Bad Doctor Read online

  When she announced to her family that her platform in life was to reverse the stereotypical beliefs that therapy, by design, was only for crazy people, her father embraced her for the first time in years. This gave Allison high hopes for a bright future and a chance to build a relationship with him.

  Hearing her father’s praise was long overdue. He rewarded her by leasing a high-end office space and financing a marketing plan to boost her profile and clientele list. However, it was her biggest desire to win her father’s love, attention and approval and not what his money could buy.

  Allison appreciated his gifts. However, she didn’t feel like they were necessary. She truly wanted to help others face their demons. However, it was more than likely that her drive to change the world was ignited by her troubled past. How ironic it was that she would not face her own personal demons but her ambitious nature to redeem others was off the charts.

  Several years into owning her practice, Allison realized that her devotion to save the world was remote and impossible. The daily pressures weighed on her shoulders. The funds her father had promised for the lease had ceased. It was yet another let down in their relationship. The pennies she was bringing in were not enough to pay the high over-head of her fancy office space. She wanted more than sacrificing and living, week to week, in the red.

  Allison’s excitement to heal the world waned and her job no longer felt rewarding. Her patients drained the positive energy that she once embraced. They clung to her like leaches, sucking her life away.

  Then one day it was as if a light bulb shattered in her psyche and she lost all the reasons that drove her to thrive. Going out of her way for clients who were not dedicated to their own healing process infuriated her.

  Most patients wanted a quick fix, prescription drugs or instant answers. No one wanted to spend long hours in arduous therapy or pay for her time. We live in an instantaneous world, with everything at our fingertips. At the slow rate of Allison’s success, she would have been bankrupted emotionally, spiritually and financially before she reached thirty. Not to mention, the physical danger she risked by spending so much time alone with an almost all male clientele.

  She never knew when one of her clients might go over the deep end. A few close colleagues warned her that it was bound to happen. Something had to change.

  There were countless times she drove into the darkest hours into the night to rescue a patient from jail, or one from an abusive spouse, or to prevent a pro-bono nut-job from committing a crime. The list went on and on.

  Her last act of goodwill shifted her world into a one-eighty degree difference in a way that she would have never expected.

  The distraught call came into her answering service after midnight. It was from a patient that she had been treating for several years. He was eager to seek counseling when his sixteen-year marriage went south, accompanied by his manhood. Allison was very familiar with helping men through their mid-life crises.

  More times than not, she would write a prescription for the little blue pill and entertain the clients with flattering conversation in order to build their confidence once again. Honestly, this was really the extent of her treatment plan and it seemed to work.

  Most of her male patients seemed thrilled with her counseling techniques. Allison’s bubbly disposition added a rainbow to most of her client’s complex and grey worlds. Her big toothsome smile and over-the-top compliments went a long way with men fifty years of age and older.

  For whatever reason, the reason that this particular patient crashed into the conclusion of suicide was beyond Allison’s comprehension. Prior to the incident and from the outside looking in, he appeared to be on his was to recovery. According to his grandiose claims, his manly equipment had the power of a V-8 engine and could shift lanes with his eyes closed. Surely, this alone gave him a good reason to live out his life.

  In the absence of Allison having any experience in a life-or-death situation, her knee-jerk instinct was to rescue him. When she arrived at his home with no regard to what she may be facing behind the closed doors, she bolted blindly towards his house. Before she involved the authorities, it was her intention to triage the severity of his condition. She had a propensity to protect her patients in case of a false alarm. She parked her car, jumped out and raced to his front door and knocked frantically.

  When he answered the door, her eyes quickly appraised him up and down, searching for self-inflicted wounds. There was no evidence such, at least nothing visible that she could see. However, she noted that the whites of his eyes were fire red. The room behind him was dark, save for a dim slice of light, illuminating from a cracked opened door at the end of a long hallway.

  “Allison, thank you for coming. Minutes before you got here I was going to—,” he said, choking on his words. An onset of tears poured from his eyes.

  It broke Allison’s heart to see a grown man crying. She felt terribly responsible for all her patients.

  “Oh no. You have been doing so well. What happened tonight?” Allison asked, catching her breath. “Let me drive you to the hospital...they are better equipped to help you, Mr. Patterson.” He moved back into the room.

  “Okay, let me get my things. Please come inside.” He implored.

  Allison hesitated for a moment, glancing over her shoulder. She was in such a hurry to get to him that she had left the car running. The car would be fine idling for a few moments while she accessed the situation.

  “Okay,” she replied and stepped into the dark room. A whiff of stale beer and sweat filled her nostrils.

  Mr. Patterson closed the door and locked it. There was something dark in his hand that she had not noticed seconds ago. Perhaps she missed it because she was too zealous with concern for him. A pang of anxiety raced through Allison’s veins and her heartbeat accelerated.

