Note From the Author: I'm not a psychologist, so there is always the possibility that my writing about Fugue Catatonia is way off the mark. In which case, I'm using Artistic License. Still, if you'd like to correct me, I'm completely open to criticism. I promise!
Stars danced in her vision, overlapping the scene of Damien being restrained by two guards. Melanie was kneeling beside her, her face dark with concern.
"Emory? Emory. Wake up." Melanie's sharp voice brought her out of her haze. Another face appeared in her vision. Steven Cline, handsome as ever. Emory sighed inwardly. He was not happy.
Suddenly, Emory was being hauled to her feet and escorted to a lush, comfortably appointed office, where Steven unceremoniously tossed a bottle of Tylenol into her lap while Melanie pressed an icepack to the back of her head.
Steven cursed her colorfully while she swallowed four of the pain pills.
"I told you, damnit, I told you not to try to see him alone! He's degenerated rapidly since you last saw him. He could have killed you, Emory!" He went on along this thread for several minutes, cursing and crowing until Emory could no longer tell his words apart from the screaming pain in her head.
"For Christ's sake, Steven. Put a lid on it," she muttered. Steven glared at her for a moment, as if weighing his chances at surviving her wrath, then with a sigh he walked over and sat down on the couch beside her.
"I should have known you wouldn't listen to me," he muttered. Emory rounded on him so fiercely that Melanie dropped her icepack.
"I've treated hundreds of Fugue patients, damn you!" she snarled. "I've been attacked before, I know what this job entails. Don't you dare talk down to me like I'm some recalcitrant intern!"
Steven leaned back slightly at the venom and force of her words. He had a pained look on his face.
"I never intended to give you that impression, Emory," he said with a sigh. "You know the rules as well as I do. You can not treat him."
"He is the reason I became a psychologist!" Emory said through gritted teeth. "I need to understand. I need to know why..." Her voice failed her.
She felt Steven's hand on her shoulder.
"We're working on it, Em," he said gently. "You can't help him right now."
A long moment passed in silence. Mel and Steven watched her. Thoughts flickered through her mind like fireflies, and she briefly saw Damien's face in her mind, young and smiling, with laughing green eyes.
Someone different lived behind those eyes now. No. Something. And she could not get through to it.
Emory closed her eyes and sighed. "You're right."
Steven stood and walked over to his desk. While he was rummaging through his mail, Melanie reached out and took Emory's hand.
"I heard you left Lazare," she said. Emory nodded. Saint Lazare Regional Hospital had one of the most prestigious psychological departments in the Midwest. It had only taken Emory a few months to realize that most of the doctors were so bogged down in the beaurocracy of hospital-run mental institutions that they barely had enough time for their patients.
"Where are you heading now?" Mel asked. "You could have your pick of positions in West Virginia."
"In the entire Northeast," Steven added with a slight smirk. Emory sent him a sharp look, and he sobered, heading back over to her with a letter in his hand. "Here, take a look at this."
Emory's gaze flickered over the letter with disinterest.
Until her gaze fell on one name, glaring out at her like a floodlight.
Michael Audrey Myers.
Emory's breath caught in her throat. Michael Myers was one of the most infamous cases of Fugue Catatonia in the country. Emory had spent hundreds of hours researching cases like his, building up her theories until her interest had reached the point of obsession. Next to Damien, Myers was the patient that Emory wanted more than anything in the world to treat.
But he was jealously guarded by his therapist, Dr. Samuel Loomis.
"Loomis has asked me to recommend someone for a routine analysis," Steven said. Emory smirked.
"Since when does Samuel Loomis need help with an analysis?" The tone in her voice caused Steven to roll his eyes. It was no secret that Emory did not hold Loomis in high regard. What Steven did not realize was just how much Emory disliked Michael's therapist.
"It's not the test he's interested in, it's the doctor administering the test."
"Stop being cryptic, Steven," Emory said with a frown.
"He wants a young female," Steven replied. "He thinks a woman might have an effect on Myers."
Emory felt a smile curl her lips. "For once, he might be right."