Mack (King #4)(2)

There was nothing here I hadn’t seen during my last four years working at County, which meant most of these patients were textbook. Roughly seventy percent would respond to standard psychotherapy treatments. The other thirty percent were statistically likely to require life-long care, show little to no improvement, or require a treatment we weren’t able to provide.

My job was to ensure the center ran efficiently and benefited as many patients as possible.

“And that’s the tour!” Shannon said cheerfully, her brown eyes reflecting a different emotion altogether, while we stood at the end of the hallway.

Suddenly, my gaze was pulled down the immaculately polished, beige tile floor, gravitating toward the last room on the right. The small frosted-glass window was completely dark.

“Who’s in that room?” Room twenty-five.

“Which room, Dr. Valentine?”

A hard shiver sprinted through my body, and I rubbed my goose-bump-covered arms. “It’s a little cold in here, isn’t it?” Yes, we wanted to watch our expenses, but this was a little much.

Shannon shrugged. “I feel okay.”

Hmm. “I’ll look into the thermostat later.” I then pointed at room twenty-five. “And that? The room with no light inside despite it being ten in the morning and our facility having a strict rule about keeping to a schedule.” Routines were important for everyone—sane or not. So was sunlight. And no, the room couldn’t be empty. Not possible given we were full and turning people away from our lovely sanctuary of mental healing.

“Oh. That room…” Her eyes shifted a bit. “That’s Dr. Wilson’s patient.”

“Does the patient have an aversion to light?” Because obviously the curtains were drawn inside and the lights were off.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So then?” I asked.

“Well, that patient is a little…” She leaned in to whisper, “He’s difficult.”

“I’m not following.” After all, that was our purpose: dealing with difficult people or people with difficulties.

She drew a breath so deep that her sagging posture almost looked correct for a moment. Almost. “He won’t speak to anyone, so Dr. Wilson gave us instructions to leave him alone until he’s ready.”

I lifted my chin and pushed my glasses back up my nose. “If the patient isn’t willing to engage in his own healing process, then we can’t help. Send him home or transfer him to County.” This facility was private, but operated mainly on grants from the state or donations, so we had a mandate in our charter to process a certain number of patients each year.

Shannon blinked at me.

“Are you confused?” I wasn’t sure what her blinking meant—not so obvious to someone like me.

“Dr. Wilson was very clear; the patient is not to be disturbed.”

Ah! Meaning, Shannon didn’t want to upset Dr. Wilson. “I see, Shannon. My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to put you in the middle.” This was a classic example of how my brain worked. The human-feelings element was generally an afterthought. I did try my best, however, to be aware of such things. I truly did. It was why I’d adopted a dog to help cultivate my ability to pick up on subtle emotional cues. So far, Bentley only stared a lot, as if waiting for me to do something.

I continued, “I’ll ask Dr. Wilson myself about Mr. Room Twenty-Five later. No action required on your part.” I offered Shannon a smile, hoping she’d know I meant no harm. I’m just a robot soul in a people suit. Don’t be frightened, human.

As we concluded the tour and walked away, I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder at that little dark window. Why was it so fascinating to me?

I shook it off, and Shannon then showed me back to my office—a bland-looking rectangle with a wall of windows facing the parking lot. Suited me fine. I wasn’t into fancy feng shui. Or mood lighting. Or anything that wasn’t functional. Desk, two chairs, computer, bookcase, done.

We discussed the schedule for the week, including staff meetings and patient progress reports. For someone like me, it was all very logical and simple. I still was unsure, however, how the staff and doctors twice my age would respond to my…well, youthful appearance.

After Shannon took her leave, I sat at my desk, staring at a pile of paperwork, wishing I could feel more excited. This was a big accomplishment, something to be proud of—my parents certainly were. And my best friends, Melody and Sue, were certainly impressed. But like every milestone in my life, I felt little more than like I was checking off boxes while waiting for my real life to commence.

This is your life, Ted. Stop wishing it to be something else.

I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started making my action plan for the week. I found lists to be soothing. But only just a little.

#1. Review doctor/patient load

#2. Have Shannon set up one-on-one meetings with staff

#3. Review cash flow with accountant

And…oh!

#4. Talk to Dr. Wilson about Mr. Room Twenty-Five…





CHAPTER TWO





I spent the rest of my first week checking off my list: reviewing the books with Martha, the head accountant; planning my first staff meeting; and scheduling those one-on-ones with the other doctors—schedules were extremely tight, so Shannon was doing her best to clear space. I noted immediately how understaffed we were, and that meant doctors had too many patients. I’d have to cut costs—bye-bye resort-style meditation gardens—and hire additional doctors. Turning away more patients was not an option.