Chapter 4: Assessments

Kit Walker Assessment.

Patient is 24 years old. Completed grades K through 12, no higher education. Patient is believed responsible for the murders of multiple women including his wife. Victims' bodies were discovered in a remote field drained of blood, decapitated. The murders may have started as a purging of racial guilt at what his conditioning would have viewed as an illicit coupling. Patient is manipulative. Diagnosis: Acute Clinical Insanity.

Oliver sat back at his desk, his face calm as he raised a cigarette to his mouth, puffing gently as he re-read what'd he'd written, satisfied at its accuracy. The meeting with Kit Walker had proved illuminating as well as tedious at points. The boy was obviously disturbed. The stories of little green men from outer space were easy enough to identify as the onset of some sort of psychosis. And he'd obviously murdered his own wife because of it.

He sighed aloud, wondering where along the way the young man's mind had snapped. It was always fascinating to discover the inner workings of each madman he encountered. He tapped his cigarette out before going to stand at the window behind his desk, looking out into the placid courtyard. A boy like that shouldn't be left on the streets free to do more damage.

But you should? After all you've done?

A dark voice in the back of his head spoke, chastising him and Oliver frowned. He was a compassionate man. He knew that his actions were a rash compulsion over years of familial abandonment...but still. The feeling of those women's skin brought a comfort that he had long been searching for. This Kit Walker's murder was nothing more than a psychotic break, unable to be contained for long. He wondered what Kit had done with head. Had he buried it? Kept it as a souvenir somewhere? What had become of the skin?

The skin.

At that thought, Oliver let his eyes fall closed, his body leaning back into the chair and a shiver running through his body. The office of Briarcliff was dark but his thoughts were much darker.

It had begun to rain and small drops slipped down the window like grey tears. Sighing at the dismal way the day had turned out Oliver lit a new cigarette, enjoying the rich taste that the tobacco brought before a sharp knock sounded at his door accompanied by some shuffling and murmured irritation.

Oliver turned, his eyebrows raised in surprise as Frank peered around the corner of the door into the room looking embarrassed at having bothered him.

"Doctor Thredson, I got a girl here. Monsignor said you had an appointment to see her? A Miss Hatcher?"

Oliver's mind whirred a moment in confusion, his lips pursing a moment before he recalled. Ah yes, the dark haired runaway. He nodded, motioning for Frank to bring the girl in. With a lot of commotion the girl was dragged into the office by Frank who looked completely unimpressed with the whole situation. She cried out, trying to kick Frank and do everything to evade his clutches.

"I told you I don't need to be here," Kathryn spat, trying to shrug away from a disinterested Frank. Oliver viewed that the woman's hands were bound behind her, leaving her looking quite helpless.

"The cuffs aren't necessary," Oliver commented.

"She's bit two orderlies so far," Frank said flatly. "We had to cuff her. Either that or sedation. She chose cuffs."

Oliver looked to the girl in surprise. She didn't seem the type to act out in such a manner. In the light of the morning he could see her much clearer. A pale face with full lips. Dark bangs hung in her eyes and her hair past her shoulders in errant waves. She looked like any other young woman in 1964. But her eyes held fast to his face, dark and full of anger and Oliver felt an inadvertent thrill go through his body at the sight. No one looked at him like that.

He drew his tall frame into the chair behind his desk and motioned for the girl to take a seat opposite him.

"Take a seat."

Hands still clasped behind her the girl took a deep sigh and sat down, her eyes never leaving Oliver's face. She took in the calm demeanor of the shrink. Knowing full well that he was the main reasons he had been caught yesterday. He was the reason she had been deloused and strip searched and subjected to a disgusting ritual of listening to Dominque on the record player of the common room on repeat.

She took in his face, noting the pale almost haunted look to him. His dark hair was in start contrast to the pale complexion. His eyes stared back at her through stylish glasses. He was very well put together. His tailored suit, the part in his hair a sharp and straight line. His mouth sensually parted as smoke curled around his lips. He pressed his cigarette into the ashtray before speaking.

"If we remove the cuffs I trust you'll be a bit more respectful?"

The girl said nothing that would indicate she was listening, but Oliver knew she was. He gave a small nod to Frank, watching as he uncuffed the girl, glancing at her face. Kathryn remained passive, drawing her hands into her lap and now looking to the floor. Oliver placed his cigarette on the ashtray absently, his face tranquil. Satisfied, Frank headed out the door of the office.

"I'll be just outside the door, Doc. If you need me just call."

Oliver nodded, his eyes never leaving the young woman in front of him. She looked impossibly miserable and very cognisant of what was going on. Most of the individuals here had the lazy, glazed look about them, slugging in movements from their medication. But she looked alert and awake.

