[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  “No. Nothin’ will work wit him.”

  “Miss Strathmore, the two days Ricky has been in my class, he hasn’t had any asthma symptoms at all. And he’s a very sensitive little boy. I don’t know how else to impress upon you that you shouldn’t hit him. Help me understand, please, why is this happening?”

  “His father ain’t workin’. He’s too damn lazy to look for work and whenever he gets upset he lashes out at Ricky.”

  “Well, tell me, what have you done to protect your son?”

  John figured, from the abrupt tone of this teacher’s voice, that she seemed to be reaching her limit of what she could do for this family. Couldn’t blame her.

  “Nothin’, he’ll beat me, too.”

  John had heard enough. He became livid at the mom and he liked Vicki’s honest approach. And how long should a child have to wait for a pediatrician? He walked assuredly over to sit down in the chair next to Ricky who wheezed, his breathing labored. “What happened, champ?”

  “I--can’t--breathe.” Ricky shook from nervousness. His small body hunched over, struggling to exhale the accumulated oxygen from his lungs.

  John placed his right hand on Ricky’s back and his left hand on his chest, without even bothering to ask his mother first.

  Vicki intervened, though his mother couldn’t have cared less. “Excuse me?” She had the attitude of why are you touching this child?

  John appreciated that.

  “Ssh, I’m a doctor. You’ll be all right, Ricky. Listen to me, okay, champ?” The boy nodded. “This is what I want you to do. Okay?” Ricky nodded again. “Do this with your mouth.” John showed him how to pucker his lips and blow out the air. “Breathe in, and then let the air out, as much as you can. It’s called exhaling.”

  John demonstrated inhaling and exhaling deeply, modeling for him. Ricky gazed up at him with bright blue open eyes. He watched John’s chest extending out and pulling in.

  “Wow, y’all sure big, sir.”

  John laughed. He liked the little kid. “Now when you exhale say, ‘Ahh,’ each time.”

  John bellowed it out to model it for him, not at all concerned with anyone watching. It was a loud bellow. It was enough to awaken patients who were dozing, waiting for their turn to see the doctor. Vicki perked up straight at attention in her seat. Ricky’s mom barely looked up. Ricky tried it, clumsily at first, but he got it after a few attempts.

  “Does he use an inhaler or nebulizer?”

  “I couldn’t afford it this month.”

  “What does he use?”

  Ricky followed John’s directions and some of his wheezing subsided.

  “Good boy,” John said.

  “Proventil HFA, children’s size.”

  The warmth of John’s fingers rubbing with gentle pressure on Ricky’s mid-back and his chest at the chest armor eased the tension in the area and facilitated pretty close to normal respiration, in a few minutes.

  “I’m all better. What did you do? And no needle!”

  John smiled at him compassionately.

  His mother looked shocked, but she showed no gratitude. Vicki closed her eyes for a moment and gasped a short breath. John felt the connection. And he hoped it was mutual.

  “Be right back.” He winked at her, and her cheeks flushed. He smiled. That was a good sign.

  He headed over to the attendant and asked to speak with the nurse who had chewed him out, as if he was a doctor on staff.

  “Thank you for coming out, Kathryn. What is done down here for a parent who can’t afford medicine for their child?”

  Kathryn noticed Ricky. “Oh, the repeat customer. Dr. Trenton, what are you doing?” She pulled him out of hearing distance into a private area around a corner. “That you know you shouldn’t be? Unless you have a very short memory?”

  “Come on, Kathryn.” He charmed her with his sincerity, radiating warmth. “She can’t afford his inhaler.”

  “We’ll get her one.”

  He sensed there’s was a lot more she could tell him but, by law, she couldn’t.

  “Now stop what you’re doing!”

  “Thank you.” He returned to Ricky. His breathing had become somewhat easier. Again, he decided to butt in where he knew he shouldn’t. “Miss Strathmore, can I speak with you privately, please? Ricky, you stay with Miss Marin.”

  She shrank back deeper into her seat. “Who are you?”

