The Patient

"I just don’t see the point doctor.”

The man sat hunched on the couch. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week. Small bits of dried up food clung to the front of his sweater. Across from him a therapist sat in a wooden chair and scribbled notes on a clipboard.

“Now, we’ve talked about this. It’s all about perspective. We have to shift your lens,” the doctor said. He was as clean as the patient was disheveled. A perfectly trimmed grey goatee surrounded a kind smile. “Now, tell me the best thing and the worst thing that happened to you yesterday.”

The man reached up and scratched his stubble. “The best thing and the worst thing,” he muttered, seeming to think about the question. “Well, the worst thing was the moment I woke up. It felt like a black pit waited for me if I opened my eyes. I just knew the day would be … horrible and that I would spend all my time thinking about doing…. It.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by ‘It’?”

“You know. End it. Punch my ticket.”

The doctor leaned forward in his chair. “And how do you think you would do It.”

“I don’t know. Pills I guess. I have some of Susan’s old medications. I would just take them all. That should do it.”

“Sounds like it would be pretty painless,” said the doctor.

“Yes”

“And then you would finally be at peace.”

“Yes.”

The doctor glanced at his watch. Across from him the man had his face buried deep in his palms and was crying. The doctor stood up and watched the man weep. “Well, I think that’s all the time we have for today. I really hope you feel better soon.”

The man didn’t move. He said something that was muffled by his hands.

“What was that?” asked the doctor.

The man took his palms away from his face. “I said, I didn’t tell you about the best thing that happened to me yesterday.”

“Oh, we can deal with that next time.”

The man looked up at the doctor. His eyes were dry.

“I really need to tell you about it.”

The goateed man sat back down in his chair. “Fine, but make it quick. I have another appointment.”

The patient sat forward. “The best thing that happened to me yesterday was when I followed you home.”

“What did you just say?”

“I followed you home and then, when you went to the rub and tug, like you do every Wednesday evening, I broke into your house and went through your files.”

The doctor’s kind face was turning redder by the moment. “Young man, I can assure you that you are in a lot of trouble. Not only is this session and relationship at an end but I am going to have to call the police. Now, I demand that you leave.” The man was shouting now as he pointed at the door.

The patient stood up and took a step towards the exit but then turned around. He straightened his back and looked down at the other man.

“Yes, I think it is time we called the police. What do you think of that Hans?”

The doctor’s face did an amazing shift from red to grey. Like a chameleon trying to camouflage itself.

“What did you just say?”

“I called you by your birth name. Hans. Hans Meier. Born in Hamburg in 1948. Quite the record you’ve got there Hans. Just how many of your patients have committed suicide? My count has it at 32. What’s your number? I bet you know the names of every. Single. One.”

The patient had been slowly walking towards the doctor. The smaller man stood up from his chair and was forced backwards until he bumped into the window.

He spoke but his voice was quiet. “You’re crazy. Delusional. I demand you leave my office.”

The man leaned into him. “I’m Peter Osmond’s brother.”

The doctor’s face turned an even grayer shade of ash. He slid to the floor.

The man put his arms behind his back and began to slowly pace the room. “I was devastated when Peter killed himself. He was my best friend you know. The more I thought about it the more it seemed wrong. I began to look into it. I found you and after some digging saw that an alarmingly high number of your patients seem to commit suicide. I wasn’t sure until I went through your files last night. You’ve had to move around quite a bit to cover your tracks. You couldn't help but keep the files of course. And then there was today. How low can you go? You practically put the pills into my hand. You’re a fucking scum bag.”

The large man had his back to the doctor and didn’t see him rise up off the floor. Didn’t see the small knife in his fist. The doctor rushed across the floor like a snake and buried the knife into the man’s ribs.

The man turned around and grabbed the doctor by the neck. “Funny thing. You’ve been attacked by two of your patients. Both times with a knife. Both times you were forced to defend yourself.” The man opened up his shirt with his free hand. “Kevlar.”

The doctor’s face was turning yet another color. Purple. He squirmed but was held in place by the man’s powerful hands.

“Here’s how this is going to go Hans. Tonight, you are going to hang yourself. You are going to hang yourself until you are dead.”

The man brought Han’s face inches from his own. “And if you’re not dead when the sun rises tomorrow. I am going to pay you a visit. And believe me, you're not the only one in the room who knows a thing or two about killing.”

The man dropped the doctor at his feet and walked to the door. He opened it but turned around before leaving.

“I really enjoyed our talk today doctor. I hope we get to talk again soon.”

He left the door open as he walked away.