Page 59 of Artifice
Olive’s throat went dry as she watched.
“Poor boy.” Margaret sighed, noticing Olive’s gaze. “Peter has these episodes occasionally. Trauma-induced psychosis. Usually, we can manage it with his regular medication.”
Metal shutters began descending over the windows as they passed, sealing off the outside world. Heavy fire doors closed automatically between sections of the building, each requiring Margaret to swipe her keycard for access.
Those security measures . . . they had to be left over from the mental institution, right?
“Isn’t this response a bit . . . extreme for one student’s medical issue?” Olive asked carefully.
“Safety protocols.” Margaret didn’t miss a beat with her response. “We’ve had incidents in the past where disturbed students tried to harm themselves or others during these episodes. The lockdown prevents anyone from accessing unauthorized areas or leaving campus while in an unstable state.”
They reached the administrative wing, passing the office where Olive had conducted her student interviews. Through the partially open door, she glimpsed Mr. Thorne doing something inside.
She couldn’t see what it was, but the man’s motions almost appeared frantic.
“Shouldn’t we be heading to your office?” Olive asked as Margaret guided her past the room and toward a smaller conference room at the end of the hall.
“The safety protocol designates this room for visitors.” Margaret swiped her card again.
The door clicked open to reveal a windowless space with a small table and four chairs. A pitcher of water and glasses had been set out, as if in anticipation.
“Then where did Simon go?”
“We have two rooms,” she answered.
“And we can’t be in the same room?”
Margaret’s face remained expressionless. She ignored her question, and instead said, “Please, make yourself comfortable. This could take some time to resolve.”
“How much time?” Olive feigned concern. “But I have appointments this afternoon?—”
“I’m afraid those may need to be rescheduled,” Margaret cut in. “No one can leave until Dr. Wells clears the facility. For everyone’s safety.”
The words sounded rehearsed, hollow.
“Of course,” Olive murmured. “I understand.”
“There’s a bathroom through that door.” Margaret pointed. “If you need anything, use this.” She placed a small handheld radio on the table. “Channel three will reach the front desk. Someone will check on you periodically.”
With that, she exited.
Olive waited ten seconds before testing the door.
It was locked, as expected.
With a sigh, she turned and surveyed the room more carefully. No windows. A ventilation duct too small for escape. A surveillance camera in the upper corner—its red light steady, watching.
Moving to the bathroom, Olive closed the door and ran the water, creating background noise as she pulled out her phone.
No signal, not even emergency services. Signal jammers, most likely—another “safety feature” of the lockdown.
She frowned, biting back her disappointment. Administrators had thought of everything, hadn’t they?
Olive returned to the main room, taking a seat where she could watch the door while appearing relaxed. Her mind raced through the implications of what she’d just witnessed.
Peter’s “episode” had seemed genuine enough on the surface. But the timing could be suspect. After all, only ten minutes before that she’d been trying to find out information about Colin.
And now, conveniently, Olive was isolated in a room while staff members did who knows what with that kid.
