O is for Psycho

O is for Psycho

I sat staring out at the green lawn.  Wondering.  Why would the sun give its energy away when it could always keep it?
         The day was long and cold, like most of my days.  The sun peeked round the corner of the earth, watching, waiting.  I walked to work, like most days, in a daze.  Wondering why I did it.  Why walk to work?  I didn’t mean the walking, I mean the work.  What was in it for me?  What had I to gain?  When would it end?
         The office had its usual din of confused voices, they weren’t confused just sounded that way all jumbled together in my ear, there wasn’t enough room.  The office was big there just was not enough room in my ear for all the voices of the din of the big office so they sounded confused, or maybe I was confused.  Who cares?  Anyway I went to my office and shut the door, leaving the confused or confusing voices with their kind
         In my office was a small statue of some Greek goddess, Aphrodite or Adonis, I don’t know much about history, but the breasts on the thing were amazing.  I wanted to eat them or cut them off at least.  They should have been mine.  Why didn’t I have breasts like that, or breasts at all?  I should have some, I like them a lot.  But I would not want a vagina, because…

         Patrick stopped reading the letter and looked through the one way mirror at the author.  James Connirst was his last patient of the day.  This pro bono shit was aggravating but good for his reputation, which mattered a great deal if he was to get the positions that paid the most.  He didn’t want the headache of opening his own practice.  Patrick only wanted to work his day and then go out with the other rich doctors and maybe fuck some of their good looking wives or girlfriends or what ever.  That’s the way he liked to do things, let some one else do all the hard work and then swoop in and reap the rewards.
         First, he had to deal with James Connirst, or as he called himself, Paul Alan.  Said it was a character from a movie, and that he was the incarnation of that character come to take revenge on the rich, crazy fuckers in the world.  James couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the good doctor, said that it was people like Patrick that deserved to die.  Patrick handed the file to his assistant, Molly, and began scribbling on his prescription pad.
“Ten milligrams of Lithium before bed, breakfast and lunch ought to calm his delusions of Paul Alan and the world of Wall Street, along with that generous sun.”
         Patrick smiled at Molly who rolled her eyes.  As she turned to leave the room Patrick pinched her right butt cheek.  She didn’t turn around, she was used to it.  Molly, too, wanted the high paying job and you didn’t get that by pissing off your boss.  Besides she fucked him in the office at least twice a week in between patients.  Her husband wouldn’t understand but she was sure he enjoyed the new boat, motorcycle and golf clubs she had bought him with the money she made working for Dr. Patrick Jones.  It wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t know she lifted her skirt for the good doctor.  It probably would hurt him if he knew she lifted her skirt for his best friend.  But that was over, she hoped.
         Patrick sat back and rested his head in his hands.  Life was looking up.  He was a charming, good-looking, fairly wealthy doctor who the ladies couldn’t keep their hands off.  Take Molly, she was married and beautiful but still she couldn’t keep her hands off him.  At least three times a week he had to give it to her.

         That night as Patrick sat with his rich, up and coming friends, drinking martinis and dropping hits of ecstasy, he looked around the table and smiled to himself.  He was finally one of them.  He was one of the rich people.  He was one of the people that others wanted to be.  He was envied.  He had power over other people.  He was king of his domain.  Now to find some dumb bitch to take back to his luxurious apartment and fuck on his five thousand dollar, imported silk sheets.
         He spied a likely candidate at the bar.  Red head, nice breasts, long legs, short, black dress just long enough to not be slutty.  Perfect.  He excused himself from the table and made his way over.  Moseyed, as he liked to think.

“Hey,” he said to the bartender.  “I’ll have a double scotch and whatever the beautiful lady is drinking.”  He turned and smiled at the red head, propped his elbow on the bar. 

“Well, what are you drinking?”

         Rolling her eyes she told the bartender she was having water with lemon.  She looked at Patrick and smiled, tilted her head and said, “Gee golly, for little ole me?  Why ever would a handsome, rich man like you buy a drink for little ole me?  Fuck off.  I’m not here for your entertainment, so just fuck off.  Okay?”

