DISCLAIMER: This is more like an Uber story than I originally intended. Some physical resemblance between two women on television may exist but that is as far as it goes. No infringement was intended.

WARNING: There is bad language, the description of violence, donuts, and the use of restraints. No sex.

POETRY ALERT: Consider yourself warned. The piece begins with a poem. It is not mine so don’t use it unless you ask the poet.

WHY: I don’t know. This is the third of three stories to date that are loosely related. For some reason, the characters seem unwilling to let me move on to other things. You need to read The Consult and The Phone Call for The Appointment to make any sense at all.

THE APPOINTMENT

by phair

rage

> rant

> > storm

> > > frozen rain

> > > > frozen

> > > > > cold

> > > > > > dead

> > > > > > > inert

> > > > > > > > motionless

> > > > > > > > > still

> > > > > > > > > > peaceful

> > > > > > > > > > > gracious

> > > > > > > > > > > > grace

by Marguerite Mullaney, 2001

used with permission

"Somebody beeped me?" Dr. O’Grady gave a knowing nod to Betsy.

"Is Howie still out on maternity?" The ER nurse laughed at her own joke.

"He’ll be back this week."

"Good, ‘cause we’re getting sick of you down here all the time," Betsy teased the department head. "You big deals should stay in your ivory towers, safely hidden away from us working stiffs. We could be a bad influence on you."

"You got the right! Oooo, is that a jelly," O’Grady made a grab for the second to last donut.

"Oh no you don’t," Betsy pushed the box out of reach. "No treats until you look behind curtain number three!"

The doctor scrunched up her face and made a pleading gesture with her hands. Betsy had to laugh at the site. It was hard to believe the overbearing psychiatrist from twelve weeks ago was the same woman standing next to her today. Gone were the tailored business suits and sharply pressed lab coats; on were the blue scrubs and sneakers. The severely restrained hair style was replaced with a loose ebony braid down her back. O’Grady had evolved since that first non-billable visit to the ER from an obsessive micromanager into a healer. She had become an almost daily presence among the city’s dying destitute and the walking wounded. Betsy was pleased she had a role in saving O’Grady from the hell of hospital bureaucracy.

"Okay, half the donut with details about the patient and the other half when you finish the visit."

"Deal," the doctor grinned.

She accepted the torn pastry from the chuckling ER nurse. Popping it in her mouth, O’Grady gave a full smile and wink. Betsy frowned at the happily humming psychiatrist.

"You eat like a med student."

"I’m as hungry as a med student," O’Grady muttered.

"Probably because you haven’t worked this hard since you were one," Betsy grabbed the file. "Our guest behind curtain number three comes to us from the corner of Commonwealth and Broadway. The local PD offered her a ride to the shelter due to the fact it was twenty degrees and she was without shoes, socks, coat, hat, gloves, shirt, pants, bra, panties, etc."

"What was she wearing?" O’Grady licked a drop of jelly off her thumb.

"A very pleasant smile. The police insisted she join them. She resisted and got a black eye for her trouble."

"Other medical issues?"

"Low body temp on arrival but blankets brought it right up. Bloods are still out but she wasn’t chemically enhanced, trust me. She’s a bit under weight, a little dehydrated but nothing TLC won’t fix in a week," Betsy puckered her lips knowing it was unlikely to get that long of an inpatient stay for the woman.

"Do we know who she is or who loves her?"

"Nope!" Betsy shook her head sadly. "She’s no more than twenty five. I’d say, she’s been on the streets less than a week because she’s so well kept."

"Like how?" O’Grady leaned back on the counter to get comfortable.

"Recent manicure and hair cut. She may even had some high lights done. No old bruising or signs of beating, so she’s nobody’s whore."

"Do you think it’s a fugue state or psychotic break?"

"Neither, both, I don’t know, that’s why I beeped you, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," O’Grady accepted the gentle pat on the cheek as her signal to get to work.

Standing and stretching, O’Grady readied her body. Her mind was well prepared by Betsy for the patient in question. However, she needed her body just as ready for a potentially difficult session. If the patient became violent O’Grady had to be set to move fast.

"If the other half of my donut is missing...,"

"Yeah, yeah, my life is forfeit," Betsy sighed unimpressed. "Go see the patient and get out from under my feet."

