by Ronnie Allen
John saw her exaggerated reactions. She must have been shaking off the sedation. He reached out to touch her wrists. “Let me take your pulse.”
She jerked her hand away. “No.”
He let it drop for the moment. “I saw your picture in the paper a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh that. And it’s been downhill ever since.”
“Are the kid’s parents trying to get even?”
“No, we’ve been through that already. Where the hell am I?”
“Any older student playing tricks?”
“No. Tell me where I am!”
“Anyone in your personal life less than stable?” He hit a chord. Widened pupils glared at him.
Okay.
She didn’t let him in. “No! Where the fuck am I? Or don’t you listen?”
“Look around. Where do you think you are?”
“It stinks like a hospital.”
“Yes. You’re in Sheepshead Medical.”
“Why?”
“Says here you had an emotional breakdown with delusions of persecution and hallucinations. Someone sent you decapitated rats? Strange pictures coming off your walls in your home?”
She screamed at the top of her lungs. “That’s fucking bullshit, Doc!”
He stood up and stared at her. Shocked into having second thoughts about her, he backed off to get a better view of her outrage.
“It’s not a delusion. There’s a lunatic out there and, for whatever reason, he chose me as a target, so you can take those bureaucratic files and shove them!”
“Whoa. Stop screaming. I’m not deaf,” he said, in his usual, low key demeanor. “Calm down. It also says you physically attacked three armed police officers.” He thumbed through the file. “And fractured a couple of ribs of a cop? With a boot? I saw it by the way. It could do serious damage.” He stared at her in amazement. “What’s that about?”
“They tried to get me to sit down.”
He couldn’t understand her over-reaction. “What were you doing?”
“Screaming at Carlson.”
“I see that went well.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” she demanded, lifting her head and looking down her nose at him.
“You were brought in sedated and with restraints. What possessed you to attack police officers--three, no less? You had to know you were going to lose.”
“Stop with the lecture, Doc.”
“It’s Dr. Trenton, and I can, without a doubt, add here the lack of reality testing. But we have seventy-two hours to figure it out.”
“What do you mean seventy-two hours? I want out of here!”
“You’re here under police order, and I can definitely see you’re out of control right now. Therefore, you can be a danger to yourself and others. I can’t release you. It would be against the law.”
“What the fuck are you going to do with me for seventy-two hours?”
“A complete mental, emotional, and physical workup. There are so many physical imbalances that cause mental distress. You, of all people, should know that.”
“You are not touching me. There’s nothing wrong with me. I take very good care of myself.”
“Then talk to me. Tell me what’s going on that pushed Carlson over the edge to send you here.”
“No. Let me go, and I’ll make an appointment to see you. And then we’ll talk about it.”
“No can do.”
“Then go read my file. It’s five inches thick and with Carlson. And I wrote it all, except for the parts that bastard changed so he can commit me.”
She swung at him with both hands, and he immediately grabbed her forearms.
His firm grip made her pay attention. “I will. But first I have to complete all of the tests here, and I need your cooperation.”
“You’re getting nothing.” Her spiteful gaze spit bullets at him. “Let go of me!” She struggled with all her strength but John didn’t budge.
“Not with that look of terror in your eyes.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll calm down.” She relaxed just a bit. “Now let go of me.”
“No. Not yet. Not until I feel you relaxing. Take a few deep breaths.”
She closed her eyes, as if hoping he’d disappear. After a moment, she opened them. It took a few minutes of her trying to stare him down, before she gave up.
“Are you calm enough for me to let go?” She nodded. He released her arms. “Here’s the way it works. Legally, I have the seventy-two hours to perform the workups. If you don’t cooperate, and I can’t complete them, I can extend your stay for as long as I deem necessary, even assign a long-term commitment. So it would behoove you to participate, in your own defense, I might add, so you can get out of here and resume your life.”
“You are--not--getting--one--bit--of information from me.”
“Well then, I’ll have to find everything out on my own. Won’t I? And if that’s the case, every cell in your body will be thoroughly examined. A nurse will be coming in to help you change into a gown and ask you some questions.”
Barbara attempted to beat up on him but she was no physical match for him. He didn’t like having to be that forceful with a woman, but he had to use a lot of strength to restrain her. Out of frustration, she burst into a deluge of tears and sobs, while pounding on his chest. After several minutes, she calmed down, collapsing back onto the bed. He knew she’d have to become exhausted, eventually. John pulled open the curtain and signaled to a female psychiatric nurse, Gladys, with whom he had worked for several years.
“I don’t want her left alone, even for a millisecond.”
“Yes, Dr. Trenton. I’m going to do an intake now, anyway, and then she’s going to her room.”
“Thank you. Get as much information as you can and make a note as to whether you think it’s the truth or not.” Good luck with that.
“I will.”
***
Gladys approached Barbara, who was off the stretcher, looking in her bag for the rest of her belongings. “Dr. Montgomery, may I help you with something?”
“I can’t find my boots. I need them.”