“Sure, no problem, I just couldn’t risk not trying at least.  Well, enjoy your lemon water and let me know if you would like a real drink.  I promise I want take it for, “you owe me” ok?  Have a good night, and by the way, he’s a lucky guy, I hope he realizes it.”
         Patrick turned and smiled to himself.  That ought to teach that haughty, puffed-up bitch he thought.  He looked up and down the bar and didn’t see any other girls.  He started back to his table, someone yelled out his name.  He turned to see who it was, saw Fletch from the hospital, and turned back around pretending not see him.  Patrick hated that guy.  Fletcher Bronson was a psychiatric assistant who was working his way through school to be a psychologist.  Patrick didn’t like psychologists; they always tried psychotherapy and never wanted to use drugs.  Patrick didn’t know why they always went that route.  People didn’t want to come in and talk to someone about their problems.  When people came with money in hand looking for something to help them through their divorce or relatives death you don’t try and give them your hand you gave them Xanax.  Why else would someone pay seventy five dollars an hour, but to get so messed up they couldn’t remember why that had wanted to cry in the first place.
         Patrick didn’t want to talk to Fletch anyway.  Fletch thought everyone liked him and all he wanted to talk about was work.  Maybe it was good that there were people like Fletcher, it made it all the much easier for people like Patrick to reap the rewards with out all the work.
         Patrick made a line for the bathroom.  He hoped to get a stall so he could do a line and get rid of Fletcher at the same time.  He wasn’t that lucky, the line to the bathroom was at least fifteen minutes long.  Patrick turned back around and bumped into Fletcher.

“Hey, Pat.  What’s going on,” Fletch said as he got in the line for the bathroom?

“Nothing Flethcer, and I’ve told you not to call me Pat.  You can call me Dr. Jones okay.  So you know, I don’t consider us friends so you can drop the friendly chatter, okay,” Patrick said as he turned to walk off.

“Well, screw you too buddy,” Fletch mumbled.

“What was that you little shit,” Patrick said turning back around.

         Fletcher spun and got nose to nose with Patrick.

“I said fuck you too, buddy.  Is there a problem?  I may seem like a nice guy, but I will kill you where you stand you little bitch.  Is that understood?”  Fletch turned back around with out waiting for an answer.

         Patrick turned without another word.  The sudden rage that he saw in Fletcher’s eyes had scared him.  Although he would never admit it to anyone he knew, he was certain that Fletcher had seen his fear.  That was a person that Patrick would steer clear of from now on.  Patrick had never seen that side of Fletcher before, didn’t know he was even capable of talking like that.  Maybe he was just drunk.  Either way Patrick decided to forget about it and look for women to take home.  He spied a newcomer to the bar.  A beautiful brunette with huge blue eyes and a slim figure.  One of those girls you could just wrap around you all night.  Patrick made his way over and introduced his self.

“I’m Keely,” she said.
“Keely, that’s unusual.  What is it,” he asked?
“It’s Irish, my family came to America before the revolutionary war and my dad named all his children with Irish names.”

         Patrick nodded, acting interested.  “What are you drinking on,” he asked?

“Cosmopolitan,” she answered.

“Bartender, gimme one beer, a cosmopolitan and two shots of Tequila.”

“Thanks, but I’m here with someone,” she said.

“Well, that’s nice but I’m sure you will be leaving with me,” Patrick stared in her eyes.

“Well, I’m sure I won’t be.  Bartender, cancel that order.”  She stood up and turned to leave.

         Patrick grabbed her arm.  At that moment Fletcher grabbed his shoulder and spun him.  He landed a right cross that sent Patrick sprawling from his barstool.  Wiping blood from his mouth, Patrick stood and grabbed Fletcher by the lapels.

“What is your problem,” Patrick screamed?

“That’s my fiancé you put your hands on, and if you don’t let go of my coat I’ll whoop your ass, boy,” Fletcher grabbed both his wrists.

