The Crying Rose: The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 1)

by B. A. Beers

  “She wanted to speak to Dr. Peterson,” Jan continued. “I informed her of his departure, and about you. I wanted to transfer her call to you, but you were in session with Mrs. Turner.”

  Mark nodded, assuring her that she did the right thing.

  “Dr. Stevens,” she hurried on, “the patient’s name is Sami Carter and something has happened that has caused her to call here for help. She seemed traumatized and unresponsive. I left her with instructions to make some tea for herself.”

  Mark again nodded, showing his approval.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot locate her file. I have searched the archives, and it is not there nor is her file in the database.” Jan’s voice revealed she was distraught.

  As she talked, Dr. Stevens’ mind sped ahead of her words. His first words made her admiration for him climb even further. “Forget the file and give me her phone number,” he demanded.

  She reached into her pocket and produced the note. Mark was amazed at her efficiency. Always thinking, that was Jan. Turning, he reached for the phone.

  Jan turned around and walked to the door. Checking her watch she smiled. One minute to spare, she thought. She quietly shut the door wondering what had happened to that file.

  ***

  Like a robot, Sami rose from the haven of her chair and headed to the kitchen, trying not to think about IT. IT was not going anywhere. In fact, she willed herself not to think at all. Just make tea. Concentrate your thoughts on the task at hand. Make a decision whether to microwave a cup or do it the old fashioned way by filling the teapot and waiting for it to steep. She opted for the teapot, concentrating all thinking on the tea making.

  She grabbed the teakettle, and filled it with water from the faucet at the sink. Walking over to the stove, she placed the kettle on the burner. After turning on the burner, she opened the cabinet next to the stove, and spent several moments picking out a flavor. She picked out one, and put it back. Picked out another and replaced it. Finally, at the far end, she spied what she wanted – raspberry, her favorite. That was the one that Dr. Peterson always had on hand during her sessions.

  Her motion stopped, with her hand still buried in the cabinet. Her eyes became teary. “Dr. Peterson?” she whispered softly, her voice cracked with emotion. “Jon, how could you?”

  Dr. Peterson was her rock, her mainstay, her surrogate father, her wisdom and her sanity. Vaguely, she remembered the letter she had received months ago announcing his retirement. She recalled thinking that it was about time he started enjoying himself, feeling that he deserved the best that life had to offer. But, that was then, this is now. She needed him, and he was not available. Well, she thought, that really does sum up my life. When you need them the most, they are always beyond your reach.

  The sinking feeling was beginning again. She knew this feeling well, and almost welcomed it, like a long lost friend. But, before the feeling totally absorbed her, the teakettle whistled to indicate the water was ready. The whistling brought her thoughts back to the task at hand, and the robotic actions appeared again. She withdrew her hand from the cabinet and turned off the burner. Absentmindedly, she reached for a mug and filled it with the hot water from the kettle. Submerging the teabag in the hot water, she repeatedly dipped the bag until the desired color was obtained. Picking up the mug, and taking out the teabag, she walked to the trash bin and dumped the used teabag into the trash. She cupped the mug in both hands liking the secure feeling of the warmth radiating from it. She headed back to the chair from which she had vacated earlier.

  She sat down and again pulled her legs underneath her. Reaching over and placing the mug on the table, she grabbed the knitted afghan to spread over her. With the afghan securely about her, she reached for the cordless phone and placed it in her lap. As she reached back for the mug, the phone rang.

  ***

  FOUR

  While the phone was ringing, Mark mentally prepared for the next couple of minutes, as he wrote down the patient’s name that Jan had mentioned, and subconsciously counted the rings. That’s four, damnit, he thought. If she didn’t answer by the sixth ring, he had lost, and he didn’t like to lose. On the fifth ring, someone picked up the receiver, but there was no customary greeting forthcoming. Hearing soft breathing in the receiver, he glanced at the name he had just written.

  “Mrs. Carter?” Mark treaded lightly with his tones. There was no response. Knowing instinctively that she was there and listening, he tried again, “Mrs. Sami Carter?”

  Sami was stunned by the thick and very masculine voice on the line. She had expected Jan to call not this strange voice.

  The voice continued, “This is Dr. Mark Stevens.” Sami sighed loudly. Mark heard this and took it as a good sign. “Mrs. Mills relayed that you were looking for Dr. Peterson. Mrs. Carter, may I be of assistance to you?” he prevailed. Proceed slowly he reminded himself. Leave time for response. “Mrs. Carter? Mrs. Mills told you that Dr. Peterson had retired. I have been entrusted to oversee the care of his patients,” he continued cautiously. Build a link, build a trust level, Mark kept thinking.

  Since he heard no response, all Mark’s attention was now focused on her breathing. He would have to assess her medical/mental state by closely monitoring her breathing. At the moment, the breathing was even and not giving off any alarms to him.

