Читать книгу Handwritten Letters to the Devil - Zin - Страница 8

Psychiatric log; day 1 of patient 604, James Colace. Our appointment was scheduled for 9:00 am on September 26, 2013. I arrived as I always do in the morning at 7:45 am to prepare for the days work and be ready by 8:00 am sharp. I spent the first fifteen minutes readying coffee, tea, and candies for my patients. This calms my patients subtly if need be during our conversations and therapy if our sessions grow too intense. I spent the next forty-five minutes reviewing the court delivered file on patient 604. His file was like many others I have seen across my desk; acute obsessive compulsive disorder, extreme bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, insomnia, depression, alcohol disorder, derealization disorder, OCPD, morbid jealousy disorder . . . etc. The list went on. There was no reason to continue counting disorders. Issues like this are only started by dramatic effects on ones childhood. Given James Colace was born March 27, 1987 makes him only 26. If I am to aid him in any form or fashion I need to reach the route of his issues: when they started, why they started, his perception of the events that transpired . . . etc. The file also showed all of the patient’s previous physiatrists, there were eleven. Many prescribed drugs but none were found in James’ blood work or hair follicles.

The second file was one of dismay, his conviction file; six accounts of assault and battery, three of which were police officers, two of which were women in their thirties, and one male body builder. Also in the file were DUI and DWI charges. His license has been revoked, and is suspect in twenty-six missing person cases. Also, there are several accounts of animal cruelty.

At 8:45 am there was a sharp knock on my office door. “Come in” I said as I cleared my throat. Two officers walked in proficiently, one stayed at the door and the other walked right up to my desk and extended his hand.

“Officer Drake here with your 9:00 appointment Doc.”

He was a large man, early thirties I would guess, clean shaven face, squinty eyes and cut jaw, looked ex-military if you ask me. I stood and took his hand.

“Thank you for being early, I trust you found my office ok?”

“Yes sir, no problems what so ever, are you ready for him then?”

I smiled politely and nodded, “I am thank you.”

With that he turned on a dime and walked to the door, and shouted “Alright Spense bring him in.” An officer came through the door dragging a man wearing handcuffs and what looked like white pajamas. He looked just like any normal man would, excluding the handcuffs and PJ’s. He looked at me, and then to the chair in front of my desk, then to the officer dragging him, then back to me. I smiled my sympathetic smile.

“Welcome to my office James, I’m Doctor Gerald Godfree.” I extended my hand. He mustered a half smile and raised his bound hands and accepted my gesture of introduction . . . so far off to a better start than most of my patients if I might add. I motioned to the chair next to him. “Please make yourself as comfortable as you can, given the circumstances.”

He sat carefully examining my desk and the chair, after sitting he raised his restraints and looked at the officer. Without a moments pause, the officer produced shackles and bound him to the chair. Making sure he cuffed his feet, also his arms behind the chair back, and then stood next to him.

Officer Drake then spoke, “Alright Doc we are right outside the door if you need us. Don’t hesitate for a moment to call.”

I could feel my shocked expression and tried to compose myself. “Of course officer, thank you for your time.” The officers left and we were alone. The blank expression on Mr. Colace’s face was one of repetition. He had been in a chair like this many times before and was going through the motions. I attempted conversation.

“Do you mind if I call you James or do you prefer a different name?”

His eyes never left mine as a bright smile appeared across his face.

“I prefer Willy, but what ever makes you comfortable to call me, you may.”

I smiled, “Very well Willy, would you like coffee or tea? Or water perhaps?”

He answered very politely, “Tea would be great. I’ve been craving it for days, thank you.”

I got him tea and coffee for me, he tasted it and nodded with approval. “Thank you doctor, it is excellent.”

We sat in silence as we both took sips from our beverages. We made eye contact and smiled, he was the first to speak.

“So, Doctor, what made you seek a profession aiding mentally injured individuals, I mean no disrespect by this question, I actually am very grateful that you have sought this profession. I hope to be able to one day be rehabilitated into society completely cured of my disorders,” he chuckled a little, “or at least have them managed.”

I smiled and dipped my head in sort of a half nod. “Well, forgetting the fact that I enjoy helping people and seeing them get better. I sometimes can find new disorders and issues in a troubled mind. I can use my research to help cure hundreds of other people suffering from the same new symptoms around the world. The more help I can do, I will always try to do.”

His expression changed to one of endearing, as if I could see respect for me in his eyes.

“Doctor I believe that is the best answer I have ever received from a shrink.” He said. We both shared a laugh. He seemed to ease up even more, he began massaging his hands in his cuffs. I have noticed this kind of behavior with several other of my patients. When they begin to accept someone into their lives they tend to notice physical pain more and subtly treat it as if to feel more comfortable with their current environment. . . it’s a good thing.

I couldn’t help noticing that he was showing no signs of violence or depression or any kind of hostility for that matter. The man I was sitting across from seemed to want to be a better person. Perhaps if I played my cards right I could honestly help him. I decided to switch to the defensive to see a reaction. “So, what are you hoping to accomplish by meeting with me, what goals should we make together to further you on the road to rehabilitation?”

He laughed a charming laugh, nodded his head several times, “Goals . . .” he said. “Goals are very important in life.” He kept nodding over and over looking at my desk. After several moments of silence, he spoke the words that would make me realize the severity of his condition.

“We have all the time in the world for goals, Gerald, but right now we should worry about the safety of your children and your ex-wife. I fear, the most ghostly of fears, a demented psychopathic serial murder is soon on his way to their home in the suburbs driving your vehicle.”

Fear washed over me as he finished speaking, I could feel my mouth hanging at his last word. My voice came in a whisper.

“Why would you think that?”

His eyes never left mine as he raised his unbound hands and smiled a smile I could never forget.