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it was force of habit, because that was mostly what they did at the agency, have meetings. Certainly Dr. Reed and Dr. Jimson hadn’t summoned anyone this time. They rushed in at the last minute, as one of the anchorwomen chuckled, “And we’ve got a strange story out of Bedford Hills tonight. . . .” A mug shot of Mrs. Swanson appeared above the anchor’s head, and the attendants turned down the volume on the other three TVs.
    “This woman appeared at the home of prominent attorney Morton Swanson this evening, claiming to be his mother, Louise Swanson. The real Mrs.Swanson died several months ago. This woman created quite a disturbance. . . .”
    The next view was video of Mrs. Swanson beating her fists on an imposing front door and screeching, “But I’m going to live forever, Morty! You never have to worry about losing me!” Then that scene was replaced by one of a reporter thrusting a microphone at a man in a tuxedo.
    “You can only imagine the shock,” the man said. “My mother was the dearest person on earth to me. And then to have that . . . that banshee claiming to be her . . .”
    The reporter nodded sympathetically. “Did the impostor bear any resemblance to your, uh, deceased mother?”
    The man frowned. “Well, she was old,” he said doubtfully.
    Amelia gasped, along with half the rest of the room. How could he not recognize his own mother?
    On the TV the anchor appeared again, explaining that the woman claiming to be Mrs. Swanson had been taken into custody and was undergoing psychiatric evaluation, particularly in light of her claims of immortality.
    Amelia watched Dr. Reed go ghostly pale. The TV station cut to a car commercial, and Dr. Jimson turned the volume down. Everyone sat in stunned silence until Mrs. Flick rolled her chair over to Dr. Reed.
    “Why are you just standing there? Aren’t you gonna go tell them people she ain’t crazy?” she demanded.
    “I-I-I don’t know,” he stammered.
    “Well, she ain’t, is she? If she’s crazy, we all are,” Mrs. Flick said, looking back at the rest of the crowd. Then people began to mutter, “Not me!” and “What’s she mean?” But no one spoke loudly because they were all waiting for Dr. Reed’s answer.
    He sank into a chair beside the TVs and rubbed his temples.
    “This is a problem I didn’t anticipate,” he said, almost as if speaking to himself. “I don’t know what to do. If I save her, I betray the rest of you. It’s protecting one person versus protecting forty-nine.”
    People began squirming in their chairs. Nobody seemed to understand.
    Dr. Jimson stood watching Dr. Reed coldly from across the room.
    “Fifty lives,” she snapped. “We are responsible for fifty lives. You find a way to protect them all.”
    “I-I don’t know,” Dr. Reed repeated.
    Amelia felt like a little kid watching her parents fight. Except her father had been the strong one, not her mother.
    Dr. Jimson threw up her hands. “I have had it with you!” she exploded. “What is this—you do one nervy thing in your whole life, and then you’reparalyzed with fear forever after? We did this!” She swung her arm in a broad sweep that indicated the entire crowd. “These are our people, like it or not. And we have to take care of them all!”
    She spun on her heel. Afterward everyone would debate about whether she would have really done it, stormed into the office, picked up the phone, and called the number on the TV screen. But Dr. Reed stopped her with a single question.
    “Why don’t we ask them what they think?” He pointed at the crowd.
    Dr. Jimson slowly turned around. But she didn’t move any closer to Dr. Reed.
    “Fine,” she said. “Go ahead.”
    Her words fell into silence. Amelia waited for someone else to speak. Of course it was Mrs. Flick who rolled forward.
    “Maybe it’s just me,” she started, “but I don’t rightly understand what all the fuss’s about. What’s stopping you from just going and picking her