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“A call, Adam,” Sergeant Gray had said. “The boyfriend called and said his girlfriend Betsie was acting crazy; threatening to kill herself, apparently. He’s locked her in her room, but he’s still afraid.” Manning knocked. “Police.” Briefly a face pale and plump as a half-moon gleamed from the dusk behind the cracked door, but the lips and jaw were tight. Then the door swung open fully. The man matched his face: soft, yet with muscles beneath the flab. Why Manning disliked the man’s appearance, he didn’t know, but he felt on guard. He had to do his job, though. “Are you Matthew Willis? I received a call regarding a crazed woman.” “Yes.” The moon-face nodded. “She threatened suicide, she won’t talk to me except how she doesn’t like me—” “Let’s see.” Manning stepped inside. “She’s here.” Manning strode forward. “Come out with your hands up.” “I haven’t done anything.” He looked, and she was crouched in the corner armchair, chin pressed to knees. In the half-dark she resembled an insect. “Will you accept help?” pleaded Matthew. “I don’t like doing this…” Behind the armchair he stood, a flabby scarecrow. “For you help is doing what you want, and you want me to be with you.” “I love you.” He reached his hand toward her, but she pulled away. “Go away, I don’t like you. That’s just the problem. I don’t want to live with you. That’s not being suicidal; that’s free choice, or should be, no matter what my diagnosis is.” “See,” said Matthew. “She’s still showing symptoms…” But Manning had seen enough. He turned to face Matthew. “I don’t know about your prior relationship, but I’m going to have both of you questioned, and if her detention was illegitimate—” Sweating now, Matthew swallowed—“you will face charges.” [300 words] |