HERO
by
Shani Greene-Dowdell
Edited by Falon Gold
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Copyright ©2020 Shani Greene-Dowdell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.
This book is dedicated to anyone who is dealing with or has ever had to deal with someone suffering from mental illness.
First, I would like to thank God for allowing another creative work of mine to come to fruition.
To my hubby, who makes it possible for me to have quiet time to write, thank you.
Thanks to my fellow writer friends who have helped me to stay focused over the past few months. Siren Allen, Posey Parks, L. Loren, and Falon Gold, you guys are invaluable to me.
Special thanks to Falon Gold for editing Hero and helping to turn it into the masterpiece that it is. It would not have been possible without you.
And a special thanks to the supporters of my work. Love you much.
And to everyone going on this next adventure with me, let’s go!
Blessings,
Shani
Table of Contents
Cherise
Los Angeles, California
In the midst of jotting down notes in a patient's record, one of my two office lines rang. Glancing at the phone, an unknown number flashed on the caller ID. I jabbed the blinking button just to stop the incessant ringing. It was killing the peaceful atmosphere. "Dr. Johnston speaking. How can I help you?"
"Hey, Cherise. It's Eva. I'm on my personal phone. Hold on." What sounded like Dr. Eva Laurent taking a huge bite out of food then chewing loudly resounded from the phone's speaker on my mahogany desk. "I'm bothering you on your lunch break because..."
You're quite rude and ill-mannered when not seeing clients flitted through my mind as a finisher and was about to leap off the tip of my tongue when she finally continued. "I was wondering did Chad Lowell make an appointment with you last week like I advised him to."
It was three p.m. and almost definite that she was on a lunch date with a pastrami sandwich downstairs. She rarely ordered anything else from the restaurant on the first floor of our building in downtown Los Angeles. Many, including me, didn't eat down there anymore because of her inability to shut up while eating complete with smacking while chewing.
With one of the most peaceful parts of my workday over far too soon, I made a mental note of her cell number and to not answer any of her calls at break times of any day anymore. "Hey, yourself, Eva. I'll have to check if he made an appointment. Being solidly booked for the month is all I can confirm without looking at my schedule."
"I'll wait," she announced happily around a mouthful.
Sliding over the pen and file deserted on my desk, I leaned forward in my chair to harass the black mouse lying quietly on its pad next to my computer. The monitor lit up with the month's schedule already opened. With a quick scan of the screen, Chad Lowell's name jumped out at me from a block highlighted in yellow, indicating a new patient was coming in today.
Sinking back into the leather backrest, I rubbed wearily at my eyes with both hands. "Yes, my last appointment for today is with him. He's supposed to come in, in an hour for an introduction session as a matter of fact. Since I got you on the line, is there anything you can tell me about him before he gets here?"
The more I knew about my patients, the sooner I could find a way to help them, even if it was just to refer them to someone with expertise tailored to their problems. Not every doctor or by-the-book coping methods worked for everyone. It would've made my job a lot easier if they did. If I thought I couldn't assist Chad Lowell, some other psychiatrists and psychologists worked with me in the three-story building for Wellcare Counseling Services who could.
As a psychologist, Eva had apparently used her ‘pass the patient to someone that could write prescriptions’ option. I could almost guarantee it happened after billing him for an unnecessary introduction session with her. Those were two-hundred and fifty bucks alone, a way to milk insurance companies plus the potential client's wallets legally. Most doctors here justified that robbery by claiming they didn't know if they could continue seeing a patient unless a full evaluation was performed. A short conversation on the phone took care of that for me. Eva wasn't that noble.
Inclined to take on marital issues and darn good at getting couples to see the error of their ways, she slurped the last of her preferred lemonade through a straw, which was just as annoying on the phone as it was in person. "He’s fifty-one, a hot ex-soldier who has obsessive, compulsive tendencies documented on his heavily redacted military record. He’s not a germaphobe, he has a fear of losing and not having the things he needs. It cost him his career when he wouldn’t seek continual therapy after being diagnosed by the military.”
“Did you say hot? You’re only thirty-one. That’d be like him robbing the cradle, wouldn’t it?” I joked.
“You haven’t seen him yet. A civilian judge ordered him to seek counseling or do five years without the possibility of parole for night-stalking his ex... the ex before her… and a waitress that worked in a restaurant near his home on Farrow Drive not that far from here. Obviously, he has a problem with sleeping. Sleep-deprivation leads to a lot of bad decisions. I heard how well you worked with that celebrity that was about to become infamous for hounding his baby mama last month. I thought you could work a miracle with this guy too. When you see how good looking he is while over the hill, you might thank me for the opportunity."
I wouldn't.
"Another stalker. Shit," I groused under my breath.
They were not the easiest or safest people to work with. Often, a stalker's obsession transferred to their doctor out of gratitude or just because of proximity. I was going to have to be very careful with Mr. Lowell. Finding the middle ground between minimizing our time together so he didn't develop an attachment and still counsel him wouldn’t be easy but doable. Thank God for phones and the emergency button doubling as an emerald pendant on a silver chain around my neck.