O’Grady tramped off to curtain three. A large police officer stood guard next to the entrance. He did not look at all pleased.

"Psych service," O’Grady flashed her badge.

"Fuck you!"

"Huh?"

"Look Freud, she’s a friggin’ psycho bitch headin’ for county so just sign the papers. No need to take a look. You got me!" The police officer planted his huge frame in front of the doctor and folded his arms over his barrel chest.

"Officer Jenowitz, forgive me. I had no idea you got your medical degree in between tagging cars." O’Grady’s voice turned cold, "Unless you have an MD after your name, I’m the only one of us who can sign your prisoner out of here. You should move now or I might reschedule this evaluation for ..., Thursday. Tell me, would they make you pull a double shift just standing here or will they give some rookie your collar?"

"Bitch," Jenowitz hissed as he stepped out of the way.

O’Grady gave him a cocky grin in response. Just before she pushed the curtain back, a thought struck her.

"Handcuff keys," she extend her palm expectantly.

"No way," he barked at her.

O’Grady did not budge. Jenowitz glared back. She stood her ground. The cop shifted from foot to foot. The doctor waited.

"Fuckin’ A!" The big man pulled the key from his pocket and slapped it in her hand.

"Thank you," O’Grady nodded.

The trauma room behind curtain three was a fairly large room. It was a fully equipped code room but doubled for violent psych patients because it had a door that could be locked from the outside. O’Grady shut the door for privacy.

The gurney in the center of the room held a trembling, naked woman. Just as O’Grady suspected, the young blonde was chained to the bed with police issue handcuffs instead of the leather restraints the hospital was required to use with patients. The blanket Betsy provided to warm the woman was tossed in a nearby chair. Well out of the patient’s reach. O’Grady had no doubt who had exacted the petty cruelty.

"I’m Dr. O’Grady," she picked up the blanket and moved toward the gurney. "I’m a psychiatrist," she covered the shaking woman from toes to chin.

"Thanks," it was a whisper.

"No problem. You’ve had quite a day," O’Grady walked across to the cabinets and began rummaging.

The doctor found the restraints in a box marked "four point." She turned back to the patient trying to unravel the tangled mess. Glancing up, she saw the look of horror on the pretty, tear stained face.

"I won’t hurt you," she tried to reassure.

"Please, I’m sorry," the woman was crying. "I’ll be quiet."

"You don’t need to be quiet. I’m your doctor. You can tell me anything, everything," O’Grady slowly approached the gurney. "These look God awful but they are a bit more comfortable than the handcuffs."

"How would you know?" the woman bitterly turned her head away.

O’Grady did not answer. She went to the woman’s feet and replaced the chains with the leather restraints.

"You tell me, better or worse?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"It would be better if I wasn’t tied down," the woman pinned O’Grady with an angry sneer.

"That was not one of your choices," the psychiatrist moved to the woman’s wrist. "Should I continue?"

The woman shrugged.

"I can stop if you want," O’Grady motioned to leave.

"No," there was a hint of desperation. "My, my wrist hurts," the woman looked down at the appendage in question.

O’Grady carefully released the metal cuff strangling the bruised tissue. Examining the limb, she assessed the discoloration and swelling for what it was.

"Fractured, I would think," she gently tied off the leather restraint just above the injury. "Don’t pull on it. We need to get an x-ray to be sure. Most likely, you’ll be casted for a couple of weeks. Tell me, why did Jenowitz break your arm?"

"I never said he did," the woman’s eyes darted around the room, obviously afraid somebody else would hear their conversation.

"You didn’t have to. He was the arresting officer. He cuffed you. Your arm is broken," O’Grady tied off the last restraint and prepared to depart. "It’ll all be in my report."

"No, wait, don’t leave," the woman begged as the doctor turned toward the door. "If you write that then I’ll get even worse at county lock up."

"Want to give me something else to write?" O’Grady turned back toward the suddenly cooperative patient.

"Like what?" The woman asked cautiously.

"A name."

"Devyn," the doctor waited, "Tannon. My name is Devyn Tannon."

O’Grady scanned the room. Grabbing a nearby stool, she pulled it over to the woman. She nodded to her patient as she sat.

"A pleasure to meet you, Devyn. So, why did Jenowitz break your arm?"