“Lieutenant Carlson has them, along with your knitting bag.”
“Why? He better not damage them. They cost over 1500 bucks! And my knitting bag?”
“You’re not allowed anything sharp in here. Now please, here’s a gown. Take off your suit and put this on with the opening to the back. Your bra, too. My name is Gladys and I’ll be your nurse for now.”
“Now?”
“Right now. And I’ll be here with you. We need to take care of this paper work.”
Barbara removed her red skirt and matching blazer, folding each of them neatly. She deposited the black camisole, bra, and suit into the bag Gladys handed her. She slipped on the gown.
“Now sit up on the stretcher and we’ll talk.”
Barbara sat up on the bed, rocking forward and back, with a distant look in her eyes.
Gladys sat on an armchair next to the stretcher. “I see you’re very nervous. Have you ever been admitted to a hospital before?”
“No, Gladys, and I don’t know why I’m here. Carlson just got pissed at me.” Barbara feigned crying. “And I’m so upset. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
Lie number one recorded.
“All right, dear. Dr. Trenton will find out what is happening. He’s very kind and caring. And very gentle. He won’t have you stay here for no reason. Is your address the same as on your driver’s license, in Brooklyn?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been at your current residence?”
“Three years.”
“Are you on any medications?”
“None.”
“Are you being treated for any conditions?”
“None. Nothing. I’m in perfect health. I exercise and eat right.”
Lie number two recorded.
“Good, then no need to go down this list.” Why waste my time with lies?
“Have you had any surgeries?”
“No. I told you. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason. One of the lucky ones, I guess.”
Lie number three recorded.
“Yes. You certainly are. Do you have any allergies?”
“No.”
“Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Drink alcohol?”
“Socially.”
“About how often would you say? Once, twice a week?”
“Twice a week.”
“Illegal drugs?”
“No! Not at all,” Barbara declared emphatically.
Lie number four recorded.
“What about your parents? Are they--”
Barbara cut her off. “Both deceased. My mother died of breast cancer when I was ten. And my father, we were estranged, but he died two years ago, heart attack, I think. I’m not even sure, honestly. I haven’t seen in him fifteen years. His landlord called me. I must have been on his contact form or something.”
Lie number five recorded.
“Where did they live, dear?”
“California, Los Angeles.”
“When was your last physical?”
“Years ago.”
“When was your last mammogram?”
“Years ago. I only took it because of family history. And it was perfectly normal.”
“Where was that?”
“In California, actually.”
“And your last internal and pap?”
“Same thing. Honestly, I’m doctor phobic. Look, Gladys, you’ve been very nice, but I’m feeling so dizzy and nauseous. I don’t know what the EMTs gave me. Can’t this wait? Please?”
“Yes, dear. Dr. Trenton will review this with you. I believe your room is ready now.” Gladys recorded on the form, I don’t believe anything she told me is the truth.
***
Barbara, wearing a pale green hospital gown, sat with her legs crossed on her bed in a private room with a bathroom, TV on the white wall, dresser next to the bed, and a window with a main-avenue view. A worn, green club chair was in front of the window. She removed the deck of tarot cards from her bag. She inhaled deeply to ground herself. After unwrapping the cloth around the deck, she asked a question, aloud. “What do I need to know about that Trenton Doc?” She pulled the Devil, The Emperor, King of Swords. “Oh my God. Yeah sure, right, Gladys. He’s kind, caring, and gentle? Bullshit. He’s going to be a problem.”
***
Outside at the nurse’s station, the video camera showed Barbara holding the cards. Gladys and a couple of other nurses watched her. Gladys signaled for Trenton to come fast, knowing this would peak his interest.
He glanced at the screen and snickered.
“Here’s the intake and, by the way, I think most of it is false,” she said.
He scanned the questions and answers, nodding in agreement, and took the file with him. “Thanks, Gladys. Good to know. I’m going to set the ground rules.” He exuded a quiet laugh that only he heard as he round the corner to Barbara’s room.
***
Barbara saw him enter and grabbed up the cards.
He pulled up the chair, smiling at her. “No. Don’t put them away.”
She had recovered from the sedative and now studied his commanding good looks. He’s not laying one finger on me. He’s one bad boy.
She focused on his wedding band.
He leaned toward her. “Ask them a question for me.”
She humored him. “Okay, what is it?”
“What does Barbara need to know about cooperating with Dr. Trenton? And you can change Barbara to ‘I’ as you say it.”
She did a double take and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “What?”
“Say it out loud. Now. Shuffle the deck.” She did. “Now pick a number from one to ten.”
“You know tarot?” She was flabbergasted, to put it mildly.
“I would have to say, yes. Now say it.”
Intimidation prevailed and she was cognizant it was justified. Her voice trembled. “What do I need to know about cooperating with Dr. Trenton?”
“Good. Continue.”
“Okay, five.” She pulled The Emperor, King of Wands, King of Swords, The Moon, and The Devil. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her stomach. Three of the five cards were ones she picked previously. And she shuffled four times!
