripped tight in one hand, Jenkins charged the bed. David caught up to him a few steps from Clyde's gurney and placed a hand on his chest, which Jenkins quickly knocked away.

"It's under control," David said. "He's having a seizure."

Jenkins's eyes were still trained on Clyde. He swung his head slowly to face David, his pupils hard, black pinpoints, and in that instant, David had no doubt that he would have killed Clyde. David's adrenaline rush made his pulse beat at his temples. He met Jenkins's hard stare, the words coming like bullets from his mouth. "Step back from my patient."

Two nurses and one of the UCPD cops poured into the room, and Jenkins's eyes suddenly loosened. He took a step back, holstering his weapon. "Just making sure the suspect was secure," he said.

David turned back to the bed and grabbed one of Clyde's arms, which went limp in his grip, even as the rest of his body continued to seize.

"Back up!" David dropped Clyde's arm and took a step back himself. He turned to the others, registering a quick relief that Jenkins had left the room. "Stand back."

Clyde moaned, spittle flecking his lips, his head bouncing from side to side on the pillow.

"Nice try, Clyde," David said. "You can stop now."

Clyde seized for another moment, then stopped. His tufts of hair had been swirled upright, and when he raised his head, chin shiny with saliva, eyes dark and unblinking, he looked demonic. His grin was sharp and slick, a curved blade. He looked nothing like the frightened, cooperative man David had treated earlier.

David had known Clyde was faking as soon as his arm had gone limp in his grasp. Generalized seizures occur in all limbs, and sections of the body don't relax under pressure.

Clyde said, "Can't blame me for trying."

"Would you mind leaving us alone?" David said to the nurses and the UCPD officer. They complied, the officer shutting the door behind them.

David was alone in the room with the bound man. He stared at him from about three feet, breathing heavily, trying to process all that had just nearly occurred. Shirtless, Clyde lay on his back, restraints tying his ankles to either side of the gurney, spreading his legs. His white-gloved hands looked odd protruding from the restraints.

Despite Dash's claims, Clyde was having no trouble making eye contact at the moment. A small line of blood curved from the slit beneath his armpit.

David waited until he could speak calmly. "That didn't do much good. You opened up that cut under your arm with all your thrashing. Why are you faking a seizure? Did you want to harm someone when they came to help? We're trying to take care of you here."