Genevieve Chesterton awoke dazed and confused. She was lying comfortably on her plush red velvet sofa, not sprawled awkwardly on it as she had been when she had lapsed into unconsciousness, but with her limbs perfectly arranged and her arms resting on her stomach. Every pill that had spilled onto the carpet had been picked up and placed back into the bottle. The bottle was next to her on the polished mahogany table with note in perfect penmanship:
I would discard this medication. It is of no use to your condition.
Dr. Jonathan Crane
She frowned at the cryptic note and found it very bizarre that was the only written note he had left. She turned it over and found that on the back was his business card. Now instead of being confused she was angry. She was running his visit back through her mind and didn't like the fact he drugged her without first asking permission, and didn't he promise he would be there when she awoke? Not only did Mrs. Chesterton now think he was a quack, but he also was a liar too. She would call him up and give him her two cents, which was something she had grown quite accustomed to.
Quickly she picked up her antique gold-leafed phone with the mother-of-pearl handle and dialed his number. His phone ran once, twice, three times . . . then was picked up. Mrs. Chesterton opened her mouth, about ready to spew a litany of complaints and insults.
"This is Dr. Jonathan Crane. I'm not in right now, but if you would like to make an appointment –"
Mrs. Chesterton was tempted to slam down the phone, but opted to wait out the recording and leave one of the most scathing messages the young doctor had ever heard, but when the recording finally beeped and was recording, she said:
"This is Mrs. Genevieve Chesterston. You visited earlier. You promised you would talk with me, but when I awoke you were gone. I'd like to make an appointment. Call me at your convenience."
She hung up the phone, wondering what suddenly came over her. Why was she suddenly so cordial toward a doctor whom she was paying? After all, she was the customer; he should be pleasing her, shouldn't he? But of course he should! And he should have stayed until she awoke. Irresponsible boy!
Out of habit she grabbed the bottle of pills off the table and was prepared to pop one pill into her mouth. Dr. Crane's note fluttered to her foot.
I would discard this medication. It is of no use to your condition.
"Hmph, what does he know?"
She was about to take one of the small white pills when the phone rang so loudly she nearly dropped the bottle to the floor again.
Get a handle on yourself, Genevieve Chesterton! You're acting like a jittery schoolgirl.
She grabbed the phone.
"Hello, who is this?"
"Mrs. Chesterton. This is Dr. Jonathan Crane. I trust you are feeling better?"
"Why yes, a little better. Why didn't you stay until I was awake? You promised!"
Even to Mrs. Chesterton that last statement sounded very petulant as soon as she had said it.
"Please accept my apologies. I was needed at the Gotham Court House shortly after I visited you. My testimony was needed for Victor Shikenz."
"The Five-alley Slasher," Mrs. Chesterton gasped. "He's murdered how many? Ten, twenty people?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, Mrs. Chesterton. As I said, I delivered key testimony."
"Certainly what you told them will have him locked up behind bars for a very long time, I do hope?"
She could hear him sigh and there was a long pause.
"All I can say is the man is criminally insane and will be given the care to treat someone suffering from such acute homicidal tendencies – but this not about Mr. Shikenz. You want to make an appointment, is that correct? Will tomorrow at 3 o' clock be convenient for you?"
"Uh, yes, that should be all right."
"Good, I shall look forward to our meeting until then Mrs. Chesterton."