I'm a Therapist, and My Patient Is in Love With a Pedophile- 6 Patient Files From Prison

by Dr Harper

  “Darling day…” I said soothingly. “Morning sunshine…”

  His pupils dilated, and his eyes began to water.

  “STOP IT!” he screamed. “THAT’S WHAT HE USED TO CALL ME!”

  Then he reached into his pocket and took out the secret envelope.

  “No!” I tried to stop him.

  But I was too late.

  Sam held out the polaroid in front of him for a few seconds. Then he threw it on the table, bolted up from his chair, and sprinted toward Arthur.

  I ran after him, but everything happened so fast.

  First, Sam pulled a knife from his pocket and drove it into Arthur’s neck.

  Then one of Arthur’s friends took the knife out of his neck and stabbed Sam repeatedly in the chest.

  “No!” I shouted as they scattered away.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Sam, coughing up blood. “I don’t… I don’t know what happened to me.”

  I knelt down next to him. “You’re fine. Just stay with me, okay?”

  He coughed again and a tear fell down his cheek. “Am I going to die?”

  “No.” My heart sank. “Just think about Tony’s funny conspiracies, okay?”

  He shut his eyes. “Is there an afterlife, Dr. Harper?”

  “Hey, come on.” I shook him gently. “Keep your eyes open.”

  “I’m so afraid,” he stammered. “Please, tell me if there’s an afterlife?”

  My eyes stung. “I — I think we’re made of the same stuff as the stars.”

  “The stars?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” I said truthfully, trying to ignore the shouting guards approaching us. “I think we all have lessons to learn. Old energy and wounds to resolve. So we keep coming back until our work is done, and then we’re infinite and free — just like the stars. But it usually takes a few tries.”

  “A few tries?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Like, you’ve done all of this hard work to build boundaries and self-respect. So next time, your spirit will come armed with those wonderful skills.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Hey, Sam, come on,” I whispered. “Keep your eyes open.”

  Another tear ran down his face.

  “Maybe next time, I’ll come back with a little less pain in my heart.”

  There was a momentary glimmer of hope painted across his face, but Sam never opened his eyes again.

  ◆◆◆

  The guards pulled me away from Sam, shoving me into a line against the wall with several other prisoners.

  “What the fuck happened here?”

  “The kid charged!” said Arthur’s friend. “All wide-eyed and crazy. Like he was fucking high or something.”

  High…

  I thought for a second, then dug my hands into my pocket for Sam’s remaining pills. Turning to conceal my hand, I opened the one labeled Zoloft (Sertraline) and sprinkled a pill onto my palm. I leaned in close and examined the letters on it:

  CHX 4.0

  “Chantix?” I whispered. “What the fuck?”

  Chantix was a smoking cessation pill, well-known for agitating the mind and having an insanely high rate of violent and suicidal reactions — 18 times higher than the average pharmaceutical drug. And 4mg was eight times higher than the standard dose.

  Heart racing, I unscrewed the cap from the Prazosin — a blood pressure medication that can also mitigate nightmares for patients suffering from PTSD.

  But once again, this pill looked nothing like the dual-colored capsule that Prazosin typically comes in. It was just a solid white pill, and there was no label.

  What the hell had I given Sam?

  “WHOSE SHIV IS THIS?” The guard shouted, marching down the line with the knife in his hand. “TALK. NOW.”

  My eyes went wide when I saw it wasn’t a knife at all.

  It was a letter opener — inscribed with the the word “NAMASTE”.

  “That would be mine,” came a familiar voice.

  I felt my entire body tense up when I saw Dr. Zhang walking toward us.

  “Hmmm…” She bent down and gazed at Sam. Then she stood up and slowly walked over to me. “Mr. Harper, it would seem that I made a mistake leaving him in your care.”

  “You fucking bitch—” I lunged forward to choke her, but the guards knocked me down immediately.

  “Mr. Harper—”

  “You’re a fucking psychopath! Poisoning a traumatized kid, sending his dopamine levels to the moon and back, giving him a weapon, using his triggers against him—”

  “Hmmm…” She lowered herself to my level. “Mr. Harper, your little tantrums may have worked outside of these walls, but I would prefer that we communicate like adults.”

  She stood up.

  “Guards, I believe Mr. Harper took my letter opener when he was in my office yesterday,” she said. “Sam O’Dell suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder, and it would seem that one of his personalities was prone to violence—”

  “HOLLYWOOD BULLSHIT,” I spat. “It’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder, and alters are rarely ever dangerous. They’re far more likely to be victims than perpetrators. Sam was provoked and drugged—”

  “Hmmm…” Dr. Zhang tilted her head and smiled sadly. “I don’t wish to point fingers, Mr. Harper, but wasn’t Mr. O’Dell your responsibility? Did you not ask to take over his care? So if he was provoked and drugged, as you claim, would that not implicate you as the primary suspect?”

  I tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs didn’t seem to fill with air.

  “Guards, please search Mr. Harper’s pockets.”

  They pinned me to the ground and found the two bottles. After handing them to Dr. Zhang, she leaned down again and whispered, “Where is the envelope?”

  “What?” I said, accidentally eyeing our lunch table. “I don’t have it.”