  John wasn’t going to let her escape. “Dr. John Trenton. I’m a psychiatrist.”

  The mother became more belligerent by the moment. “I don’t need no shrink.”

  “I beg to differ and I’m not asking.” He was used to cutting right through the covering up behavior of this age group. “Come on. I could help you.”

  She looked at Vicki who sat wide-eyed, but Vicki gave her a nod that she should go. The woman stumbled up, and John knew there was something extremely wrong with her as well. He supported her arm, leading her over to the other side of the lounge area.

  “Sit down.”

  She did.

  John tried to ease her trepidation. “How long have you been with him?”

  “We’re not married or nothin’. Just staying wit him ’cause I ain’t got no place t’go.”

  John radiated his usual compassion, warmth, and patience with a willingness to listen. She broke down in a deluge of tears. She had needed to vent for a long time and she let it all out. That had been the case with most of his patients. He just remained quiet, focused on her, and listened.

  “He’s only twenty-one and has no idea how to be a father. He’ll whip him in a minute. Ricky doesn’t even have to do anytin’ bad. It’s all the drugs, the oxy, the blow. He hasn’t had a day’s work in over a year. Everytin’ is on me. I work at Burger King behind the counter. My folks keep tellin’ me to leave him an’ I can move in wit them, but I don’t want to put it on them. They can’t afford nothin’ either.”

  John didn’t buy her excuse. “But you’re working so you can contribute.”

  “I guess.” She turned her eyes away.

  “So what’s really stopping you?”

  Silence overcame her. His signature look told her he expected the truth.

  “My pop. He won’t let me do what I want. I moved out when I was fifteen an’ had Ricky a year later, ’cause I didn’t wanna take their crap an’ follow their damn rules.”

  “Um, so how might your life have been different if you did follow their rules?”

  His presence and steady gaze intimidated the truth out of her.

  “I wouldn’t got wit Ricky’s father, dats for sure. They hate ’im.”

  “So what must you do now to protect your son?”

  “Call ’em.”

  “You can use the phone at the desk.” He accompanied her over to the reception desk and didn’t even ask to use the phone. He just picked it up and handed the receiver to her.

  Hopefully, she’ll stay away from that guy.

  She dialed. “Mommy, it’s me. I’m at da hospital wit Ricky. Can we come home?”

  At the desk, Kathryn came out to get him. “Dr. Trenton, your father is ready to go.” She exited as quickly as she came in, sending him a clear signal.

  John smirked. He understood that vicious glare. As she trailed away, he said, “Thank you, Kathryn.” He removed his card from his wallet and handed it to Vicki. In a very charming yet enticing tone, he said, “Call my cell tomorrow afternoon, and you can take me around to see the sights in the county.”

  She smiled, taking the card, and he winked at her.

  “Ooh.” For a moment, she looked disoriented. She then turned her gaze on him.

  Oh, yeah. I could make her feel real good.

  John disappeared through the doors to his father’s room before she could respond. She read the card. “Dr. John Trenton, Forensic Psychiatry. Forensics? Uh oh!”

  CHAPTER 17

  Present Day:

  John observed Barbara cocoon herself against the headboard pulling up the two crisp,
white layers of sheets until they covered her to her neck. She bent her knees into her chest with her arms wrapped around them and buried her face in her knees, as if to shield herself from him.

  “You’re not touching me.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

  Standing next to the bed, he placed, a warm, kind, left hand on her shoulder. She retaliated with remorseless wiggles to shrug it off. She stiffened, rather adamantly, so he removed it. “Tell me why not.” He peered right into her soul.

  “I’m doctor phobic.” Her tears began to flow, along with heavier breathing, but John sensed they were just crocodile tears.

  He slouched down in an armchair next to the bed, his body relaxed, but on guard. “How did that start?”

  She didn’t pick up her head to look at him. “I don’t know, when I was a kid, I guess.”

  “Well, you’re an adult now. And something is definitely going on inside of you. There’s some imbalance somewhere.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “No? You go from calm into a rage in less than a second. Why is that?”

