CHAPTER TWO
I was a lousy doctor. On my first day in and I went through the motions of greeting my new patients and asking them perfunctory questions, straining to focus on the person in front of me instead of my troubled first patient.
"…or was it an accident? Even now, I don't know. Accident or not, I'm a horrible mother."
Silence.
I snapped myself out of my thoughts and looked up from my pad of scribbles at the middle-aged woman before me. She looked as if she was waiting for me.
"I see…and how do you feel about that?" I looked down and reminded myself of her name from the top of my page. "…Jessica."
My inattentiveness dried her tears instantly, and she sat back on the couch, giving me a look of reproach. After that embarrassment, I worked extra hard to put Isabella Swan out of my head. But it wasn't an easy task.
I left my office for lunch, and I couldn't help it when an image of her face popped into my mind, as I looked down at the chocolate pudding placed on my tray. I scooped the pudding into my mouth, and I had to admit, it was pretty darn good.
"Dr. Cullen, may we sit?"
Dr. Molina was standing in front of me with another person dressed in a long white coat. It was a woman, but I had to shake my head for a second to wake me from my thoughts enough that I could accommodate my lunch mates.
"Absolutely," I replied, gesturing to the seats in front of me.
"Dr. Cullen, I'd like you to meet Dr. Gallo. She just came down from Alaska to join us," Dr. Molina said.
"It's pronounced Gal-lo," this young, red-haired woman corrected. "Tanya. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Cullen."
She put out her hand for me to accept, and I shook it, even though she squeezed a little too intimately, rubbing her thumb along the backside of my hand in a way that instantly sent warning signals to my brain.
"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Gallo."
It was immature, but I purposely said her name incorrectly, hoping she would find me irritating over charming. The last thing I needed was a coworker hoping for a romantic attachment. I never dated anyone I worked with. Period.
"Just call me Tanya. I know my name is hard for some to pronounce," she said, waving off my obvious error.
I returned to finish my pudding, hoping to get out of there quickly.
"So, how's it been going, Dr. Cullen? Are you settling in alright? How have your patients been?"
Now would have been the best time to try and see if Dr. Molina could transfer Isabella Swan per her request, but I wanted to take one more crack at her, so I refrained.
"It's been great. The patients have been very nice and tolerant with me, as I get to learn more about them. In fact, you'll have to excuse me, but I need to prep for my final patient," I said, standing to my feet and gathering up the trash on my tray.
"Last patient of the day. I miss the easy life," Dr. Gallo laughed. "When do your nightshifts begin?"
"Wednesday evening. We thought we'd let the young lad wet his feet before throwing him in," Dr. Molina answered for me.
"It was a pleasure," I said, nodding my head and then taking the tray to the trash receptacle and discarding the uneaten portions. I placed my tray in the bin with the rest of the dirty trays and dishes and quickly left before any more distractions occurred.
All in all, my first day was easy, interesting, and met my expectations. I looked up at the foreboding building one last time and wondered briefly of the patients inside. Well, one patient in particular.
I slid into my car and placed the key into the ignition. I looked up at the building, and my eye caught something. On the second floor, there she was. I was far enough away, I could barely make out the details on her face, but I knew it was Isabella Swan.
I shook my head slightly and pulled away, heading toward my new apartment. When I walked in at my place, I saw the blinking red light on my message machine. No doubt, it would be my mother. I pushed the button before going into the kitchen to make a light dinner.
"Edward…I was just calling to see how it went. It drives me absolutely bonkers that you refuse to get a cell phone. Somehow, I feel the situation should be reversed. You should be nagging me to come into the twenty-first century. Anyway, please, call us back. Your father will be home soon, and we'd love to hear all the details."
I sighed and continued to make my dinner, deciding to call my mother back later. I would wait for my father to be absent from the house before making that call. I knew my father couldn't have cared less how my day in a mental rehabilitation center had gone.
It wasn't that I didn't get along with my father. I could just tell he was disappointed I hadn't decided to follow in his footsteps. We'd had words over the years regarding my decision to choose a soft specialty. Mental health, according to the great Dr. Carlisle Cullen, was the easy route. No doubt, he considered my path the lazy man's choice.
He had pissed me off one too many times throughout the years, constantly going on and on at the dinner table at me to choose something less embarrassing. So, I decided one day to write up a whole case study and diagnose my father. I told him if he continued to berate me for my choices, I would publish it for the entire world to see. What a fun Thanksgiving that was.