"If I tell you then the guards at county are gonna hurt me," sad, green eyes locked on the doctor’s bright blue, "really bad. Please don’t make me say he did it."

"What if I promise you won’t go to county?" O’Grady offered.

"Commitment? Fuck, that’s even worse! Do you have any idea what happens at the Riverbank," the woman spat out the name of the state hospital for the mentally ill.

"What if I said that you could stay as an inpatient here?"

"I don’t have insurance," Devyn looked away from the doctor in despair.

"Doesn’t matter. There’s a warm bed in a private room on the third floor just waiting to be filled," O’Grady offered, "but only if you’re willing to be honest with me."

"Honest?"

"Do you want to get well?"

"You can’t promise that," the woman shouted as she fought her restraints.

"It was a question and not a promise," O’Grady was unfazed by the outburst.

"I don’t want to live like this anymore," the woman whispered sinking back into the flimsy pillow. "Everything’s okay for a while and then it happens again. When it does, I get scared and run."

"You were on the streets because you were scared," the doctor stated.

"I was at my apartment, getting ready for work, when they came back. It’s been almost three years. I thought they were gone for good," Devyn explained in a calm voice.

"Who?"

"Only I can see them. They’re different all the time. If I can get away from everybody then I won’t see them."

"Do they talk to you?" O’Grady asked.

"Yeah, they all have messages for me to pass along. That’s why the cop got so mad. The little boy with him told me not to resist because Jenowitz would shoot me just like he killed the boy."

"The boy was a ghost?" The doctor remained impassive.

"I guess that’s what you’d call him. Anyway, I told Jenowitz what the boy said and snap goes my arm while he’s cuffing me. Then he smacks me in the head."

"You were already handcuffed when he punched you?" O’Grady accepted the woman’s tears for a yes. "Are the ghosts real, Devyn?"

"You think I’m crazy, right?" the woman sighed and looked over O’Grady’s shoulder. "What if I told you there’s a guy with brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, flannel shirt, standing behind you?" O’Grady did not turn around. "He says he changed your life but you will never meet him. You helped his sister when he died. He wants to thank you for helping her because he loved his sister very much."

"Devyn, I’m going to have the medical team take care of your arm," O’Grady kept her voice even and warm. "Then you’ll be transferred upstairs. I’ll have the nurse give you something to take the edge off your hallucinations. With therapy and medications, we maybe able to make these visions go away for more than three years."

"I knew you wouldn’t believe me," Devyn turned her head away and closed her eyes in defeat.

"You’re wrong. I do believe you see things but those things aren’t real."

O’Grady stood to retrieve the clipboard from the foot of the gurney. She scribbled a few details from her evaluation and ordered x-rays and medication. Dotting the i’s and crossed the t’s, she exited the room and crashed into Jenowitz.

"FUCK!" He shouted. "Watch where you’re going."

"You shouldn’t block exits. Actually, you shouldn’t even be here. Your prisoner is now my patient. I’m admitting her to psych service."

"You can’t do that," he growled.

"Sure I can," she turned the clipboard around for him to see. "Just did in fact. Psych admission is better than a lawyer for staying out of jail. She can’t be arraigned until I say so. Maybe by then her arm will be healed and you won’t have as much to explain."

The big man’s fists balled up by his sides. His face was flushed with rage but the approaching nurse caused him to hold his tongue. Jenowitz whirled on his heels to storm out of the ER.

"What was that all about?" Betsy handed the doctor the other half of her donut in exchange for the chart.

"It means that I’ll never get out of a speeding ticket again," O’Grady laughed and downed the donut. "Devyn Tannon is going to be admitted to my service but she’s got a busted arm that needs setting. She could use some Valium while she’s here."

"Diagnosis?"

"Well, she was in a fugue state but there’s a long standing mental health issue. She may have stopped her med’s. I need to do some digging," O’Grady’s beeper went off. "Oops, I’m late for an outpatient. Gotta run."

Betsy smirked watching the psychiatrist trot down the hall. She never would have imaged such a sight.

"She’s loving every minute of this," the nurse mused.

* * *

O’Grady arrived at her office to find her door shut and secretary missing. Dead center on the desk was the computer print out of the day’s schedule. The doctor scanned down the page for the name of her waiting patient.

"E. Mulcahy, new admission," O’Grady read aloud from the sheet before heading into the office.