  “Mr. Patterson, I don’t feel comfortable with you locking the door. Please, get your wallet and keys so we can go. Anything you may need. And, I will lock up for you,” she said firmly. A looked of nervousness spread across her face.

  “I don’t like locked doors either,” he shouted loudly. His words pierced Allison’s eardrums. He had her full-on attention.

  “Yes, I can understand that.” Her voice trembled. “So, let’s get out of here...you and I will work this out together.”

  “No, I don’t want to go. I need you. You’re the only one that understands me. They will lock me away like they did before.”

  “Before?” She paused. “Who locked you away?”

  “My fucking family—my wife and the fucking doctors. I won’t go back there, damn it.” Mr. Patterson fisted one hand through his hair and out again, causing it to stand straight up. This made him a ghastly sight.

  Allison gaped. “Mr. Patterson, you never told me this.” She said, surprisingly keeping her calm. “What is that in your hand?” Her question lingered in the suffocating air.

  “Stop, calling me mister. Call me Frank,” he retorted angrily and moved in closer to her. “It’s the gun.” He looked at it dumbfounded and gingerly pointed it towards his face. He had no idea how to handle the thing.

  “I was going to blow my head off with it,” he said and then raised his hand into the light, revealing a small 9.millimeter pistol. He added, “But you got here just in the nick of time.”

  “Fuck me,” she whispered, softly and barely discernible.

  Her pulse quickened. There was not much time to think. She inched her feet through the rumble on the floor, backing further into the room and then abruptly hit the side of the sofa. Her eyes closed only for a moment. She needed to clear her thoughts. She felt cornered. No, she did “feel” cornered, she was cornered. This was a deadly combination. Between her and the exit of the room stood Frank, a madman with a gun. The dumfounded expression on his face turned blank. Perhaps this was her opportunity to run for it.

  “Okay Frank, let’s just stay calm. You’re scaring me.” She confessed, hoping to disarm him. “Please, set the gun down. I came h
ere to save you.”

  Her eyes darted between him and the window. The thought of jumping through it was not really a better option.

  She could see through the bay window her car, so close but yet so far. The angle of the headlights shone slightly into the room, helping her vision to adjust to the pitchy surroundings. Her eyes scanned the living room. An array of beer bottles and crusty old pizza boxes were scattered over the furniture and floor.

  “I don’t mean to scare you. Allison, I adore you. You are the only one I can trust.”

  “Yes, of course you can trust me. Please set the gun down so we can talk,” she implored.

  “Allison, I don’t want to talk,” he cried. “We have been talking for years.”

  His body coiled over as he leaned against a sturdy sideboard. Mr. Patterson studied the gun for what seemed to have been hours to Allison. It felt like eternity. She held her breath and didn’t say a word for fear of causing a double shooting.

  They both were motionless and an air of uncertainty filled the silence between them. He held his hand over a large fish aquarium that sat on the buffet. What was he thinking? He flashed at Allison then hit his head purposely against the wall and released the gun into the water. Allison let out a long sigh and collapsed, sitting onto the arm of the sofa. She watched the pistol drop like lead to the bottom of the fish tank. It was then that she noticed the dead fish floating on the top of the water. A bad omen. She felt like puking but she held her composure.

  “Thank you, Frank. You really terrified me.” Allison’s voice trembled. She wanted to barrel through him and run like hell, but she did not and, instead, sat there vigilantly.

  “Allison, you are so beautiful and precious to me. I wanted to be alone with you outside of your office. I know you want this too. I could see the way you have been looking at me. Your eyes undressing me, wondering—.” The longer he vented, the more it became apparent to her that he did not want to kill himself. In fact, he was delusional about their relationship. “I will take care of you, don’t you worry. I have watched you from the street, working late. You do this because you have no one just like me. What a beautiful waste of time. I like you so much, Allison.”

  Alarms went off in Allison’s head. Ever since she was a young girl, she made every effort to downplay her gorgeous features. How did she get into this unwarranted situation? She always conducted herself in a professional manner with all her clientele. What went wrong? Her attire was extremely modest. She wore dark suits with her long waves pinned up. There were times she made silly, clever and sassy comments but never anything lewd. When patients cried, she gave them a tissue to blow their nose or would offer a friendly hug to the females. Never had she given anyone the impression that she was promiscuous, or in Frank’s case, interested in an affair.

  “What? Frank. No. I am your therapist. It’s my job to stay late—I have a boyfriend,” she lied then adding, “And, I like you too, but not—”

  He interrupted her. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t live without you. I think about you constantly. You are my angel. Kiss me, Allison,” he begged.

  His dark haggard figure lounged forwarded, knocking her onto the sofa. She rolled into the folds of the cushions and out quickly, trying to gain her equilibrium.