"You’ve got this, Cherise,” Eva motivated. “And like I said, he's gorgeous, so fix him." The order in her tone irritated me more than her eating habits if that was even feasible.
"If he's so good looking, why didn't you keep him as a patient?" I sniped, over this conversation already.
"I’m not qualified to write prescriptions like you are. He needs some Ambien stat. Send him back to me after you fix his issues, and I just might keep him," she fired back, seemingly developing the Florence Nightingale syndrome after one visit with the man.
I rolled my eyes heavenward. "You’re expecting miracles from me and Ambien, and I don’t have to tell you that dating a client is unethical and could cost you your—"
"License," Eva butted in. "I know, but..." She paused to take a bite of her sandwich, chomping on it noisily and making me grind my teeth out of annoyance. "I repeat, you haven’t seen this guy yet. Intense should be his middle name. What our boss doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"
"Until your breaking guidelines for professional conduct goes sideways, Eva. I doubt if Dr. Teran feels the same as you about what will hurt him. I really hope you're joking about dating Mr. Lowell if I decide to send him b
ack into your care."
She was free to do as she pleased if he wasn’t her patient, which might’ve been her main motive for passing Chad Lowell along. "Yeah, yeah, I am joking, okay?" rushed from her too fast to be believable. "I wouldn’t jeopardize your precious job and five-year tenure with Wellcare. You remember that too when Chad shows up for your session."
I guessed she wasn't concerned about her own job. She definitely wasn’t as bothered about me developing feelings for him as much as implying between the lines that she had first dibs on Mr. Lowell too. Having done my part to ward her off making a livelihood as well as reputation-destroying mistake, I wanted off the call. It was going sideways faster than her career would if she kept moving down this road.
Poising my finger over the same button used to answer the phone, I prepared to hit it again. "I have to go, Eva. Have a great one."
Hanging up in case she said something else dumb, I finished notating in the file then took my own lunch break. I hadn't tossed away the butcher paper wrapped around the devoured chicken salad sandwich yet when the receptionist stationed on the first floor buzzed my line. Chad Lowell was on his way up fifteen minutes ahead of our appointment. Those that came early to therapy were people to be wary of.
My stomach churned around the food I had just consumed. This wasn't the first time it acted up at new clients’ arrivals. Things never went well for them when it did. Mental institutions gained new patients. A hard knock at the door brought me to my feet.
“Dr. Laurent?” an emotionless, deep timbre called out from the hallway.
“Come in.” Knocking breadcrumbs from my navy-blue skirt suit, I stepped out from my desk.
The door swung open, admitting a sun-kissed man in his prime without an ounce of fat or wrinkles anywhere. Physically fit was a mild term to describe his towering physique in a tight, white tee and dark jeans. Tan military boots hardly made a whisper on the brown carpet. Immediately, I understood why Eva was so enamored. A Roman nose stood out between a pink, cupid bow mouth framed in a neat goatee. The liberal sprinkling of gray through blond, wavy tresses sweeping his hulking shoulders was the only giveaway to his age. His prominent brow, regularly found on the stubborn and dominant, eclipsed cunning eyes almost totally black from a distance. Up close, his pupils were dilated with dark gray rims. There were several reasons for their appearances, none of them good.
Mr. Lowell’s pleasant-to-look-at arrangement of characteristics did not take away the high creep-factor and sheer ruthlessness entering the room with him. He did not walk, he stalked as if hunting. As I examined him, he examined me from head to toe boldly. So boldly, tension began to build around us. His cold scrutiny skimmed over me like he was sizing me up as we met in the center of the room, which received an inspection from him too. If there was a God in heaven, he’d find me and the room insufficient and leave.
He thrust out a palm. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Laurent. I’m stoked to be here.”
And that bothered me. Who was stoked to go to therapy?
I took his warm hand in a single firm shake, quickly reclaiming mine. “It’s good to meet you too, Mr. Lowell. Please have a seat on the couch or at my desk. Whichever makes you feel more comfortable here.” My no-nonsense tone generally put things into perspective for the patient promptly.
Smirking, his browsing traipsed over the soft-green barrel chair facing a matching couch. I had positioned it against the rear wall, flanking it with artificial potted plants behind him. He didn't’ seem to like the arrangement.
“The couch looks more comfortable and better by the window. I’ll pass on the straight-back chair at your desk, which you are free to sit behind if it makes you more comfortable.” He was additionally an asshole who knew he made people, more specifically women, uneasy in his overbearing presence and didn’t care. Likely getting off on it.
“It’s my office. I’m comfortable wherever my potential patients choose to sit.” Clearly, his memory needed to be jogged about who was conducting this visit. Another one with me was not in the cards. Sessions with him would be the equivalent of a wrestling match. I wasn’t a wrestler.
