Psychiatric Nurse

by Dan Ross

Ken gave her a worried look. "You seem to have a knack for locating trouble," he said. "Tom Crater is another patient to avoid as much as possible."

  "He seems perfectly harmless."

  "You should know better than to judge by appearances," he said. "He can change his mood in a matter of seconds. And his moods can be appallingly ugly."

  "I'll remember."

  "You saw Dr. Werner?"

  "Just now."

  "How did you make out?"

  "I believe I managed to make him see things my way," she said. "At least I hope so. There'll be no action taken against Frank if the doctor keeps his word."

  "Which is something else again," Ken said grimly. "I'm going in to talk to him for a few minutes. When I finish, I'll be free for the evening, and I'd like to take you out somewhere if you'd like to go."

  There was something about the way he said it that made Jean think that this was more than an ordinary invitation. She was tired, but she didn't think he would keep her out late.

  She said, "Very well. Will you pick me up at the house?"

  "Yes," he said, looking happier. "And be sure to dress warm. It takes my car ages to heat up, and it must be down to near zero tonight."

  They parted, and she returned to her room to put on an extra sweater and select her warmest coat. It was one with a hood attached, and lined with a soft fur. She found some woolen gloves and was slipping on her boots when Ken came for her wearing a car coat and a black Persian lamb cossack hat.

  He walked with her to the parking lot where his plain gray sedan was parked. He opened the door for her and then went around and got behind the wheel. After two or three tries, he managed to start the engine, and then gradually fed it gas as he turned on the car lights.

  "It takes a while for the heater to work," he apologized.

  She hunched up on the seat. "I'm familiar with New England winters," she said.

  "Good," Ken said. After a few moments, he backed the car out and headed it along the winding private road to the main highway. "When Dr. Werner applied for permission to build his hospital here, they made him construct it a good distance off the main road and away from any neighbors."

  "All those precautions were hardly necessary," she said. "He doesn't have that many patients, and none that are that dangerous."

  At the wheel, the young doctor said, "You know the prejudice against mental illness that still exists. It would probably have been easier to have gotten a license to build a leper's retreat."

  "I can never understand why people feel as they do about mental sickness," she complained. "It's just another form of disease."

  "Dark Ages reaction," Ken said. Then, "I'm taking you to a restaurant and lounge called Creighton's. It's only a few miles from here, past the Kittery Traffic Circle."

  "It'll be good to get away from the hospital for a little while," she said. "Especially after a first day such as I've had."

  He gave her a side-glance and said, "I wasn't sure you'd feel well enough. Your throat still giving you trouble?"

  "No. There's just a little soreness remaining."

  "Warm enough?"

  "Yes." She raised a hand to the heater outlet. "I can feel some heat coming out at last."

  "It works pretty well once it gets under way."

  They were driving along the main highway now. There were few lights on in the scattered buildings along the route. Many of the places that took in tourists during the summer were locked up at this time of year. An occasional billboard heralded the comforts of some summer hotel. In the distance, the fields were white with snow.

  "I like the snow," Jean said. "It gives the countryside an added beauty."

  "I don't mind the winters, either," he agreed. "And in summer, the York area is very busy. Lots of tourists."

  "Do you get many visitors coming to see patients?"

  "A few," he said, his eyes on the road. "But not many. Most of our people are put in to be gotten rid of. Their bills are paid, but otherwise they're forgotten."

  "I call that tragic," she said.

  "It's something you have to face," Ken told her.

  They reached the traffic circle and drove up another main highway. The roadside eating place known as Creighton's was a rambling, one-story building with a red and blue neon sign on its roof. Ken headed the car into the parking area, and then they crossed the slightly icy asphalt to the entrance.

  The place was only sparsely filled, so they took a corner table in the dimly lighted lounge where they could talk without being overheard. Ken studied her across the table, and she thought he looked more youthfully attractive than before.

  "Well," he said after a silence between them.

  Her eyes met his. "What do you have to tell me?"

  "Why do you ask that?"

  "Because it's obvious that's why you invited me here. To tell me something."

  He smiled. "Couldn't I have done it merely for the pleasure of it?"

  "In that case, you'd have waited until another night."

  "You have it all figured out."

  "Some of it."

  "Then perhaps I should let you start the talking."

  She shook her head. "Let's not fence. You saw Dr. Werner. What did he have to say?"

  His eyes twinkled humorously. "I don't know what you told him, but he appeared to be in a mild state of shock."

  "Oh?"

  "Shock and fury. He was furious as well. He didn't tell me why, but I have an idea it was because you stood up to him about Frank Burns."

  "It wasn't easy. He gave me the impression that he wanted to make it look as if Frank had turned a simple incident into a tragic one. I refused to go along with it."

  "Good girl!" Ken congratulated her.

  Jean stared at him seriously. "Why was he so determined to blame Frank?"

  "I think you've guessed."

  "Maybe. But I want to hear it from you."

  "He's uneasy about the evidence he has against Frank. It isn't actually enough to keep the young millionaire in custody if Frank wanted to fight his case. Werner's anxious to build up other incidents to use if Frank should make a battle for his freedom."