  “I only went into a rage--and I admit it was a rage, I do--when I couldn’t penetrate that warped brain of his.” She tilted her head to the right when speaking. “I just lost it, but it won’t happen again.”

  “And what about attacking me in the ER?”

  She straightened up. “I hit you. I didn’t attack you.”

  “So that makes it acceptable?”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been the sedative. I never had that before. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He sensed something was way off base, so she wasn’t getting special treatment or empathy. “So don’t you think you need to exert more control over that? Let me take your blood pressure,” he said, asserting himself without hesitation.

  “No. No. No!” Her eyes spit defiance, hostility, and hatred.

  Too many negative emotions cast out all at once were off putting in a supposedly well-functioning woman. It compelled him to question what he was up against here. Barbara was five years younger than he was. That was a gigantic stretch to his specialty age. He didn’t think Carlson had a clue as to what her story was. Now, by law, it was up to him to figure it out in three days. There was no time to waste. This gorgeous woman was going to be a problem. He realized he had to confront her issues head on.

  “You know, if you would have had a physical by your doctor within six to eight months ago, I wouldn’t have to be doing much of this, maybe a few tests, but not to the extent we need to do now. You told Gladys it was a few years ago in California?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re long overdue. And your mother died from breast cancer?”

  “They were my adoptive parents.”

  ‘Uh huh,” he said, suspicious. “Well, there are discrepancies in what you told Gladys, and I quote: You had the mammogram because of family history, so which is it?” He hitched his eyebrows and smiled.

  She swallowed hard and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Will nothing get past you?”

  “No. Never. That’s my job. Now straighten out your legs, and let me take your blood pressure. Come on. It doesn’t hurt.”

  Sniffling, she condescended and stuck her arm out. He wrapped her arm in the cuff, pumped it up, and listened with his stethoscope.

  “It’s high, 145 over 85.”

  “That’s because I’m as nervous as hell.”

  “Don’t think so. Come, sit up.” He assisted her and used the stethoscope to listen to her heart, pulling down the gown slightly in the front so he could put it on her skin. His left hand was on her shoulder. “No, hon. Way too fast. I’m ordering an electrocardiogram.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Dr. Clairvoyant? It’s high because you’re turning me on!”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not exhibiting any signs of arousal,” he said in a matter-of-fact, clinical voice.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  He grinned.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  John did not intend to give up his control. “No. Not happening.”

  “I don’t need an EKG.”

  “Yes. You certainly do. And these are the tests I’m ordering. Relax, lay back.” He guided her back onto the pillow.

  “Tests as in plural?”

  “Yes. We’re starting with a full range of blood work.”

  “No blood tests. I’m afraid of needles.”

  “Tough. Better question, what are you afraid that I’ll find out?”

  She clutched her stomach. “Nothing. What are you looking for?”

  “Specifically?”

  She nodded a meek yes.

  “We’re doing a sequential multiple analyses, CBC count with differentials, blood type, thyroid function test, vitamin and mineral deficiencies, hair, heavy metal analysis, medication levels, hormone levels, liver and kidney function tests, vision, candida, allergies, tests to weed out any adrenal, cardiac, respiratory, neurological disturbances, and tox screens.”

  “No you’re not. If you’re so clairvoyant, why can’t you just see everything like an X-ray, and write all that down?”

  “Ah. Funny lady. That does not hold up in court. I need the medical science. That’s just for starters.”

  “But why do you even need this?”

  “Okay, fair question. For one, if I can show Carlson that you have an imbalance somewhere that triggered your rage, maybe he won’t press charges for assault on the cops. You can still be arrested. He knows very well where to find you. Secondly, he’s saying you had hallucinations. I want to eliminate any organic involvement. Clear enough?”

  “Very. But no blood work. What other tests?”

  “Yes. We have to. It’s nonnegotiable, so don’t even try. And also an MRI, PET, CAT of the brain, urine analysis, and I’ll throw in a breast, pelvic, and rectal exam, since you haven’t had that either in God knows how many years. The psych tests, as well. And whatever else presents itself to need further exploration.”