  “No! Stay back,” she shouted, hustling to her feet. She slid on a pile of newspapers and landed flat on her face. “Now look what you have done. Stay away from me,” she wailed, latching on to the arm of the sofa to stand, preparing to face him head on if she had too. “I am leaving,” Allison stammered.

  “No. You can’t.” He screamed, his tone threatening.

  “This is totally insane! Frank, you need to step aside and let me by. Now!” She ordered loudly.

  He went berserk. He was accusing her of being the cause of his inability to get his manhood up for any other women. How could he blame her? She had cured him of this dysfunction so his tirade didn’t make sense to her.

  Then, everything clicked into place. Frank had confessed that he had been overusing the little blue pills that she prescribed. Every night he masturbated twice or more in front of her profile picture on her website which, in fact, was very professional picture. Allison’s mind reeled when he told her it was time for them to experience the “real” deal. He informed her that if she would not give herself willingly, he would be forced to take what he wanted. Chills ran down the length of her spine and they were the kind of chills that warn you that it is time to fight or fly.

  It all happened so fast. Before she could react, her patient thrust her into a stronghold, pinning her up against a wall. She tried to escape but his grip became increasingly secure. His hands frantically skated over her clothing, tearing at them as if he was unwrapping a present.

  His breaths panted, heavy and filled with a raging excitement. She begged for him to release her. He showed no regard to her pleas.

  The stormy desire in his eyes glazed over. Everything she had ever known about him was gone. His pupils enlarged. He was no longer the man she had been counseling the last few years. Mr. Patterson flipped. There was no reasoning with him now.

  He transformed into a monster before her eyes. Sweat poured from his brow. His hands accosted her, groping desperately between her legs. She writhed and twisted her body to release his death hold. The smell of his beer-bathed breath permeated her senses. In the corners of his mouth, white-chalky paste gathered. His hair dripped like black ink into his face. She grabbed a handful of his fringe and pulled with all her strength. He was stronger, much stronger than she was, and shook his head free from her grip.

  His powerful fingers penetrated beneath her torn blouse, tearing at the fabric of her bra and exposing her breasts. Her mind reeled as he bit into her bare flesh. She tried to push him away, kicking and screaming. Her struggles exacerbated his frenzy. He ripped away the clasp of her bra. His force caused her knees to buckle. He grabbed her languid body, wedging her into the corner.

  She dug her nails into his face, scraping away at his DNA. This would surely leave a scar. In the very least, if he killed her, the police would be able to identify her assailant. The thought of dying made her shudder but at least she would take a piece of him to hell with her. When she was a rebellious teenager, hell is where her father told her she would end up one day. Should she surrender and accept her fate?

  Frank’s lips and then tongue pressed hard into hers. She opened her mouth, accepting his tongue and immediately clamped down on him. He wailed, punching the floor next to her head. She flashed at his bloody knuckles, releasing his flesh. The metallic taste of his blood swirled in her mouth. She spit and felt the warm mixture of her saliva and his blood streaming down her chin. Her eyes widened, filling with fear of the sight of him. His pupils dilated twice their size. Only a drug could cause this. Unfortunately, in this case she was the drug. The fury in his eyes down shifted, if you will, to a look of hysteria and sexual excitement.

  “You want it rough, bitch. I knew you were a little freak.” He yelled as he twisted a band of her long hair around his hand to still her face. “Ah, just how I like it.”

  “Let me go of me,” Allison cried, tears blurring her vision. Her mind raced.

  Who was this man? Did the little blue pills that she prescribed cause these horrible side effects? It couldn’t be. She must have misjudged him. How could she have missed this side of him? He had her fooled.

  Her mind flashed to when he confessed earlier that his wife had him locked up before. No wonder his wife left him. He was an abusive man; abusive was an understatement. This whole event made her question her therapy screening process for patients. If she lived through this ordeal, she would definitely do background checks from now on.

  He forcefully lifted her petite frame off her feet, slamming her to the floor flat out on her back. The impact caused her to lose her breath. He steamrolled his drunken body on to hers. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air. The weight of his large frame rendered her helpless. He yanked the hemline of
her skirt up. Her blood-curding screams fell upon deaf ears when he pressed his palm into her mouth to muffle her voice. Her strength to fight him off was waning. She had no breath left. He was suffocating her. It was time for her to tune out and let him have his way. If only she could pass out until it was over. He ripped into her clothing and then the evitable happened—he penetrated her with his fingers, hard, into her sex. The pain of his volatile entry radiated to all her limbs and her body fell languid.

  It was as if she transcended outside of herself. Her eyes scanned the fog. She could see the canister of mace dangling on the keychain in the ignition of her car. The humming of the idled motor replaced the heavy breathing pattern of Mr. Patterson and her cries, drowning out the pain in the world, her world. An unfamiliar voice in the distance beckoned to her.