He smiled. “Now what does it all mean?”
Damn! I can’t let him see his effect on me!
“In a nutshell--you’re an SOB on steroids!”
“No. Not on steroids.” He laughed. “I’m a self-made man. Let’s break it down.”
To her, he sounded as if he was reprimanding a group of interns.
“The Emperor, the law. You don’t cooperate, you’re in contempt of a police order, and that can mean jail time. So think about that. It also means that I’m the one in authority here, and what I say goes.”
She cringed.
“King of Wands. I know what I’m doing and I carry through. So no threats, no crazy behavior. The King of Swords. I can be very assertive, even aggressive if I have to be, so don’t even think of fighting me.”
She gasped to prevent her tears.
“The Devil. I will find out what you’re doing to be manipulative.”
She looked at him with apprehension in her eyes, as she knew what the card meant as well.
“And I’ll also find out about the abuse in your life, the sex abuse, and the drugs. And let’s not forget about the Moon. I usually don’t tell patients this. It just evolves and they realize it, but since you’re intuitive you should know. I’m psychic.”
She was wide eyed shocked.
“Clairvoyant.”
She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth like an autistic child.
“I see auras, and the armoring in your body, and I can see when a patient is blatantly lying to me. Any questions?”
He would take everything she worked so hard to achieve away. She felt fear--the fear of the end of her life as she knew it. She was in a vulnerable weakened state. “No.”
“Good. So now, pack up the cards. And move back on the bed so I can begin your physical.”
CHAPTER 16
Three Years Earlier:
Wow! She was definitely his type. John found her alluring. She had sun-streaked multi shades of shiny natural blonde hair. He’d never met a natural blonde before, though he had met plenty of bottle ones. She was so natural in every way, with a gorgeous tan, needing very little makeup, just a little blue eye shadow, highlighting her big, round eyes, and pale pink lipstick. Her eyes were vibrant and her skin flawless, with the cutest little turned up nose and luscious lips, which he could savor for a long time. He measured her height against his--right at his shoulders, perfect. He was glad she wasn’t a zero-sized thin. Curvaceous. A round bottom that he’d love to squeeze. Right now. He thought about a perfect C cup. A and B were too small and a D too large. The girls sagged when a woman aged. Size C perfect. And to him this woman was perfection with gardenia-scented cologne radiating through her clothing.
He smiled, warmly and seductively. “Hi there.”
“Hi,” she replied with a soft southern tone. She turned away as she placed a strawberry jelly doughnut on a plate.
“You’re not going to eat that, are you?”
His equally soft tone told her he was being flirty, not mean. His wickedly sexy grin ensured she got the message. She gazed up at him and backed up. “Usually, no, but when I’m nervous, I go for the sugar. My father had to come in. We’re hoping it’s not his heart.”
“Ah, sorry, mine is here too, fender bender. You know there are other ways to release the tension than eating this.” He took a big chance here and opened himself up to the wrath of a smack across the face. But the message was clear, and this country girl turned every shade of pink. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Take it slow John. This is not New York.
“Oh
yes you did,” she said, taunting him back.
She knew how to flirt, and he realized he might just have met his match as she returned to the doughnut on her plate. Looking straight up into his eyes, she took a big bite.
Um, spiteful. I’ll fix that.
All he knew was that he would hook up right there and then if he could. He could use a diversion from his parents this week. But, right now, no go.
Before he could introduce himself, a little boy around five called to her excitedly. “Miss Marin!”
She turned and raced to him. “Ricky, what are you doing here?”
Miss, that’s a good thing.
The boy was there with his early-twenty-something mother. With his shrink’s hat on, John observed from a distance, but stayed close enough to hear. With washed-out, bleached-blonde hair--with a couple of inches of dark roots showing--and tattered clothing, the mother probably looked older than her years from the hard life John assumed she had. She smelled of nicotine and had the shakes as if she needed a smoke or something stronger.
“I’m havin’ an asth--ma attack.” Ricky struggled with tight breathing, trying to get the words out.
John didn’t know how long he’d just be able to stand there and not become involved. Regardless of the law.
Vicki sat in the chair next to his mother. “What happened, sweetheart?”
Ricky cried, wiping his tears away with his chubby hand, and tried to explain the best he could. “My daddy gave--me a whuppin’. And then I--couldn’t--breathe.” With curly blond hair and a face like a cherub, all he needed was a quiver with bows and arrows and he could pass for cupid. A little chubby, but it was still his baby weight. John smiled as Ricky’s personality shone through his discomfort. He was a real trooper. John liked that. He admired survivors.
“He’s always doin’ sometin’ to upset his father. And I’m the one who has to sit here waitin’ on the pediatrician with him, the brat. He just don’t learn nothin’.” His mother raised her hand to smack him across the face.
Vicki grabbed her hand, without batting an eyelash. “Miss Strathmore, you can’t do that. You’re going to make it worse. We talked about this yesterday. Did you and your boyfriend go to the counselor appointment I made for you?”