  “It’s a big no to everything. No MRI, I’m claustrophobic. No internal. You’re not touching me there. And as for the psych tests, I hate to burst your bubble, but I give them also and know all of the acceptable answers, so that won’t be useful to you at all.”

  “You’re just a bundle of cooperation, aren’t you? I’ll get you a female doctor for the internals.”

  “No. You can’t make me. Don’t I have rights? You can’t do this to me.”

  “If you came in on your own volition and your doctor ordered tests you didn’t want, you could refuse. But you’re here under a different set of circumstances. We need to do this even if it’s against your will. The lab techs will be in to draw your blood. You know, your lack of cooperation is speaking volumes.”

  “Want volumes? I’ll give you volumes! Oh--” Her voice rose, louder with each word. “No--they--won’t!”

  “Are you going to cause a scene?”

  “A scene, like you’ve never seen in your life.”

  John signaled to the observation camera in the wall with his hand to bring on the techs. Two men, as big as John, entered, wearing light blue hospital uniforms.

  At first, she was startled. “You expect them to scare me?”

  “So much for the promises. I’d like you to use some reality testing here. You against the three of us? Come on, think a little. But then again, you didn’t with the cops. And they were armed.”

  John positioned himself by the right side of the bed and the techs on the other. They prepared to handle her. Before he even suspected she could do anything, she commenced fighting.

  “Get the fuck away from me now! All of you! Get the fuck away from me!” She lashed out at all three of them with her arms, and then she started kicking, with violent rigid kicks. She kicked the sheets off, exposing herself with just the hospital gown on. Her body bobbed up and down so violently, they didn’t know what limb to grab first. They d
idn’t know where to look. She struck their bodies, hard. She had strong legs--strong dancer legs--and now the gown had worked its way up to her neck. “You can’t do this to me!” She was fully exposed, her voluptuous breasts bared, and she was not shy at all at letting these three men see her in action, raw and in action.

  “Want to give her something, Doc?” A tech had to yell over her screaming, struggling to hold onto her leg. She writhed under his control.

  “Can’t give her anything, not until I find out what’s in her system.” John had had enough. He labored to hold down her right leg and arm. She was just warming up and he wouldn’t let it go any farther. He removed his stethoscope and tossed it on the chair behind him without looking, lay down on top of her, grabbed her left arm, and put on a wrist restraint attached to the side of the bed. Her body riveted under him, and it was some hot body at that.

  John felt her warm breasts on his chest. It was a lot for him to ignore. He closed his eyes for a split second and swallowed while turning his attention to secure her left ankle.

  She pounded on his back with her free hand. “No, I’m claustrophobic! Stop, no! Don’t put these on me!”

  He had to ignore her pleas. There was a time crunch. If his suspicions were correct, and there was a physiological basis for her behavior, he had the methods to help her.

  He rose and grabbed her right wrist, before her fist came down on his head, and secured her arm in the restraint while the techs bent over her and secured her right leg. That was some feat and one that he’d had to do before, but not on such a gorgeous woman. It was a workout. Showing his usual respect, as soon as the restraints were on, he pulled the gown back down over her.

  She continued in a full panic attack, screaming, “No! No! Take these off me!” in a high-pitched little girl voice. “Daddy, no, Daddy no, don’t, don’t this to me!”

  John glanced up at the techs, knowing from experience what had transpired--her transition, from defiance to psychosis. It started by her refusal to comply, probably defiant on principle, as she didn’t want him to find out certain things about her--things she might have hidden for years. But then, when the restraints were put on, she went in to a severe psychotic episode. Her eyes and voice changed as she relived traumas from her past. That was the usual. Unresolved traumas from his patients’ pasts always surfaced in therapy, especially when he exerted stress upon them. He decided to go with the role-play. John got into his character, the role of Daddy, as Barbara had called him. She was not much different from his other patients. He prepared to be harsh. He had to be.