"Miss Hatcher? I'm Dr. Oliver Thredson," Oliver leaned over and reached a hand across the desk for her to shake.

It was a customary action. One he replicated with all his patients. But with her he could almost feel the desperation in his body, urging her to touch him. To place those soft fingers around his. The feel of her silken wrist in the forefront of his mind. He could feel his hands all but twitching at the supressed desire to have her hand on his. For that sweet skin-to-skin contact that he constantly craved.

Kathryn glanced at the light, tapered fingers before her eyes glanced back at the cigarette still smouldering on the ashtray. He retracted his hand and noticed her glancing at his cigarette. Hoping to win some modicum of trust he produced a package from the breast pocket of his suit, motioning to the proferred cigarette in his fingertips with his eyes.

"Would you care for a cigarette?"

She didn't reply, instead crossing her arms in front of her with distaste, those same dark, angry eyes were on his face once more, taking him aback. He could feel the animosity coming off of her in waves. It was surprising to have someone dislike him this much without knowing him first. He'd most definitely felt that gaze from women before. Most notably when he had them around the throat in his basement. But this girl didn't know anything about him and yet she was looking at him as if she could read his very thoughts.

"I'm surprised at your rather vitriolic attitude towards me Miss Hatcher," Oliver said as he placed the cigarettes back into his suit pocket. "When I met you just yesterday you were asking for my help."

That got a rise out of her. She became instantly alive, her knuckles turned white as she gripped the arms of her chair almost leaping out of her seat.

"I asked for your help because I was being sedated against my will," She all but snarled. "I thought you might see that I was being falsely imprisoned. Then I realized you were just as bad as the rest of them, wanting to lock me up. Then I realized I was better off not wasting my time with you. But they made me come anyway. So here I am."

She straightened up as she spoke, looking to him with a dark grimace. Oliver was surprised at the girl's bravado in a place like Briarcliff. She had a supercilious attitude that told him even without words how she felt about him. He knew he couldn't let her see she was getting a rise out of him. Instead he shot her a close-lipped smile, looking down at his files as if he had something very important written down.

"I understand from the Monsignor that you may be suffering from some emotional disorders," Oliver continued as if she hadn't spoken. "While I'm here I'd love to help you all I can."

"I'll take a rain check," Kathryn replied with a lazy drawl, her eyes on the window, watching the rain come down lazily. Oliver leaned back in his chair, hearing it creak under his weight as he surveyed her.

"And why is that, Miss Hatcher?"

"Because you can't help me. Why you would agree to see me in the first place is beyond me. I only have to be here a month then I am being released."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Kathryn sniffed. "The Monsignor assured me."

"He did," Oliver quirked a mocking eyebrow in her direction. "The same Monsignor that asked you to be seen by me?"

Oliver let his words hang there a moment in stiff silence, seeing as the girl's doubts flashed across her face momentarily. Kathryn knew the weight of his words.

Play ball. If she didn't do what the Monsignor had prescribed she could be here for months if not years.

She sighed darkly before settling back into her seat, her entire air of confidence having leaked out of her like a deflated balloon. Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were suddenly wet. Oliver felt a pang of guilt for taking pleasure in taking her down a peg. That wasn't kind of him and it wasn't professional.

"I want to help you," Oliver offered gently, his voice low and soothing. "I've made it my profession to help others. But you need to meet me halfway."

Kathryn's hands balled into angry fists at the situation. She hated that she was here, stuck with this condescending man. He wanted to fix her?

"Fine."

Kathryn's head whipped up, her lips thinned in frustration.

"You want to know all about my life Dr. Thredson? Here it is. I was born March 9th, 1936. I grew up with a father who loved his job and a mother who was very socially connected. I was home a lot by myself and I enjoyed the solitude. No brothers or sisters. One dog, a border collie, named Maxine who died when I was seven. I had a normal childhood full of family vacations and Sunday night dinners and I grew up loving to read. So I went to college to become a librarian and so that I could explore the world on my own."

Oliver wrote quickly as she spoke, trying his best to keep his notes brief and his attention on the girl.

Patient is 28 years old. Completed grades K through 12. Completed college. Patient is believed to be suffering from acute depression and anxiety. Patient has idealized version of her childhood when it is apparent she was a latchkey child with minimal parental influence during formative years.

"Tell me more about what brought you to Briarcliff currently."

"My mother abandoned me here."

Oliver's pencil faltered a moment at her words, his eyes drawing to the girl's face as she continued.

"I was a reference librarian," Kathryn answered with a sigh. "Living on my own. Engaged to an English Professor. My father died a year ago suddenly and my world ended. I couldn't cope. As the months went on I lost my job and my apartment."