Chad Lowell needed a male doctor, someone he could relate to but not overwhelm. Hopefully, listen to as well. Luckily, I had the right doctor in mind. He would be hearing from me the second Mr. Lowell left.
A grin that didn’t reach his eyes stole over his mouth. “The comfortable furniture for us it is then.” Us? As if I asked him to decide where I sat.
“Please have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” I turned my back on him, signifying that he didn’t bother me. That was a whole lie. His disposition worried me something awful, was as big as a house, and would see clear through my casual act too. Even so, it was his word against mine that it was an act at all.
Keeping up appearances, I walked away slowly, to grab pen and pad from my desk after setting the timer on my watch. The couch groaned under his significant weight bearing down on it. Inhaling soundlessly as I bent over my desk, I stored up bravado to face the massive trouble in a handsome package. Taking too much time to do it would give away my angst. Displaying fear to a predator wasn’t an alternative.
Spinning around, I retraced my steps to the center of the room, deviating toward the barrel armchair across from him. With arms spread across the back of the couch and one foot resting on the opposite knee, his narrowed glare shadowed me. No, he was not happy with me contending back and forth with him for the upper hand. Intimidating everyone, with the exception of the judge that mandated he be here, explained why his feet were still on free ground as opposed to behind a locked door. All being well, he would not have access to the key.
Our introduction session took over an hour that did not go smoothly into the past. At the end, I hadn’t made Chad tell me anything concrete about himself. When I asked a question, he answered with one. He was more interested in my childhood than disclosing his own. The man was no simpleton, understood knowledge was power. The more I knew about him, the less challenging it would be to deal with him, which was nowhere near what he wanted out of therapy.
Unlucky for him, I could read between the lines like a pro and had techniques—well-crafted fabrications born from an intuition about a patient’s background—for extracting information. Mr. Lowell unwittingly revealed with a series of ‘me too’ and odd words like ‘stoked’ that his Californian childhood was traumatic with a neglectful, when not terrorizing his son, alcoholic father. His mother had skipped out on her family, probably to save herself. Bad parenting had bred a borderline psychopath who would never let himself feel powerless or accept being unwanted ever again.
It took a lot longer than it should have to learn his obsessive disorder boiled down to mommy issues. Mr. Lowell fixated on bending women who didn’t want him to his will simply because he needed to feel wanted, worthy. His compulsive disorder originated from not being taken care of by his father. Underneath Mr. Lowell’s bullying tactics, if you knew where to look, was a hurt human hurting other humans as he been hurt, psychologically. A human determined to repair the damage done to him with the unhealthiest of healing solutions. The man loved mind games more than anyone should.
I deposited the pad and pen on the ottoman next to my chair. “Mr. Lowell, I’m not the best person to help you. I do know the perfect doctor for you, though. Dr. Darrell Lambert works in this building too. I will send your file to him today so you can get started right away with him.”
No longer allowed to give me the runaround, Chad’s face hardened into a sneer. “Him? You’re tossing me away too like Dr. Laurent did?”
Most definitely mommy-issues.
I didn’t respond right away, making a show of getting more relaxed in my seat to give him time to calm down just a bit. “Dr. Laurent and I did not toss you away. We’re sending you to people we think have more experience and abilities to help you the most.”
Suffice it to say, he didn’t want the help. “Then, why have you two wasted my time and money with having me tell you ab
out myself if you’re just going to pass me along to the next quack?”
I let the insult slide, suspecting Mr. Lowell was more furious with having to go to a male doctor when he’d have been perfectly fine with making the rounds of all the female doctors here. “Let’s be honest with each other, Mr. Lowell.”
“Yes, let’s,” he snapped dryly.
“You haven’t told us anything about yourself really, have you? You’re not here to get better or to contribute to your healing. You’re here to fulfill a demand made by the jurisdiction system that you’ve ticked off. So, whose time do you think has really been wasted here?”
He sat up straight as an arrow on the couch, not loving being called out. “I didn’t waste your time, I confirmed what you wanted to know when you hit the jackpot.”
“Waiting for me to guess isn’t really telling me about yourself, is it? You could be confirming anything that is nowhere near the truth for all I know, and I would never know the difference.”
“Dr. Johnston, I’m really from California.”
“I know. No one else uses ‘stoked’ except Californians, but me having to glean information from you instead of you being upfront is not doing the work you need. You’re spinning your wheels until the judge says you’re done with the required number of sessions instead of working on your behavior in society.”
Mr. Lowell’s fingers burrowed into the cushions on each side of him. “My father really didn’t feed me regularly, pay the bills on time, and thought it was funny to come up from behind me and shove my head under the water when I was bathing. My mother really left when I was five.”
“But, you didn’t tell me that outright when I asked. You said ‘me too’ when I mentioned similar things I’d been through.” I hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “If the doctor does more talking than the patient, then it’s therapy for the doctor, not the patient. “Mr. Lowell, you need someone you can open up to, to release that pain that keeps you up at night and makes you view women as targets to bully into submission. We’re human beings with feelings we have a right to feel about anyone.”
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