  Knowing that it was difficult for some patients to switch to new therapists, especially in a middle of a crisis in which this patient appeared to be deeply involved, Mark decided to use a different strategy. “Mrs. Carter? Allow me to repeat myself. My name is Dr. Stevens. I am here for you. You have my undivided attention,” he said in a slow, easy tone.

  Mark waited several moments, and still there was no response. Closing his eyes, he switched tones to a sharp command. “Mrs. Carter, do you hear me?” Mark dreaded this tactic, but he had no other choice. He had to get a response. He had to see if this patient was aware or beyond reach.

  A more rapid breathing pattern and a faint, barely audible, “Yes” rewarded him. If he had not been concentrating on her breathing, he would have missed the spoken word. The utterance of that one simple word caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise. The sound of her voice conveyed so much misery, pain, loneliness, longing and despair that Mark wanted to reach through the phone line to place his arms around its owner. His only option was to use his own voice to do the comforting for him.

  “Mrs. Carter,” he cooed, “let me help you. Can you tell me what has happened?” The breathing on the other end of the line was interrupted by gentle sobs. “Tell me,” Mark urged. Hearing a mumble through the sobs, but unable to make out what was said, he directed softly, “Mrs. Carter, take a deep breath and try again. I was unable to understand you.” Hearing her do as he had instructed, he was suddenly startled, pulling the phone away from his ear as the two words she screamed assaulted his entire being.

  “IT’s here!” The phone went dead.

  Damn! Mark thought. I should not have pressed so hard. Simultaneously punching the buzzer for Mrs. Mills and the redial button on his phone, he felt deep down in his gut, that Mrs. Carter would not answer, but he had to give it a shot. On the eighth ring, he groaned as the answering machine picked up. Mrs. Mills, he noted, had lightly knocked on the door and entered with a look of concern on her face. He motioned for her to wait a second and turned his attention to the message.

  “Hi, you have reached Sami. You know me. I am out and about as usual. Leave a message and I will get back to you soon.”

  At the beep, Mark was still so absorbed by the voice on the machine that he stuttered, “Mrs., Mrs. Carter? This is Dr. Stevens. Please answer.” This is absurd. He couldn’t believe he actually had said those words. Closing his eyes and praying for guidance, he added, without thinking, “I am on my way.”

  Hanging up before opening his eyes, Mark took a deep breath, and focused on Mrs. Mills. He took in her surprised expression and shook his head in answer to her unasked question. “Don’t ask,” he begged, “j
ust help me.” Grabbing his head with both hands, he rested his elbows on the desk.

  “Rough?” she asked as she got to the edge of his desk.

  Mark nodded. For the first time in forty-three years of life, learning and experiences, he was at a loss on what to do next. What had gotten into him? Why had he blurted out that he was on his way? He had not the slightest clue where she lived or what the hell IT was, but he knew that he had to find out, and soon.

  Usually his course of action in these cases, where contact with patients had abruptly ended, was to contact the authorities to rush them to the scene to prevent possible harm to the patient. Yet, he felt that Mrs. Carter would not do any physical harm to herself. He trusted this gut feeling, and in this case, he was sure that he was right. No, physical harm was not his concern at the moment; it was her mental stability that drove him to action. Glancing up, he was startled to see Mrs. Mills in front of his desk, flipping through a note pad and talking a mile a minute.

  “… Dr. Peterson is in Europe,” she stated.

  “Whoa,” he interrupted, “you have lost me.”

  “Where?” she asked, looking up from her note pad.

  “All of it,” he replied, rather embarrassed.

  She chuckled, “Okay, I’ll just start over. Are you with me now?”

  Mark nodded and sat back in his chair smiling.

  “Good,” Jan stated “From the top – while you were on the phone, I did a little investigating. First, the file is definitely not in the building. I had several others help me search. So, I can only assume that Dr. Peterson, for some reason or other, took the file with him. Come to think of it, he did keep a few ‘special’ cases in his personal office. Anyway, I took the liberty of calling Dr. Peterson’s home, but was told that Dr. Peterson is in Europe. I did instruct the caretaker to have Dr. Peterson contact the clinic next time he checked in. I also consulted the local phone directory, and found Mrs. Carter’s home address. The phone number matches so, hopefully, the address is correct.”

  Mark rose from the chair and was at her side before she looked up from her note pad. Smiling, she handed him the address she had neatly printed.

  “Lastly,” she said to his back, as he headed for the door, “I have rescheduled all your appointments for the rest of the day.”

  Mark stopped at the door and turned his head toward her. “You’re a prize, Mrs. Mills, a true prize. Page me when you hear from Dr. Peterson,” he called, as he headed down the hall. Hearing her wish him good luck, he rushed out the double doors of the clinic with his keys in one hand and the precious address in the other.

  ***

  FIVE

  Mark looked at the address on his way to his bright red, four-wheeled drive, Ford pickup. He recognized the street’s name, Coyote Run, and readied himself, both mentally and physically, for the entrance into the world created in Mrs. Carter’s mind. A shudder coursed through him when his thought turned to IT. What could possibly have caused her this much distress? Reaching the truck, he went into rote mode. Getting into the truck, starting the motor, backing out of the space and heading in the direction of her address were all completed automatically.

