‘Oh my God!’ the Artist gasped, clamping her hands over her mouth.
The Athlete shot to his feet. ‘Should I get someone? Who should I get?’
‘No, don’t do that,’ Sam said. ‘Please, everyone stay where you are.’
He looked at the scissors that were now pointed towards him. They were a relatively small pair. Translucent plastic handles. Blades perhaps five centimetres long.
They were oscillating wildly in the Librarian’s grip. His upper lip was damp with sweat, his engorged eyes bulging. He had started to weep.
‘Easy,’ Sam said to him. ‘Take it easy, it’s OK.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he snivelled. ‘I’m so sorry I did this.’
‘No, it’s OK,’ Sam told him again, talking slowly and deliberately. ‘Everything is going to be all right.’
The Lost Girl twisted her upper body away from the Librarian, shying from looking, placing a hand on the Boxer’s shoulder. The Artist was shaking her head minutely, her skin drained of colour, while the Athlete raised himself up on his toes and looked out through the glazed internal wall of the seminar room as if he was hoping to signal to somebody passing by.
Sam kept his focus on the Librarian, patting the air with his hands.
‘I know it’s a lot,’ Sam said. ‘What you’re hearing today. But you just need to breathe. Listen to my voice. Take your time.’
‘Don’t come any closer!’
The Librarian twitched and slashed at the air with his scissors. The Lost Girl shrieked.
‘Everybody stay calm,’ Sam reminded them.
‘I don’t know,’ the Boxer muttered. ‘This doesn’t feel right to me.’
Again, Sam kept his focus on the Librarian, blocking everything else out, feeling oddly composed.
This is an opportunity to prove everything you’ve been saying to the group. This is how you secure their trust.
The Librarian was breathing rapidly, bubbles of saliva frothing at the corners of his mouth.
‘You’re not going to hurt anyone,’ Sam told him. ‘You never were going to hurt anyone. Listen to me. Focus on my voice. These are just bad thoughts you’re having. Your thoughts are not real. You control your actions. Now, I am going to slowly extend my hand to you, and when I do, I want you to give me the scissors.’