“I’ll be calling the cops for that,” Patrick said.

“Figures, a little bitch like you couldn’t handle his own problems.  Call em, see if I give a damn.  I’ll be gone by the time they get here.  Come on Keely, we’re leaving.”

         Fletcher twisted both wrists causing Patrick to cry out in pain and then he slammed him against the bar.  Fletch and Keelly both turned to leave without another word.  Patrick called after them that he would see them in court.

“What were you doing talking to that guy?”  Fletcher was driving Keely home, the night was unusually dark.  No moon.

“I wasn’t he just came up and offered to buy me a drink.  I told him I was there with someone and he said I would be leaving with him.  I stood up to leave and you saw the rest.

“I should kill him.  I hate that guy.  He doesn’t even care about his patients.  It’s people like him that make me want to be a doctor even more.  Guys like him will have the big names and people will seek him out for therapy and he will do more damage than good.”

“Don’t let him bother you.  He is not worth your time,” she said, laying a hand on his, “you’ll be a great doctor some day and he won’t matter.”

         Keely could always calm Fletcher when his blood was about to boil.  That why he loved her so much.  Most of his life had been spent inside doctor’s offices getting the therapy he hoped to provide some day.  Since his parent’s death at age ten in a car wreck, he had become a lost soul.  Just floating through life.  Fighting for any reason and spending most of his childhood in residential facilities and foster homes.  As he got older he had calmed a bit and began to get his life on track.  Now he was on a slow track to becoming the doctor he hoped to be.  A psychologist that could help kids with the same problems he had gone through. 
         The beatings and molestation he had gone through had done their damage.  He just hoped he could get past all that and live a normal life.  Since Keely had come into his life he had been able to concentrate more and keep his rage at bay, but nights like this one always tested that control.

         Fletcher walked down the hall headed to his next patient’s room.  He had to check Mr. Slavik’s diary to make sure he had been writing in it over the weekend.  Dr. Paslow, Fletcher’s boss, made all his patients keep a daily diary of how they felt.  One of Fletcher’s duties was to read it and report any oddities and to make sure that there was a daily entry.
         As Fletcher passed the lounge he glanced in and locked eyes with Patrick Jones for just a moment.  His heartbeat quickened and he had to suppress a smile.  The black eye that Patrick wore had started to turn yellow around the edges.  He was surprised that Jones had even come to work with a shiner like that.  It had to be a huge blow to his pride, but Fletcher was sure that Patrick was using it to garner sympathy and make Fletcher out to be some sort of bully.  Fletcher didn’t care so long as Patrick left him alone.  He hadn’t made it far past the lounge when Patrick called out his name.  Cursing under his breath he kept walking.  He had almost mad it to the next hall when he heard Patrick call his name from the hallway.  Stopping he turned and waited.  Patrick was walking at a fast past with a look of rage.

“Come for round two,” Fletch asked.

“Very funny.  I just want you to know that I called my lawyer.  And he said that he would prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”  Patrick wore a satisfied smile.

“Gonna be hard to prosecute with out a police report.  The judge will question the severity and authenticity of the allegation without one, so you can wipe that smirk off your face and get back to pretending to be a doctor.  Good day to you.”  Fletcher turned and walked away.

         Patrick went back to the lounge and plopped into a chair.  He had to find a way to get back at that prick.  He could do something to one of his patients or get his car towed.  Then it hit Patrick like a revelation, the girl.  Fletcher had been very protective of her.  Patrick decided he would seduce her and make sure that Fletch found out about it.  That would more that make up for his black eye.  He tried to remember her name.  When he couldn’t he got up and headed for the nurse’s station, one of them would know.
         Patrick found the nurses more than willing to divulge the name of Fletcher’s girlfriend when he told them how he wanted to send her some flowers to apologize for his behavior at the bar.  He had acted out of line and wanted to make up for it.
         Keely Rhine didn’t have an apology coming but she did have a charming, good looking doctor with a lot of money to throw at her about to launce a mission of seduction.