  Mark went through a mental checklist on how to search for answers in his goal toward helping Mrs. Carter. “Search?” he said to himself. With the utterance of this word, his mind recalled the previous night’s dream that had awakened him. The dream had seemed so real to him. Remembering the dream brought an image of Pat, his former wife, before his mind’s eye. Shaking his head to clear the image, he turned his attention back to driving, but finding himself unable to fight this image, he decided to follow it to find out where it would lead him.

  “What’s going on? That’s the third time this morning that you have popped into my thoughts,” Mark asked the image. “Once on the drive to work, then during Mr. Sharp’s session, and now". He rarely experienced this sensation of vivid recall.

  Turning his thoughts inward he stated, “Okay, I’m ready. What are you trying to tell me?” Mark could see Pat’s image standing outside their home in California. He could make out that the weather was nasty. An angry storm was brewing above the house. Pat was searching the sky along the horizon. He sensed the emotions that were displayed on her face. Turning, she entered the house, and began to search behind every door in all the rooms. Her face clearly showed her distress. It was obvious that she was searching for something she couldn’t find.

  Mark’s palms began to sweat, as he gripped the steering wheel harder. He found himself trying to reach out and touch her to reassure her that she was not searching alone. He was there with her, but she was unaware of his presence. He found himself praying that behind the next door she would encounter the thing that would end her search. He saw her reach for a door, and there, before her, stood a dog, not just any dog, but their beloved pet. Mark wanted to scream out with joy as the two obviously excited images met in his mind. With each passing second, his heart pounded harder at the vision in his head. He saw the two move as one as they continued the search together.

  Mark found his voice and asked the image, “Pat, may I help you find what you are hunting?” Her image stopped and turned in his direction. Reading from the expression on her face, he recognized her need for him.

  Suddenly, Mark had to brake sharply to avoid hitting a car in front of him that had decided at the last minute to turn. Swearing under his breath, he left the dream world to concentrate on the road ahead of him. Shaking off the remnants of the dream, he found himself wondering what was the significance of this dream. What was she trying to tell him? Knowing that he had to focus on what was going on around him, he made a mental note to further investigate the vision later when he had more time.

  Returning his concentration to the situation he was about to enter, Mark felt a deep down, uneasiness hit his stomach causing the acids to boil. He was walking in the unknown in this case; his comfort level was very unsettled. In the past, he had been tossed into situations similar to this, but he had always been partially armed with some type of background, either by the patient’s file or a family member’s recall of the problem. Yet, in this case, he had nothing. Not wanting to get lost along the way in helping her, he had to establish some sort of map to guide him in the right direction.

  A deep moan rose from deep within him, and his hunched shoulders slumped downward in defeat. A voice within his head called out – gather clues. A small smile reached his face recalling Pat’s words. Are you a doctor or a detective? “You can’t be one without the other,” he answered out loud to the question. His head and shoulders regained their proper posture as his detective mode kicked into action.

  With renewed energy, Mark reached over and opened the glove compartment to withdraw his compact cassette recorder. He checked to make sure he had a new tape in the machine. Noting, thankfully, that he always remembered each month to check his supplies, he clicked it with his thumb and it whirled to life. Speaking loud enough to be heard over the surrounding traffic, he began:

  “Patient’s name: Mrs. Sami Carter.

  Date: January 17, 2000.

  Time:” he checked the display on the truck radio dial, “11:26 A.M.

  Known data: phone number, possible address.

  Fact 1: Former patient of clinic. Patient file missing; history unknown.

  Fact 2: Needs help desperately.

  Summation to current time: Approximately one half hour ago, a call was received at the clinic from patient who requested contact with Dr. Peterson. Mrs. Carter was informed of Dr. Peterson’s retirement. Mrs. Mills told Mrs. Carter that her call would be returned.

  Contact: I returned call to Mrs. Carter. Was greeted by silence. No response to questions. Pressed to get active response. Mrs. Carter revealed two words, ‘IT’s here,’ before line was disconnected. Failed to re-establish contact. Currently on my way to Mrs. Carter’s home.

  Impression: None at current time. Need more information.

  Personal note: Greatly affected by tone of voi
ce regarding words used by Mrs. Carter. What the devil is ‘IT?’ Don’t want to conjure up images that might deter me from reaching objective. Yet, I must admit, the voice on her answering machine captured my interest. A voice that reminded me of a late night radio, female DJ – a voice that reaches right down to the very core of a man. It was so filled with life, love and, yes, desire. I had a strange sensation this morning that something was going to happen today, and it appears this feeling was right.”

  Mark switched off the recorder, wondering why he had voiced those feelings. Were they relevant to the case? He was about to rewind and erase those words, but decided to leave them. Reaching the street name written on the paper, he turned his attention to the numbers as he searched for her house.