The woman sitting on the couch stopped the doctor cold. She looked a little thinner than twelve weeks ago but that could just be her clothes. Her hair was definitely grayer and her cheeks paler.

"Elisabeth," O’Grady extended her hand.

"Wow, I’m surprised you remember me," the woman blushed a bit. "Was I that much trouble?"

"Oh no, not at all. You just had a remarkable story," the doctor took her seat. "What brings you in today?"

"Two things, really. I never got to say thank you for your time that night...," her voice broke a bit. "You were so nice and I was kind of a bitch."

"No, you weren’t."

"Well, anyway, thanks."

O’Grady smiled her acceptance. She waited for Elisabeth to continue.

"The other thing is..., I’m worried. Like, how do you know if you’re crackin’ up?" Elisabeth stared at her hands neatly folded in her lap.

"Let’s start with what you’re worried about," O’Grady encouraged.

"Only crazy people hear voices, right?"

"What do you hear Elisabeth?" The doctor’s tone was smooth and low.

"Him. Sometimes, I hear Thom calling me. Which is just nuts! I mean, he couldn’t talk for most of my life. Why am I hearing his voice?" Elisabeth looked up pleadingly.

"Why do you think you hear him calling you?"

"Okay, look, can’t you do this like you did in the ER?"

"Huh?" O’Grady blinked.

"You know, no psycho babble. Can’t we just talk this out? You don’t have to manage me. If I’m nuts then I’ll let you do anything you need; drug me, shock me, lock me up."

"Hold on," O’Grady could not help but smile at the woman’s good natured humor in the face of her fear. "Before we take draconian measures let’s be sure you are having a problem greater than normal grieving. I’ll try to limit my psycho babble, okay?" The woman nodded agreement. "So, you hear him call you. Many people during the grieving process experience similar sensations."

"Why?"

"It could be part of coming to terms with the loss. The human brain’s need for closure."

"Why would I hear him? I can barely remember his voice."

"What do you remember about him? Before his injury," O’Grady picked up a pad of paper and pen from the table between them.

"It’s silly, really," Elisabeth rolled her eyes. "On his wedding day, he dropped me at the bride’s house for pictures. He turned to wave good-bye to me and I remember exactly how he looked. Thom’s forever frozen in time like that for me."

"How was that?"

"His blue eyes were sparkling and he had brown wavy hair that refused to stay put," Elisabeth did not notice the color draining from the doctor’s cheeks. "And he was wearing this goofy flannel shirt."

"What?" O’Grady coughed in disbelief.

"You know, a lumberjack shirt. Anyway, I’ve been trying to ignore this voice thing but then something really weird happened," O’Grady felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "I had to sell Thom’s van. Couldn’t take driving it anymore, you know, without him. I didn’t have insurance or a license plate because everything was in his name. So, the car dealer sends a runner to DMV while I do the insurance thing. When I picked up the car, I saw the tag for the first time."

"Was, ah, was there something unusual?" O’Grady had an irrational fear that somebody was looking over her shoulder.

"Write this down," Elisabeth grimaced, "January 1, 2001."

"Is that the date Thom died?"

"Yep. Now, my license plate is 1101TM."

O’Grady sat silently looking at her handwriting.

"His initials are TM?" O’Grady did not need the woman to nod yes.

"What do you think?"

"Some might say coincidence," O’Grady met the woman’s gaze and gave a weak smiled, "but I believe Thom loves you very much."

The woman began to cry. It was not frantic weeping of anguish but the deep cleansing sobs of relief. O’Grady pushed the tissues closer to Elisabeth.

"Take a minute and cry. It’s okay. I’m going to get us some coffee. When I get back we’ll talk about some healthy outlets for your grief," O’Grady stepped out of the office and went right for her secretary’s phone. "Betsy, it’s O’Grady. Yeah, is Devyn still with you? Good. Hold the Valium. Ask her if she wants something for pain instead. If the on call won’t prescribe then beep me back and I will. When she’s transferred to my service, dc the restraints. No, she’s not going to hurt anybody. Yeah, I’m sure. And tell her, I said she was wrong about the guy in the flannel shirt. I just met him."

O’Grady hung up the phone with a certainty somebody was standing behind her. She walked to the coffee machine without ever turning around.

The End

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