His hand is paused over the blinking panel, and now I notice the bags of plastic explosive that he’s gathered. I wonder how many he’s already got ...et up. His eyes staring wide at me me – not blinking. ‘…what are you doing…?’ I say finally. ‘Something is really really wrong,’ he whispers. ‘Really really wrong.’ ‘I know – it’s okay,’ I tell him – but he shakes his head. ‘It’s not,’ he says. ‘Tell me what to do.’ It’s now I notice he’s got one hand on the staff, and I reach for my shotgun. . The manic cycles had seemed to be unending.Now, late on Monday, a feeling of calm at last seemed to be holding. He had sat silently in his room, awake and alert, for more than two hours without regressing into another panic cycle.His thought processes seemed to have become rational and linear again. Cautiously, Phelps allowed himself to relive the events of Saturday.He had not been unduly shocked when the woman had reacted negatively to his surprising appearance at the lake. He had. More

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