Genevieve Chesterton had great doubts at her doctor Dr. Steven Westmeyer's recommendation. She had been to many so-called "quacks" before and in her estimation Westmeyer and this other doctor he had recommended was just yet another in a long list of doctors that couldn't help her. Her fine leather purse was crammed with a variety of pill bottles she'd take at different intervals throughout the day. Genevieve Chesterton had, as she said to her friends and colleagues, many worries and needed to calm her nerves. What she didn't mention to them was often she would get flustered and suffer frequent bouts of anxiety attacks, irrational waves of fear and there times where it felt her heart was ready to pound out of her chest.
What she couldn't understand was why she was experiencing these distressing and sometimes painful bouts. She seemed to have all the comforts a wealthy widow could enjoy: opulent furs, beautiful cars, jewelry cases filled with jewels, plenty of cash to buy whatever whim possessed her and of course an entourage of friends. But amid the pleasures and comforts, the occasional panic attack would come, at first rarely – then more frequently, to the point where she sought the medical help of the young but brilliant Dr. Westmeyer.
He filled order after order of medication and ran a battery of medical tests, but as all the tests came back negative and she proved to be perfectly healthy, Westmeyer finally shook his head.
"There is only so much I can do for you, Mrs. Chesterton. But you see, my expertise is in the body. You need someone whose expertise is in the mind"
Genevieve Chesterton round, matronly face flushed with anger.
"Are you saying all this pain and discomfort I'm feeling is all in my mind?"
"I'm not saying it's totally in your mind, Mrs. Chesterton. In fact, the way the mind can affect the body is as real – even more so – than any physical ailment. I'm going to recommend a psychiatrist to you. He's upcoming in the field and brilliant, a close colleague and friend of mine. He will help you in any possible way he can."
Westmeyer wrote his name and handed it to Mrs. Chesterton. She took the paper suspiciously into her bejeweled hand.
"You know I don't believe in such mind-doctors Dr. Westmeyer. I think it's all nonsense and a good waste of money."
"I think if anyone could help you, he can. He is quite unlike the other psychiatrists – but I think he could help you more than most. His speciality is in Fear."
"So you say – then I guess I should look into him, just this once."
She crumpled the piece of paper into her fine leather purse next to her numerous pill bottles and had all but forgotten about the doctor, that is until her next panic attack, which was the most brutal yet. It happened when she was seated within her opulent apartment, on her lush red velvet sofa reading the latest romance novel by Angeline Calency. Suddenly the room began to spin, her heart thundered in her chest and a terrible crushing weight made it almost unbearable to breathe. She knew this wasn't a heart attack. Westmeyer had run many tests and her heart was as healthy as 20-year-old girl at the peak of her health. No, it was something else.
Desperately she fumbled for the bottle in her purse, opened it and as her breath became short and ragged, and her hand cold and sweaty, the bottle slipped and the pills scattered like tiny white confetti on the deep maroon rug. She bent down to reach the pills, but she was almost out of breath, almost about to pass out.
Call Gotham Hospital, she thought.
No! came another, odd, strange voice in her head. Call that new doctor.
Genevieve Chesterton, have you gone mad?
Yes, precisely, said the other voice. You are going mad. Call him now.
Strangely the panic subsided enough that she was able to steady herself to uncrumple the paper and dial the phone number.
This is insane Genevieve Chesterton. He probably is not even in and you should be calling the hospital right now instead of this young quack.
"This is Dr. Jonathan Crane, how may I help you?"
Genevieve Chesterton was too stunned at first. A doctor answering his own phone, how odd is that? Most doctors have a receptionist.
"This is – this Mrs. Genevieve Chesterton. I – Dr. Westmeyer recommended me –"
"Oh, yes, he told me you would call. Panic attacks. My sole study is in Fear and overcoming Fear. If you wish to overcome your Fear, I can help you – if that is what you wish."
Genevieve Chesterton was dumbstruck. Her heart was still pounding rapidly, but there was something about this doctor, something that was calming, but also deeply unsettling, as though he was reading into her soul, even just by the sound of her voice.
"You're having one right now aren't you," he whispered – it was a statement, not a question.
"Yes."
"Have you taken any medication for it?"
"No."
"Give me your address then – I'll be right there."
Whatever she was expecting from his voice was even more of a shock when she first saw him. He was younger than she had anticipated for a doctor. He was a striking young man with piercing blue eyes, dark, wavy brown hair, sensual lips and stylish glasses with rectangle frames. He wore a finely tailored suit and carried a leather briefcase. He was the vision, she imagined, of what every young woman would dream of when she hoped she would marry a doctor: Intelligent, handsome, young, supposedly wealthy and yet there was something unsettling in those eyes. They seemed cold, almost impersonal and piercing, seeing her more as a test subject than a human being – and it made her deeply uneasy.
"Dr. Jonathan Crane." He gave her a brief, firm business-like handshake despite the fact she was sprawled on the sofa gasping for breath. "You're still experiencing rapid heart palpitations, shortness of breath, panic episodes?"
"Y-yes," she gasped.
The young doctor snapped open his briefcase and placed a clear vial on the table followed by a syringe.
"You're – you're going to give me an injection," she gasped.
"Just a mild sedative. It will slow your heart rate and keep you from hyperventilating. You will feel better once you awake and then we can talk about what the real cause is of your panic." He looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. She turned away from his gaze. "The cause is within your mind – your Fear and how you are unable to control your Fear."
Before Genevieve Chesterton knew what was happening he had slipped the syringe needle into a vein and the sedative was coursing through her system. In seconds she had blacked out and knew no fear – knew nothing.
Dr. Crane had his back to his patient, putting way the syringe and vial, then saw one of the white pills scattered on the carpet. He bent down and picked one up. He deeply sighed.
"Medication this weak would do someone with an anxiety disorder such as hers no good. She's going to need much more than these baby pills."
Still, Dr. Crane was looking forward to the challenge. He hadn't seen a panic attack this acute in quite awhile and he was looking forward to getting inside her head and discovering what she truly did fear.