  "And he should," Jean said fervently. "That young man doesn't belong in a mental hospital."

  "You're probably right," Ken said, the glow from the flickering candle on the table playing over his handsome face.

  "You know I am. His mother and that lawyer had him committed simply to protect the family name and money. Frank may be so honest that he appears eccentric, but there's nothing else wrong with him."

  Ken looked grimly amused. "I think a good case could be made in court to that effect."

  "And that girl, Peggy Chase, shouldn't be in a hospital, either," she protested.

  "She is an attractive girl, isn't she?"

  Jean looked at the young doctor very directly. "What sort of a hospital is Dr. Werner operating? And just what kind of a person is he?"

  He arched an eyebrow in his cynical way. "Do you have to ask me either of those questions?"

  "I'd like to hear your answers."

  "Dr. Werner is operating a reasonably well regulated hospital for mental illness. He keeps carefully within the law. But he does cater to those who pay the bills of the patients, rather than to the patients themselves. Cure is not his prime concern. He is most interested in keeping his charges reasonably comfortable and his hospital full."

  Jean gasped. "That's a shocking admission. And worse than that, I believe it's true. Is that why the woman who had the job before me decided to leave?"

  He gave a sigh. "That's another story. As you've no doubt discovered, we have one particularly slack medic on the staff."

  "Dr. Breton."

  "Miss Hillman couldn't get along with him. He gave her no proper records of charts, or drugs supplied to patients. In the end, she told Dr. Werner that she would no longer be responsible. He refused to discipline Breton, and so she left."

  "I don't blame her," Jean said.

  "She had a ni
ghtmare feeling that Dr. Breton would be careless in dispensing drugs one day and she would be involved in whatever scandal resulted."

  "He still won't supply records," Jean told him.

  "You've found that out so soon?"

  "Right away."

  The young doctor shrugged. "It is a nasty situation, but without backing from Dr. Werner, there's not much that can be done."

  "Why does Dr. Werner keep a man like Breton on his staff?"

  Ken smiled sadly. "Because better men wouldn't work for a second-rater like Werner and go along with his policies."

  Jean was startled. She stared at the young doctor. "Is that why you stay on? Because you don't deserve a better job?"

  Ken leaned forward confidentially. "I think the time has come to tell you some hard facts about the medical staff at Tranquility Place."

  "Please do," she said.

  "Werner has had a dozen posts in this country and abroad, and has failed in most of them. Not too many years ago, he managed to get a wealthy patron— a woman who knew nothing about mental hospitals, but who was anxious to find a suitable hiding place for a middle-aged idiot son. Dr. Werner plied her with stories about his dream of running a deluxe mental hospital where every patient would be given the finest treatment and living conditions. So she formed a company to build Tranquility Place and installed Werner to operate it."

  "Is she still satisfied with him?"

  "Both she and her son have since died. But her will left a trust fund to continue the operation of the hospital under the direction of a board. So far, Werner has been able to show a profit and to satisfy the board that he is running the kind of place his benefactress desired."

  "Which he isn't!"

  Ken smiled bleakly. "Well, it's hard to tell what that silly woman did want. But I'm sure the board wouldn't consider Tranquility Place a healing institution if it knew the full facts."

  "Someone should inform them."

  "Who?"

  "You and the other doctors who work for Werner."

  "Be reasonable," he said. "Breton would never testify against Werner, nor would any of the other doctors who come in for special duty. They don't know that much about the operation. Only Breton and I are aware of all the details."

  "You think Breton's word would cancel out yours?" she suggested.

  "Exactly," Ken said. "A little while ago, you asked me why he kept a doctor like Breton in his employ. Now you know part of the answer."

  "He can be sure of his silence," Jean said slowly. "What is the matter with Dr. Firth Breton? Is he just lazy?"

  Ken shook his head. "I wish it were only that. He's an addict."

  "An addict?"

  "A gambling addict. Every cent he gets goes down the same drain. He spends all of his energy and most of this time keeping up with his bets. When he has any time off, he goes into Portsmouth and plays cards. He's continually in debt, and incompetent to hold a job in his present mental condition."

  "In other words, he should be a patient, not a doctor."

  "That's about it."

  "I didn't realize that gambling could be such a compulsion," she said.

  "There's even an organization called Gamblers Anonymous," Ken told her. "It's along the lines of Alcoholics Anonymous. Breton ought to be a member. He needs help badly."

  Jean sat in shocked silence for a moment. She remembered the long phone conversation during which she had been kept waiting to talk to Dr. Breton. And she recalled his annoyance when she finally went in to see him—as if she were interrupting some important train of thought. Now she knew what it was all about.

  "Those long-winded phone calls of his are about his bets?" she asked.

  "Yes. He runs up long-distance calls every month, and Werner deducts their cost from his salary."

  "I couldn't reach him when I needed him this morning," she said. "He stayed on the line endlessly."

  "That's Dr. Firth Breton," Ken said with grim humor.

  "Not much hope there," she said. "How about Dr. Ken Hastings?" It was a question and a challenge.

