A commotion of screams and things being flung against the walls and doors is what greets me as I head toward Harold's room.
"What the hell?" I race down to open his door, ducking as a plastic cup is thrown toward my head.
"Who the hell closed his door?" I glance toward the staff members that race toward me, but everyone is shaking their heads.
"Don't lock me in. Don't lock me in..." The shake in Harold's voice has me ignoring my staff and focusing on Harold. He's standing in the middle of the room, shaking uncontrollably, arms wrapped tight around his wasted frame. The only way he's able to stand right now is from the adrenaline running through his body, and in about three...two...one...I'm rushing forward to catch him in my arms.
"Whoa, it's okay, Harold. Come on, let's get you back in the bed, okay?"
It's not even a struggle to get him back into the bed. It's like he's lost every ounce of energy he had earlier, which is a good thing when looking around.
Everything he'd brought up with him is on the floor.
"We've got glass on the floor, guys," I call out to the hallway.
Ike is there, right away, with a broom, and he cleans up the mess while I get Harold situated in bed and all his monitors hooked up again.
"Harold, man, I'm so sorry. I just wanted to give you some privacy and totally forgot." Genuine regret laces Ike's voice, but I still shoot him a disgusted look.
Every staff member at the Asylum - from the guards to the nurses, hell even the admin staff probably all know that you never close the door on Harold. Ever.
Harold came up with one picture frame that is now shattered all over the floor. I carefully gather the photo and hand it to him. He grabs it from my hands and clutches it tight to his chest.
"Sorry. I'm sorry. So sorry." He says over and over as he rocks himself. It takes some time, but he finally calms down, and when he looks at me with tear rimmed eyes, I can't help but feel for the man.
"Sorry, Jack. I...that was rude." The words come out a little stilted, like they're wrapped around his tongue and don't want to be said. "After all this time..."
"Don't think twice. That was our fault, not yours." I wait till Ike is done cleaning up, and a warming blanket is dropped off before taking my seat.
We sit in silence for a moment or two while Harold stares down at the photo in his hands.
"They all called me, did you know? To say goodbye. I didn't think they would."
His fingers outline each face in the photo, and I can tell he's struggling. "If it weren't for them, I would have killed myself a long time ago," he whispers.
I peer over and see three adults in the photo. Two men and one woman.
"Do you want to tell me about them?"
He swallows hard. "Jesse, Michael, and Aubriannah. She was the baby, named after my wife's mother." His voice breaks before he sets the photo down on his lap and leans back against his pillow.
"My children still think of me as a monster." He holds out his hands and stares at them. "Even after all these years...I'm still the monster they can't accept as their father. I don't think they've ever forgiven me, even though they've tried. Aubri...she came to see me once. It was too much, though, I think. Her brothers...a phone call every year, that's it. I...I don't blame them. I can't."
I hear the heartbreak in his voice, see how visibly he's haunted.
I can't blame his children either.
Neither will you once you realize just how narrowly they escaped death.