"I'm sorry to hear of your loss," Oliver offered solemnly. Kathryn continued, her voice steady and unflinchingly cold.

"When I got sick my fiancé left and took the ring with him. My mother was worried about me so she moved me back home. I didn't have any fight left in me to refuse. She was embarrassed by me. Unmarried, sick. A spinster. She wanted me to see someone; a therapist like you. But she wanted it to be through a religious institution. I tried a few counsellors at the church but they were little help. Then she read in the paper about Monsignor taking over Briarcliff she brought me here. Now I'm here, against my will, talking to you. A stranger who turned me in."

"You must understand from my perspective that you -"

"Are a patient here against my own will. Here for something as ridiculously plain as being sad and anxious. How would you feel if your father died and your Mother didn't want you around? Wouldn't you feel abandoned? Unwanted?"

Oliver's lips thinned slightly at her words, his jaw clenching tightly. Kathryn observed the change in the man before her, the coolness that had crept into his warm facade.

"I can empathize that you must be feeling anguished. Forgotten. But from your admittance I gather you also dabbled in suicidal ideation?"

Kathryn winced at his words, her mouth curving into an displeased line."Once. Sleeping pills. It was a mistake."

"May I ask what prompted this decision to take your life?"

Kathryn looked slowly into the face of the man opposite her. His eyes were warm and yet offered nothing of invitation. His lips seemed soft, yet his mouth was set in grim determination. It was if he were a creature that had studied how to look kind and welcoming and even trained his voice to have an even, soothing texture. But a creature that was nothing like that on the inside. He wanted information from her.

And while she wanted dearly to fight him and to tell him that he was the reason that she was locked up, she didn't. Because as Kathryn Heather looked into the gaze of Oliver Thredson , she realized that even a person who would listen to her only because he was getting paid was better than having no outlet at all. And so she softened, her jaw unclenching and her tone growing calmer.

"Do you want to know the real reason I'm here, doctor?"

The girl's body language had changed. She drew her legs up until they were crossed in front of her on the chair, her elbows on her bare knees as her skirt rode up. She balanced her chin on her hands and looked anywhere but at Thredson as she spoke. He leaned forward slightly, his hands folding on the desk in front of him.

"I'm here because my mother never wanted me," she saw his surprised glance. "Oh, she'll tell you otherwise, but my Mother views me as a blight. A useless embarrassment that she never wanted in the first place. Did you know that she wanted to abort me before my Father found out? Was that in your files?"

Oliver blanched slightly at the girl's words, the horror of her situation unfolding in front of him. He heard the hitch in the girl's voice before she continued.

"I didn't think so. Found that piece of news out when I was helping clean up after my father's death. A bunch of diaries in the attic. I thought it would be fun to read. Never told her I found them," Kathryn straightened a bit, her gaze levelling Oliver's. "So you see it was only my father who loved me. Never her. My father wanted to keep me. So when he died last year I felt like I was an orphan. Then Michael decided our engagement was too much work. So now I have no one left in the world who actually cared for me. And now I've been abandoned here and I'm even more alone than I ever thought possible."

I know that feeling.

Oliver felt his gaze drawn to the girl's reddening cheeks, her voice growing quiet as she lowered her face into her hands. He knew she was trying her best not to cry. He could feel the pain she was feeling acutely for he had gone through the same his entire life. He could almost remember being that young boy the other children mocked. Mocking him for his glasses and his keen mind and the fact that he was an orphan.

And while Oliver could have been comforted at the thought that he had been put into foster care for some valid reason, to have it confirmed that one's existence had never been wanted was too harsh a blow for anyone to be dealt with, especially a sweet and soulful creature like the one sitting accross from him looking near tears.

Without thinking he had reached across the desk, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.

Immediately she pulled from his touch, looking like a frightened animal, her eyes were wet and fixed on his face. Oliver brought his hand back quickly, sitting sharply on the chair and looking curiously into her face. How strange. He had always craved the physical contact he had been so denied. And now she was sitting here, a similar position of abandonment and his touch had upset her.

Interesting.

"I apologize if that upset you. I simply find your reaction to comfort to be surprising," Oliver replied keenly aware of the girl's discomfort.

"Intimacy has never been my strong suit," Kathryn said without emotion, her eyes drying as her eyes drew distractedly to the floor. "It's probably why Michael left."

"Michael?"

"My fiancé," Kathryn replied darkly. "He was an English professor. We met at work when he was doing some research. We used to listen to records and go to the theatre together. He was so fun at the start. But when my Father died he had little interest in being there for me. Too much work, I guess."

"How often were you two intimate?" Oliver inquired, his pencil raised and ready to jot down a number. When he was greeted with silence he glanced up to see the girl's pale face growing quite red.

"We weren't married."