  Ken sat back with a sigh. "Why not just take it for granted that I'm a loser, or I would not be on the medical staff of Tranquility Place?"

  Her lovely blue eyes reproached him. "Are you afraid to tell me the truth about yourself?"

  The handsome young doctor hesitated. Then he said, "I'm not exactly anxious to confess all."

  "I thought better of you."

  "I will if you insist."

  "I won't insist," she said. "But I'd like to think that you trust me."

  He studied her in silence for a moment. "You know, you're a rather remarkable young woman."

  "You think so?"

  "Yes. You fill people with an urge to confess. It's a strange talent."

  She smiled at him ruefully. "Go on. I want to hear your story."

  "It's not a pretty one."

  "I don't care," she said. But she did care. She was surprised to find herself hoping that whatever revelation he might make would not be too disillusioning. She had had about all she could stand for one day and night. She liked Ken Hastings and wanted to go on being able to respect him.

  "In the first place," he said, "my name, which is identical to my father's, is a valuable contribution to Werner's letterhead."

  "You think he lets people believe that your father is on his staff?"

  "If they're gullible enough, he does. He just skips over the name and hopes they'll be bamboozled."

  "How can you allow that?"

  "I don't encourage it," he said. "I've complained more than once. And several times I've straightened people out when I had personal contact with them. But it didn't help much. The crafty Dr. Werner simply pointed out that I was the talented son of a talented father, and these people wished to believe him. They want to be fooled. They have that desire, or they wouldn't be tricked so easily."

  She smiled wanly. "Back to cynicism again?"

  "Did I ever leave it?"

  "That still doesn't explain why you chose to work for Werner when you could easily get a post in a better hospital."

  He sighed. "That goes back a long way. You may find it difficult to understand. My father didn't want me to be a doctor. He fancied himself as the genius in the family and considered me a good deal less than a brain."

  She gazed at him wide-eyed. "He was jealous of you?"

  "I'm afraid so. And when I decided not only to be a doctor but a psychiatrist, the real feud began. He did everything he could to make it difficult for me. I reacted as you might expect me to. I was stubborn in my determination to show myself a better doctor than he."

  "Nothing wrong with that," she said.

  "A great deal wrong with that," he informed her.

  "Please explain," she said.

  "It made me too ambitious."

  "You can't be too ambitious," she replied.

  He gave her a look of pity. "You've fallen into the big error," he said. "Ambition can be a dangerous thing when there isn't the ability or the experience to match it."

  "Goon."

  "I mean, ambition sours men and makes them take criminal gambles. It causes them to marry girls they don't love and to have children they don't really want. I'm afraid I was a product of that kind of marriage."

  "I can't believe that ambition led you to work for Dr. Werner," she said.

  "It didn't. But it finally landed me in his clutches."

  "How?"

  "I was only out of training a short while when I was offered an important secondary post in a large mental hospital near Boston," Ken said. "I jumped at the chance, and they took me on largely because of my name."

  "And?"

  "I did a fairly decent job," he said. "I think I was on my way to proving my abilities to my father. But something unexpected happened."

  "What?"

  He hesitated again, and there was tragedy shadowing his face now. She could see it. A remembered tragedy that had suddenly come alive for him. He was staring beyond her into the
shadows of the near-empty restaurant.

  "There was a fire. A bad fire. The hospital was old. We weren't well prepared for the emergency. A lot of elderly patients became confused and lost their lives."

  "How awful!"

  "Yes," he said grimly. "The investigation was something. My father made it a point to be present. There was a lot of talk, much of it cautious. But the findings indicated that some of the responsibility fell on the shoulders of the medical staff. And it was suggested that perhaps a lack of experience on the part of the doctors had allowed the tragedy to reach such calamitous proportions. My father enjoyed that. He knew I had suffered a major setback. It was exactly what he wanted."

  Jean regarded him with sympathetic eyes. "You shouldn't have allowed that to sour you so—to change your whole life."

  His eyes met hers, and the remembered pain was still there. "The night of that fire will always haunt me," he said. "I'll never silence those screams. And that is why Dr. Werner was able to hire me for a very reasonable salary."

  CHAPTER SIX

  The young doctor's handsome face was shadowed by the changing patterns of the candlelight. Jean considered all the things he had told her, and they added up to a devastating conclusion. The staff of Tranquility Place was headed by three doctors whose records conspicuously revealed failure.

  "I think you've priced yourself too cheaply," she said softly.

  "A matter of opinion," he replied with a bitter smile.

  "What happened in your case was unfortunate, but it could have happened to any young doctor. The thing that made the difference with you was knowing that your father wanted you to fail and that he enjoyed your being censured."

  "So?"

  "So that alone should convince you to make a fresh start and not let the tragedy crush you. The fire had nothing to do with your being overly ambitious."

  Ken Hastings listened in his mocking way. "I've tried thinking that way without too much success."

  "You should keep trying," she insisted. "And you should never have taken a secondary post at a small private hospital like Tranquility Place."

  "You wanted a job there."

  "For a different reason," she said. "I wasn't trying to run away from myself or my career. I wanted to find a different approach to psychiatric nursing."