  She tilted her head again. “Guards, search that table.”

  They did as she said, and I groaned when they returned with Sam’s secret envelope.

  “Very good,” she said, turning to face everyone else. “Now, it would seem that Mr. Harper has taken up the very same type of unethical therapy practices that landed him in jail to begin with. Unable to help himself, he convinces others to let him help them. But now we have seen what kind of help he offers.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

  “I suspect Mr. Harper may be suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder,” she continued. “And I look forward to treating him when he returns from his time in solitary confinement.”

  “What! I didn’t—”

  “Hmmm…” she said, pacing along the row of inmates. “I imagine 8 hours should give Mr. Harper ample time to reflect on the dangers of his private practice.”

  Before I could say another word, the guards grabbed me and marched me out of the lunchroom.

  I turned around one last time and stared in disbelief at Dr. Zhang.

  She simply tilted her head, smiled, and slipped the envelope into her pocket.

  ◆◆◆

  I returned to my cell that night and tried to keep quiet to avoid waking Tony. But he wasn’t asleep.

  “Doc, you’re back,” he said. “How was the SHU?”

  “It was great,” I grumbled. “I’m a changed man.”

  “I was worried you were CIA.” He sat up from his bed and lifted his arm sling. “But you stood up to Zhang. No one does that. Not even COINTELPRO.”

  “Tony, I don’t have time for conspiracies tonight,” I said, pulling myself up to the top bunk. “I need to sleep.”

  “Doc,” he said. “You don’t have to believe everything I say, but I swiped Sam’s photo. Kids are in danger.”

  I froze. “That’s not possible. I saw Zhang take the envelope.”

  “Well,” he said. “I took what was inside. Will you just take a look?”

  I stepped off the ladder, curiosity getting the better of me.

  Tony handed me the photograph that had triggered Sam multiple
times.

  I took one look and dropped it on the ground. “Jesus, Tony! That’s — it’s child porn.”

  It was exactly what I expected. Arthur, and a much younger Sam.

  “Grow up, Doc,” he said. “This isn’t about you. That kid was hurting.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I said, exasperated. “Sam is dead. There’s nothing I can do—”

  “Pick up the photo,” said Tony. “Maybe there are other kids you can help.”

  I shook my head and picked up the picture from the ground.

  “What am I supposed to be seeing?” I asked.

  “Turn it around,” said Tony.

  I did as he said, and felt my heart sink as I read the Sharpie-scrawled label on the back:

  Glade Farm Boy #93

  End of Patient File: The Wolf

  Company Retreat: The Wolf

  “Noah, call 911.”

  “But his shirt says No Police.”

  I stared at him incredulously.

  “Oh — right,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I’ll call now. Should you… Check his vitals?”

  “I’m not a nurse,” I snapped. “I’ll try and talk with him.”

  He nodded and took out his phone.

  While he talked to the police, I bent down to the kid’s level. I’ve never been great with younger kids — let alone mysterious missing children on the beach.

  “Are you able to hear me?” I asked awkwardly.

  His eyes remained clamped shut.

  “You don’t need to respond,” I continued. “I just want to tell you that we’re calling the police, and everything’s going to be okay.”

  He bowed his head down.

  “Can you tell me your name?” I asked.

  He didn’t reply to that question, or to any of my others. It was starting to feel like an interrogation.

  Noah finished his call. “They’re on the way!”

  “Great.” I stood up, relieved.

  “How are things going over here?” he asked quietly

  “He’s not talking at all,” I said. “I wonder if he might have some variation of Avoidant Personality Disorder—”

  “Doc!” Noah interrupted me. “Not everything needs to be a diagnosis.”

  “I’m a psychiatrist!”

  “Well, he’s not a patient,” said Noah protectively, sitting down in the sand next to the boy. “He’s a cool kid. And what do cool kids like?”

  “What are you talking about—”

  “Shhh…” Noah raised his hand at me, turning all of his attention to the boy. “Cool kids like… Broccoli!”

  The boy’s eyes remained closed, but he raised his eyebrows. That was already more progress that I had made.

  “And cool kids like… brushing their teeth!” Noah made a fake gargling sound and spat on the ground.

  The boy let out a tiny, but unmistakable giggle.

  “Nah, I’m just kidding.” Noah laughed too. “Cool kids like adventures, right? Do you want to go on a magical adventure with us? I can teach you spells and potions!”

  The boy took a deep breath, then nodded.

  Noah grabbed a twig from the sand and extended it to the boy.

  “Here is your wand, brave wizard,” he said seriously. “Will you join me on this quest?”

  I watched in disbelief as the boy opened his eyes, blinked a few times, then reached forward to accept the twig.

  “How the hell…” I muttered under my breath.

  “And do you have a name, young wizard?”

  He nodded. “James.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, James!” Noah grabbed two more sticks for us. “For your first task, you must make a very important decision. Do we go through the ancient forest, climb the mystical mountains, or fly into the night sky?”

  James held the wand in front of him.

  “Fly.”

  “The best choice,” said Noah. “There’s a hot air balloon right over here. Let’s all climb in!”