"It's 1964 Miss Hatcher," Oliver smiled gently. "I'm not old fashioned enough to think that men and women don't know each other sexually before marriage."

Kathryn felt the hot sting of humiliation crossing her features, her hands fiddling awkwardly in her lap. Why was any of this necessary to know?

"Why does it matter?"

"I'm just trying to assess where your levels of comfort are around intimacy," Oliver replied stoically. "My motives are sincere and professional, I assure you, here in my office is not a place of judgement."

"I grew up in the church, Dr. Thredson," Kathryn finally replied quickly and quietly. "We were never intimate. It... It just wasn't done. Michael was always trying but I just couldn't. Something always made me stop. I don't really want to talk about this anymore."

Patient bears much guilt in terms of religious preference. This is likely where her discomfort with Briarcliff is rooted. Intimacy and anxiety are closely linked. The death of her father has caused the patient to withdraw into herself.

Oliver lowered the pencil gently, looking back to the girl with a look of genuine interest. "Do you believe you're sick, Miss Hatcher?"

"No," Kathryn replied honestly. "I think I'm just sad and maybe that I need to talk about my problems sometimes. I enjoyed talking with you until..." she trailed off, not wanting to mention the issue of intimacy.

Finally the ice began to break from her exterior, Oliver observed. This was quite common in patients coming in with such trauma. A hard front that covered a soft and desperately wounded interior. He could see the girl's posture had relaxed, her gaze now drawing to his own without challenge.

"Would you be willing to participate in treatment on your issues of depression, anxiety and intimacy?"

"What sort of treatment?" Kathryn asked warily, her face growing concerned.

"Exposure therapy, perhaps medication and above all talking just like we're doing here."

"What's exposure therapy?"

"It's a technique we use in behavioral therapy to treat anxiety. You are exposed to the thing that you fear without any danger associated. For example, say you feared rats. We would put you in a room with a rat in a cage until you were comfortable and so on and so on until by the end your anxiety of being in close proximity with the rat had depleted."

Kathryn could barely follow what he was saying but the Doctor was looking at her with a look that was almost comforting. Still something nagged at the back of Kathryn's head that something wasn't quite right.

"Are you reporting everything to Monsignor?"

"No," Oliver replied truthfully. "All patient files are kept confidential."

He saw the girl didn't look quite convinced and so he continued.

"Miss Hatcher, the only way that Monsignor can keep you in here r is if they have a current diagnosis. If we can make some headway into combating your illness, I can convince the him that you should be released. He'll have no choice but to comply."

"I don't know," Kathryn replied with a shrug, feeling her chest clench tightly at the thought of this exposure therapy and more talking about awful subjects. "It seems a bit...extreme. I don't know that I could do that. "

"It's completely your choice of course," Oliver replied quickly, lighting a new cigarette and puffing. "I would never force a patient to do anything they were uncomfortable with. I will say however, that the longer you delay treatment, the less time we have to work together. I don't know how long I'll be stationed here."

From behind her thick bangs Kathryn peered into the face of Oliver, her gaze distrustful. Why was this man even attempting to care about her situation? If the rumors were true he wasn't even assigned to her case.

"You'd take me on as a patient?"

"I would."

"Why do you care?"

"I care for the health of all my patients," Oliver lied.

He obviously couldn't admit to her that her case had drawn a special interest in him. If she had been anyone else he would have administered some drugs as a band aid solution and sent her skipping back to Monsignor. But with her stories, her life... he knew there was something more there. He could see the indecision on the girl's face and knew he would have to be aggressive.

"I see that this may not be right for you and that is completely fine," Oliver put out his cigarette, calling out to the closed door. "Frank? I believe the patient and I are done."

Frank entered into the room boredly making his way to Kathryn, the cuffs swinging from his right hip. Kathryn licked her lips in indecision, her gaze going from Frank and then back to Oliver.

"Alright," she murmured to Oliver. "I'll do it."

Oliver smiled, standing as Frank approached. He looked to Kathryn who rose slowly to her feet, her body rigid, wondering if she had made the right decision. Oliver held a kind hand out to her once more. A test of sorts to see her willingness to try.

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Hatcher," Oliver smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow at nine a.m. for our next appointment."

Kathryn looked to the pale hand in front of her, thinking a moment and taking a deep breath before slowly slipping her right hand into his grip. She was surprised to find that despite its cool temperature that it was quite fine to have his hand around her own. It was the large, smooth hand of a scholar. Oliver felt a shiver go through him at the feel of her skin, relishing in is warmth, comfort and above all its softness.

But the moment was soon broken as Frank grabbed her wrist, pulling her from Oliver's grasp, guiding her out the door and back into the madness of Briarcliff.