As I said, I was a minimalist. I didn't have much, but for what I did have, I tended to go high-end. For example, my bed. The very best bed in the world if you were to ask me. It felt like I was sleeping on a cloud. It was thoughts of my bed that early Tuesday morning which reminded me the next evening would be spent at the hospital. I was allowed to get rest if there was nothing going on, but I was not looking forward to sleeping on anything but this bed.
After the disastrous session with Miss Newton, who had realized I hadn't been paying attention to her while she had poured her heart out, I forced myself to be a much more attentive doctor my second day. I read through the first page on all my new patients and sat in my chair away from my desk, so my eyes wouldn't wander to the file that remained on the top of my pile. I knew if I was going to prove my father wrong, I needed to be at the top of my game.
I would admit, I was most excited for Wednesday to come, even if I wasn't looking forward to sleeping on my couch that evening. My first session was to be with Isabella Swan. I hoped I could get a little further with her. However, when the time came, there was no knock on my door.
Knowing she tended to knock lightly, I opened the door to double-check that she wasn't standing outside it. She wasn't there. I knew protocol would say to call security to go and locate her and bring her in, but I didn't want to do that. That would be a little too abrasive.
I ventured out into the hallways, where I wandered through until I reached the common room. From the corner of the room, I looked around at every patient, hoping I would catch sight of her, but she was not there. It was cold outside. Not raining, but cold enough to where I was surprised when I finally did look down towards the gardens to see she was there.
Sitting on a bench, wrapped in a coat and holding a large pad on her lap, she looked to be drawing something. I didn't have my coat with me. I could go back and get it, but I was afraid she wouldn't be there when I returned. So, braving the cold in my sweater, I opened the door and headed down the steps to the garden.
Isabella was so focused on her work that she didn't even notice me until I was standing right in front of her. Her eyes looked up, and she grimaced once again. Not a grimace because I had found her, but one of pain, reminiscent of the look she had given me the first time we had met.
She sighed and focused back down on her paper.
"We're scheduled for a session…" I began to say.
"I know," she replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly.
I looked at her pad and was amazed at the detail in her work. She was drawing out a whole scene. It looked like the gardens we were standing in, and there was a girl she had drawn who was bending over the rosebushes, smelling a flower.
"You're very good."
She ventured a look at me, taking a deep breath before she did so. "Thank you."
"Do you mind if I sit?"
"Yes," she said shortly before huffing in irritation, but then she continued. "You're going to freeze out here, dressed as you are."
"Then…come inside?"
She focused on her drawing and shook her head. "I already told you I didn't want to work with you."
I sighed and shifted on my feet. "I know, but…I'm new…and it'd look really bad if I were to ask for a transfer this soon. Can you…help me out and at least give me a few sessions before I go back to Dr. Molina?"
She concentrated on her pencil, shading in a certain portion rather harshly. "How many?"
I shrugged. "Five?"
"Three," she negotiated.
"Four."
"Three," she repeated, looking up through her lashes determinedly.
"Fine. Three. Can we go inside now?"
She sighed and grabbed her drawing book and pencil, standing in one fluid motion before awkwardly moving around me, so she would be sure not to touch me as she passed.
I followed after her, going back up the stairs and into the warm common room. When we finally made it to my office, she stood back, waiting for me to unlock the door and let her in. Once again, she chose the seat closest to the door and farthest from any place I could sit.
I took my seat and pulled out my notebook to begin.
"So, you said whatever happened to you, it occurred around the age of five. Was it always as difficult to handle as it is now?" I asked, knowing she probably would be reluctant to finally give me what I sought. Give me the answer at the back of the book.
"When I was little, I thought I was having nightmares. I went to live with my grandmother, and she had a therapist see me. They determined it was contributed to my traumatizing experience. At first, I tried to talk about it, but everyone seemed upset when I did. The more I spoke, the more upset it made my grandmother…the doctors…until finally, I just stopped. I could tell it was taking a toll on my grandmother, and I didn't know what would happen to me if I continued, so I pretended that everything was fine.
"However, after my grandmother passed, and with my history, the state thought it'd be best if I went into a facility for a little while. I was eight years old, and the kids in the facility scared me more than if I were on the street. I did everything I could to get out. I lied. I pretended to be the opposite of what they thought. It worked."
I looked up from my notepad to see her gazing at my plant, as she seemed to be reliving her past.
"And…you still won't tell me."
Her gaze broke immediately, and the sides of her mouth turned slightly up at the audacity of my question. She shook her head softly.
