"Sebastian, did you know that your treatment methods have recently drawn complaints and protests from many patients' families?"
Ms. Farmer spoke gravely. Even at Bethlem, an already "notorious" psychiatric hospital, Sebastian Shaw's methods were far too aggressive—especially when he used them on teenagers who had come seeking help for mental health problems.
Shaw's surprise seemed a little exaggerated. He gaped and shrugged as he protested, "Farmer, I just want them to recover so badly. They're so young; they shouldn't have to waste their time in a cold, lifeless hospital. That's why I increased the frequency and intensity of their treatments a little. I'm sure you understand."
Sebastian Shaw blinked innocently, and Farmer's tone softened.
"But they're still children, Sebastian, I mean. If they were older, their families wouldn't pay as much attention when they were brought in for treatment. That would make things easier."
She hinted vaguely that the children brought in for psychiatric treatment had gotten worse afterward, even becoming manic and hysterical.
Some had only been autistic and fairly quiet, but after Shaw treated them, they became violent, attacking everyone who tried to approach them, including their parents.
Farmer didn't know exactly what sort of treatment Shaw had used, but she had a general idea of the hospital's practices and the methods employed by many of its doctors. She had even recommended the recently popular ice-pick treatment to Shaw, saying it worked wonders on agitated patients.
Shaw seemed quite willing to go along with Farmer's suggestion. He nodded repeatedly and made assurances.
His experimental methods and data were becoming more and more refined. With a little more luck, he might succeed soon. He just needed a little luck.
A few days later, Shaw was given a boy with severe violent tendencies. He was just over sixteen, was at