I know there are at least two active stories that at first glance, are similar to this one. I promise this one is different and I'm excited about it! I don't write male protagonists often and this should be fun. I hope you'll enjoy it.
Connor Jamison is the newest doctor at a private psychiatric hospital where Spencer Reid is a patient with schizophrenia. Uncomfortable with the diagnosis, Jamison digs deeper and discovers that Reid might have an enemy closer than anyone could have imagined.
Edge of Sanity
The Longview Mental Health Hospital was a private institute on the of edge of one of the wealthier sections of Washington DC. It more closely resembled a four-star hotel than a long-term care facility. It was the kind of place Dr. Connor Jameson looked forward to settling into.
Transferring from a similarly prestigious hospital in New York City, Jamison was moving back home to DC to be closer to his twin sister Nadine. She recently lost her husband who was serving oversees in Afghanistan and was now left to raise her own set of ten-year-old twins. Since their parents died a couple years ago and with no other close relatives in the area, he was happy to move home. Jameson had divorced his wife of ten years less than three months ago due to irreconcilable differences. Their daughter Hailey died of brain cancer when she was seven and they never really got over it. At the age of forty, Jameson was looking forward to the change and building a new life where he grew up.
The receptionist who greeted him at the polished hand-carved desk looked like a model.
"You're Dr. Jameson," she said. "I'll inform Director Korf."
She sent a message on an expensive looking Mac and another woman who looked like a model appeared in high heels.
"I'm Selina," she said. "I'll take you to Director Korf."
"Thank you," he said.
They walked by well-tended plants, high quality prints of paintings along with what looked like a few originals. The colors were muted, but in a stylish way that didn't scream "institution." Jameson was impressed by what he saw.
After walking by another secretary who could work for a modeling agency, Jameson met Director Mitch Korf. Slightly balding in his mid-fifties, Korf was dressed in a sharp Armani suit. His smile was broad, and he presented a friendly persona.
"Dr. Jameson," he said. "Come on in."
They shook hands and sat down.
"Welcome to LMHH as we like to call the place around here," he said. "How was your trip in from New York?"
"Uneventful," he said. "I look forward to starting work here."
"Great," he said. "In your office you'll find your patient list on your computer along with a schedule. Your secretary's name is Leah and she'll be there to meet your every need within reason."
"Excellent," Jameson said.
"This is a pretty lateral move for you," Korf said. "Working at the Schultz Institute and then coming here."
"That was completely intentional," Jameson said with a smile. "You're in same tier of rankings for the best mental health facilities in the US."
"Your credentials are pretty impressive too," he said. "Harvard Medical school, Harvard undergrad on scholarship."
"Thank you," he said.
"I'll message Leah to come over to give you a tour," he said playing with his phone. "There is a staff meeting at ten, take the time before then to get familiar with the facilities."
"Great," Jameson said standing up.
"I think you're going to be a terrific addition, here," Korf said standing up also.
There was a knock on the door and another secretary/modeling agency worker appeared.
"Leah!" Korf said. "This is Dr. Jameson."
"It's a pleasure to meet you Doctor," she said.
"Likewise," she said with a broad smile. "Let's go for a tour."
"Sound's great," he said.
"Have fun," Korf said. "I'll see you around."
…
An Olympic-sized swimming pool, state-of-the-art gym, a game room with high-tech toys, and a dining room with chandeliers were just some of the features of LMHH. Jamison had read up on the facilities, but it felt surreal to actually see how high-end the institute was.
Jameson whistled as he entered his office. It was larger than his last one and had a flat screen TV in the corner.
"There's a catalog of furnishings on your desk," Leah said. "Pick out whatever you like."
"Thank you," he said taking a seat behind his desk. "When I start seeing patients?"
"This afternoon," she said. "Your full schedule begins next week."
"Great," he said. "I'll message you if I need anything."
"I look forward to assisting you in whatever way I can," she said and left.
Jameson began to review his patient list. A "Spencer Reid" stood out as a patient admitted six months ago who tried to commit suicide two months ago. Diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, he presented the typical signs, which included hearing voices, delusions, and a feeling of someone watching him. The age was a little surprising as symptoms usually appeared earlier. Of all his patients, Jameson was the most interested in meeting Spencer Reid.
…
The place may resemble a luxury hotel, but it was still a mental health facility. Lots of paperwork, consulting with other doctors, and meeting with the staff was all par for the course. It felt good to do some actual doctor-related work.
After meeting with a mild-mannered young woman with disorganized schizophrenia, he met with Spencer Reid. He was dressed in some gray t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The t-shirt showed the bandages on his wrists from the suicide attempt.
"Spencer Reid," he said and waved as he read the man was germophobic. "I'm Dr. Connor Jameson. No relation to whiskey brewery, unfortunately."
"John Jameson was a Scottish businessman who managed the Stein family Bow Street distillery in seventeen eighty-six," he said in a low flat tone without making eye contact. "He is also the great grandfather of Guglielmo Marconi."
"Fascinating," he said brightly, "Have a seat."
"What happened to Dr. Bowman?" Reid asked staring at the floor.
"Remember, he explained that he was retiring," he said.
"I thought he'd come to see me though," he said sadly.
Delusion of self-importance. It wasn't uncommon with paranoid schizophrenics.
"Dr. Bowman sends his best," he said. "I'll do my best to treat you to the best of my abilities."
He looked at Jameson briefly.
"You're forty years old, aren't you?"
"You're good," Jameson said brightly.
"I'll be forty in five hundred eighty-four days," he said sadly. "I used to be someone. I used to work for the FBI. Now I'm here, like my mom."
"You still are someone Spencer," Jameson said with determination. "You are still capable of great things and have a wonderful support network. If my age is a problem, you can switch to another doctor."
"No," he said shaking his head vigorously. Jameson noticed a lock was missing in the back of his scalp. "No, you'll due."
"Okay," he said. "I look forward to getting to know you."
"Until you retire and get sick of seeing me too," he said darkly.
"That won't happen any time soon," he said.
"But you will," he said. "You all get to leave while I'm still stuck in here."
"Anything can happen in the next decades," Jameson said. "You need to try to stay positive."
"You try staying positive while stuck in here."
Jameson sighed mentally. For all the amenities, model executive assistants, and high-end finishes, this was still viewed as a prison to some patients and Longview Mental Health Hospital. It was Jameson's job to try to convince them otherwise.