"You know, this is going to be really hard for me to help you if you won't give me the most important factor."
"You can't help me, Doc," she said strongly, her eyes boring into mine.
"Maybe I can. Maybe there are some exercises I can give you to help when you experience…have an episode."
She was already shaking her head. She jumped up from her chair and walked away, so I could only see her back.
"Don't you get it?" she asked, looking at the wall. "There's nothing that can help me. I'm cursed. God himself would have to come down here and take away this affliction. I can't get away from it. There's only one way…"
"I don't believe that. If this happened to you, and you say you didn't have this issue before the accident, then there has to be something that can take it away."
She stood silent, facing the wall.
"Isabella."
"Bella," she corrected.
"Sorry, Bella. What do you have to lose by telling me? You say I won't believe you. Are you afraid if you say it, I might try and medicate you? Put you in a more secure ward? I promise you, if you confide in me, I won't do it. You have my word."
The silence was deafening, and yet, as long as she was quiet, it meant she was still contemplating my offer. Ultimately, she scoffed and turned back to face me. Bella's eyes traveled across my face, as she searched for whatever answer she needed.
She slowly walked toward me, never taking her eyes off me, and sat down on the couch in front of me.
"Why did you choose this career?"
I shrugged a little and looked at the carpet until I could come up with an answer. Oddly enough, I had been asked that very question several times throughout my life, and yet now, I suddenly didn't know how to answer it.
"My father is a doctor. My whole family…they're all doctors. I guess it was in my blood to help others. Blood and guts didn't fascinate me as much as the mind. I want to help people, and I don't necessarily feel that I have to do so by cutting someone open," I replied.
She laughed shortly. "But isn't that what's expected of you? Cut me open, Doc, so you can find my soul to bare? The only way to find out what's wrong with me is to use your metaphorical scalpel, rib spreader…scissors…all in the hope that you can perform adequately enough to save me?"
I crossed my legs stiffly. "I never thought of it like that. I guess…in a way, you're right."
She nodded, but she didn't sit back, content with winning.
"And what happens when you fail? Consider it a complication and move on to the next patient? Meanwhile, I'm the worse for wear. I think, after everything I've been through, I know what's best for me. I appreciate your desire to do some good in the world. I wish I could say everything you do will make an impact in this world, but I don't want to lie to you, Doc. You should've followed in your father's footsteps. It'll be your downfall that you didn't."
Her words jabbed me straight to the heart. I had been taught in school and residency that some patients liked to play mind games. Say things to misdirect you. Get you to stop focusing on their problems by making you think of your own. However, I didn't get that vibe from Isabella. I didn't believe she was saying her harsh words to misdirect me. Her tone. Her body language. The small, sad twinkle in her eye. It all told me to take her words as a warning.
Isabella slowly sat back on the couch and sighed. She looked over at the clock and then pushed herself up.
"That's two," she said, walking to the door and leaving.
Meanwhile, I was so lost in her words, I hadn't even processed she had gone until the door's lock clicked as it shut. I stood up from my place and walked back over towards my desk. I ripped my notes from our session off the pad, ready to place them with her file, when I realized that all I had written was the date and a big question mark.
I crumpled the paper up and prepared to toss it into the wastebasket. Isabella's file lay mocking me on the desk, and an internal war was brewing within me. I was tempted, knowing I would have all the answers I needed if I would just crack it open.
I only had one session left. If I gave in and threw out my process, I could find out within minutes what Isabella was hiding. Only one session left…
I sat down and grabbed her file, opening it to the back, where the early evaluations would be. Evaluations of Isabella when she had been a child. I opened it, but then I slammed it back closed, instantly berating myself for being weak and lazy. I would get the answers I sought, and I would get them from the horse's mouth, instead of reading some file colored by the thoughts of former therapists and doctors.
A knock on my door broke me from the angel and devil on my shoulders, and I briefly hoped it was Isabella coming back to give me even one morsel of information. I opened the door eagerly but saw it was my next appointment.
"Miss Newton?" I said with the smallest hint of a question in my voice."
"Mrs. Newton…" she replied, nearing tears for my faux pas. "You know…Michael and I are still married. Technically. There's still a chance he'll forgive me…"
I offered her a small smile and opened my door to allow her to come in.
After the disastrous last session I had with Miss Newton…I mean Mrs. Newton, I worked extra hard to concentrate on the person in front of me, knowing how fragile she was right now. With Mrs. Newton…Jessica…I didn't have to work hard at obtaining the answers. She was an open book and eager for me to spend all my time reading.