  The three of us walked a few paces to the right as Noah welcomed us onto the imaginary balloon.

  “Watch your feet!”

  I stared at him as I slowly stepped to his side.

  “Can you light the balloon for us?” Noah asked James. “The spell is FIREBALL!”

  James nodded excitedly. Then he twirled the stick in the air and said, “Fireball!”

  “FOOM!” said Noah, making an exploding motion with his arms. “Wow, you’re a very powerful wizard.”

  James beamed.

  “We’re taking off!” said Noah, leaning over the non-existent edge. “Look at the stars all around us.”

  James stood next to him and looked out over the sky.

  “I see a cloud over there,” Noah pointed into the distance. “Should we see if anyone lives there?”

  James nodded, so Noah grabbed an imaginary steering wheel and took us to the cloud.

  “Looks like there’s something on the cloud,” said Noah. “What is that?”

  James leaned forward, squinted, and then his eyes went wide.

  “It’s a wolf.”

  Noah gasped. “A wolf, of course! And it just hopped onto our balloon. What does it want?”

  “He wants to take me,” said James, breathing more rapidly. “He says I should come live on the cloud with him.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” said Noah, holding out his wand. “Don’t worry, we won’t let him take you. Everyone, ready your wands.”

  James held out his wand.

  “Mr. Wolf,” said Noah. “Please leave us alone.”

  Then he looked at me expectantly.

  “Oh — right,” I said stiffly, holding out the stick. “Yes, leave us alone.”

  “He doesn’t want to,” said James quickly. “He says I’ll be much happier there. He says there are hundreds of other boys who live on the cloud, and we can all be friends.”

  “Hundreds!” exclaimed Noah. “Wow, that’s a lot.”

  “The wolf is a collector,” said James. “He collects boys like me for the cloud. He gives us presents and lets us eat candy all day, but we can’t tell anyone what happens at night.”

  I suddenly felt chills run down my spine. There was something horribly wrong with James’ contributions to the story.

  “Noah,” I whispered. “Ask him if there are any other animals on the cloud.”

  Noah raised his eyebrows, then turned to James. “Are there any other animals on the cloud? Or just the wolf?”

  “Yes,” said James, peering into the distance. “There are four more animals. And they are all very bad. This cloud is bad.”

  Noah looked at me nervously, then turned back to James.

  “So the wolf collects little boys for the cloud…” said Noah quietly. “What do the other animals do?”

  HIV Infections

  PART ONE

  “They wanted it,” said Don. “That’s what you’re not understanding.”

  “Why would someone want to get HIV?” I asked.

  The weather was finally nice enough for us to get some time outside, so we were sitting on the bleachers and tossing a baseball back and forth.

  “Dr. Harper, you ever tried meth?”

  “No,” I said. “But—”

  “Okay then. That’s the problem,” he said simply. “You don’t get what kind of fucked up stuff it makes you feel.”

  “Meth makes people want to get HIV?” I said skeptically.

  “It makes you want things you never knew you wanted…” He sounded like he was talking about a long-lost lover. “Imagine your most sketchy sexual fantasies, then multiply that by a million.”

  Don was a young man who had actually sought help from me before my trial, but I had gotten caught up with other clients.

  “How is receiving an STD a sexual fantasy?”

  “Because, you have a part of them inside of you forever,” he said. “Plus, then you don’t have to deal with the anxiety of getting HIV anymore.”

  I took a lon
g look at him, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth.

  “So…” I said. “You’re telling me… All eight of the men who accused you of infecting them with HIV — they wanted it at the time?”

  “Yes,” he said. “We had conversion parties. They used the needle right after me, just to increase their odds. Then they would lay there like pigs, ready to take my—”

  “Okay.” I raised my hand. “I get it. So what changed their mind?”

  “They got sober,” he said with a laugh. “There’s the first mistake. Without meth, they got ashamed of their inner slut and blamed it on me.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Are you still using, after what it’s done to your life?”

  He looked at me and grinned.

  “You’ve never let yourself lose control, have you?”

  I cleared my throat. “This isn’t about me.”

  “Well, this is the same kind of judgy bullshit that I’d expect from a control freak.”

  “I’m not judging!” I protested. “I’m just trying to understand what happened, so I can help you.”

  “And I’m telling you, these guys contacted me on Grindr. They saw the capital T for Tina. They saw I was positive. They were bug chasers.”

  “Bug chasers?”

  “Dudes who want HIV,” he said. “To get it over with. That way they don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  As we continued talking, I noticed Don’s cellmate eyeing us from the nearby tables. As soon as I made eye contact with him, he looked away.

  “Why is your cellmate watching us?”

  I had already gotten into trouble for my unofficial therapy sessions, and I didn’t want to draw any more unnecessary attention to myself.

  “I don’t know.” Don shrugged. “He’s probably jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Probably thinks you and I are gonna fuck,” he said, leaning closer to me. “You wanna fuck?”

  “Come on, Don—”

  “I’d be down.” He slowly ran his tongue across his lower lip. “Something about the way you’re so fucking hostile and rigid. Just makes me want to roll you over and watch you writhe.”

  I felt my face flush, losing any upper-hand I may have had in our dynamic.