Dr. Charles Kroger sighed with relief as his last patient of the day walked out of the room. The day had been long and tiring; Thursdays were always the hardest. He stood up, groaning at the dull, throbbing pain in his stiff spine. "Blasted chairs," he grumbled. "They used to be comfortable; now they're just painful."
Passing by the front desk, he told the receptionist, "I'd like you to place on order for some new chairs for my therapy room. Get them from a different company than the current ones I have, but have them look exactly the same. I-"
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I think it's stupid that they have to look the same. Are you worried about that Monk guy, or whatever his name is? He's so annoying. I still don't see how you can even tolerate him. If I were you, I'd-"
Dr. Kroger did not wait to hear exactly what she would do in his place. He shot a piercing glare at her and raised his voice. "Well, it just so happens that you are not me! And no one is perfect Susan. Not even you. I am worried about Adrian, and I intend to make everything as comforting and familiar as possible for all of my patients, not just him. Besides, seeing as it's me who provides your paycheck, I would think that you'd be a bit more respectful!"
Susan and Dr. Kroger had been at each other's throats for about a month now. His other receptionist, Jessica, who had been a charming young lady, had been murdered. Unfortunately, Adrian Monk hadn't yet solved the case. Dr. Kroger hadn't been able to find anyone after that to fill the vacant position, even temporarily. He figured that people were a bit unsettled, thinking that a murder was just the type of strange thing to happen in a psychiatrist's office, with all the so-called "crazy nut-jobs." Then Susan had come along, a college student desperate for money to pay off her rent. Since there had been no one else willing to take the job, he'd immediately hired her, which had been a big mistake. He would have fired her by now, but no one else would take her job.
"Yeah. I mean, yes sir," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Just do it!" he said, losing his temper. He flung the door open and walked out into the cool night air. The doctor angrily got into his car and started the engine. As he started to pull out of his designated parking space, he mentally berated himself for being so easily aggravated. What kind of psychiatrist loses his temper? he thought. Even if I was irritated, I shouldn't get worked up like that. I'm a doctor, for Heaven's sake! Then he realized that he had forgotten his keys. He pulled his car back into his parking area and went inside. He walked by Susan, but he didn't say anything, not trusting himself to speak kindly.
"Did the famous doctor forget something?" she taunted. Dr. Kroger bit his tongue, stifling a rather unpleasant response he had in mind. He went into the therapy room, where he last remembered having his keys. When he spotted them on the floor, he bent to pick them up, but he felt a bit ill, so he decided to just rest for a bit. The weary psychiatric therapist sat down in one of the two uncomfortable chairs and tried to relax, as he had advised many of his own patients to do when under stress. For Dr. Kroger was under a truckload, no, a mountain of stress in his life. There was his bills, his patients, Susan, the chairs, his drifting family... Too much stress to think about. Even though he tried to relax, his troubled mind wandered to other dark realms of thought. Then, the man snapped out of it and chatised himself yet again. Am I really a good therapist or doctor if I can't even help myself with my own issues? The thought made him uneasy as he slowly slipped deeper and deeper into the iron grip of sleep.
His last thought before he sank into it's depths was, Stop it, Charles. You're being too hard on yourself.
Being a therpist is taxing.
The following morning, he woke up at seven o'clock. The first thing he saw was Adrian Monk's concerned face peering down at him. "Adrian!" he said, a bit puzzled, to say the least. Your session isn't until Monday. Even today, my first session isn't until..." He checked his watch. "Hmm, it's in a half hour. I better get ready. But what are you doing here?"
He watched as Adrian's expression morphed into one of sadness, pain, and confusion. "Dr. Kroger... You..." he swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.
Ever vigilant and wanting to help, he asked Adrian, "Yes? You can go on. What's troubling you, Adrian?"
Monk, with difficulty, answered, "You're... You're the primary suspect in a homicide!"
Only then did he look around and notice unfamiliar faces staring at him with ice-cold eyes.
A burly man with a mop of dark brown hair stepped forward. "Hello, old friend. You're under arrest. You'd better watch it, 'cause that softie Stottlemeyer's not here to defend you. I'm the new captain of the Homicide and Robbery Division in the San Francisco Police Department. Boys, let's bring him downtown." A cold feeling settled in the pit of the doctor's stomach when he recognized the man. It was Samuel McLean. How did this happen? the therapist thought.
Two policemen roughly pulled a very shocked Dr. Kroger up out of the chair and handcuffed him. As they started to march him to the door, Adrian ran after them, shouting, "No! You can't do this! We don't even have evidence yet! I know Dr. Kroger! He would never hurt anybody!" He continued to shout as he caught up and tried to make the other police officers let go of his doctor.
The new Captain McLean shouted, "Disher! Restrain him!" His voice was akin to that of a barking dog. "Better to have an innocent primary suspect in jail than a killer loose on the streets. That's what I always say."
The pain was evident in Randy's eyes as he ran to Monk's side and pulled him away from his beloved doctor, the one person besides Trudy he could seek comfort from. Adrian continued to struggle in Randy's grasp. "Let him go!" he yelled.
Dr. Kroger forcefully said, "Adrian!" Monk ceased to struggle and put his head in his hands, despairing. "Look at me." he coaxed. Adrian looked up and made eye contact with him. It seemed as if all the worry in the world was embodied in that single look, that depressed gaze. "Nothing bad is going to happen, alright? Everything's going to be fine." He continued, "Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Nothing bad is going to happen to me." He held eye contact a little longer. Then the doctor turned around and complied with the two police officers as they marched him out the door. Adrian still didn't look reassured.
Adrian Monk sank into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands once again. He spoke quietly, his voice shaky. "'Nothing bad is going to happen to me.' That's what Trudy always used to say."