Yes, Jessica had been through some horrible traumatic past doings. She was the kind of person I was expecting to help, and yet, why couldn't I focus on her? Why did she have to follow Isabella? Why hadn't I refilled the tissue box to keep her from wiping her tears and snot on my leather couch?
It seemed like the longest sessions of my life to get to the end of my day. Even though my day technically wasn't over until tomorrow evening, my brain was fried. I wasn't hungry, so I didn't get dinner. I wanted to curl up on my couch, but before I took a nap, I needed to find some cleaning solvent.
Still being new, I wasn't sure where I would find what I needed. So, I headed off towards the elevator in hopes of locating a member of the cleaning crew, or at the very least, go back down to the main office and seek help from reception.
I was crossing through the main common room when my eyes caught sight of Isabella sitting in the very corner where she had been when I had seen her before climbing into my car my first night. My feet stopped, and instead of continuing on towards the secure door, I found myself heading towards the corner.
Once again, Isabella was working on the drawing she had been doing earlier that day.
"Nearly finished?" I asked, hoping to happen into a conversation.
Isabella closed her eyes and breathed deeply before she looked up.
"Aren't you supposed to be gone by now?"
"I'm pulling the nightshift. I was looking for someone who could point me toward the cleaning supplies. I saw you sitting here and thought I'd wish you a goodnight."
"No, you thought you could get in a free session. One off the books to turn our agreed-upon three into four."
I sheepishly smiled, and thankfully, she smiled back before shaking her head and rolling her eyes.
"Sorry, Doc. The common room closes in ten," she replied.
I nodded and pulled the chair across from her out and sat down.
"Ten is all I need."
She returned to focusing on her drawing.
"You know, you could save yourself a lot of grief and just read my file. Everything you need to know would be in there."
"I know. Believe me, I'm tempted, but I believe the best way I can help you is to get the story from you. I want to formulate my own opinion, and those files are colored certain ways depending on the doctor."
I saw her eyes look up and then move towards someone to the left of us. Isabella glanced back down at her pad and began to shade with her pencil. I looked at the person she was following and saw her drawing was that of the petite nurse walking around the common room, picking up items and speaking to other patients as she went.
Bella saw me looking at the object of her picture and asked, "Do you know her?"
I shook my head. "No, I haven't had the opportunity to meet everyone yet."
She nodded her head. "She's nice. She's…young and just had a baby a few months ago. A little boy, I think."
I nodded my head, surprised that she would know so much.
"Are you friends?"
Isabella shook her head. "No, but as I said, she's been nice, and I can tell by how the patients react to her. They all like her. The staff…they all like her, too."
I wondered why she was talking to me about the young woman with the short blonde hair and teeth so white that, when she smiled, we could see them all the way from across the room. Maybe Isabella liked this girl and didn't know how to tell her. Maybe she was fighting with her own identity
Isabella finished her paper and tore it out of her book. She leaned over the table and looked directly at me.
"You want me to tell you my big secret?" she asked, folding the paper once and creasing it harshly with her finger. "You'll tell me whatever you think I want to hear. Tell me that you'll believe me. Promise that you can help. But you can't. So now, a demonstration."
She slid the paper over to me and left it in front of my hand.
"Tomorrow evening, when she gets in her car to leave for the night…it'll be the last time you'll ever see her. If you believe me, believe what I'm telling you, will you warn her? Delay her for a moment and change her destiny? Or perhaps, you'll choose not to believe me, and then once you see…your mind will do everything it can to formulate a reason for how I could know something no one could possibly know."
She pushed away from the table and stood up.
"I wash my hands, Doc," she said, rubbing her hands together. "She's now officially your problem."
Isabella left, as I sat there with a dry mouth, my eyes unable to stop watching, as the young woman with the golden hair floated around the room with a smile on her face. My stomach growled, upset from the lack of dinner, I think. Or maybe it grumbled because it was pained from my body coursing with indecision.
Isabella believed she knew when a person was going to die? She believed she was psychic? I didn't need to read her file. I knew exactly what it said. Every doctor would've dismissed her claims. Prescribed her pills that would never work. Well, they wouldn't have worked if she did indeed have a gift. But, did I believe her? Or was it now my job to talk her down from her delusions?
AN: Thank you so much for your interest. I really appreciate all your kind words. I hope you will continue to enjoy this story.
Thank you to DOLLYBIGMOMMA for taking her time to edit this.
STORY IS MINE. CHARACTERS BELONG TO STEPHENIE MEYER.