Music in the Night (Logan 4)

"It's all part of your condition. That's why you have to see the doctor," she concluded abruptly. "Get up. I'll escort you to his office. Come on. He's a busy man. You should count yourself one of the luckier ones to have Doctor Scanlon look into your case. Frankly, I think there are a number of far more serious patients for him to consider, but I'm not the one who gets to make that decision. Unfortunately."

She held out her hand. Reluctantly, I took it. I was afraid I might topple over if I didn't. After I stood, she put her hand behind my back and gave me a firm push, keeping the pressure against my back until I started walking out of the room. I felt a little stronger as we continued down the hall. My eyes went longingly to Doctor Southerby's closed office door as we passed it.

"Keep going," she said. "Come along. The clock is ticking. Even the wealthy can't bribe Father Time," she muttered.

We stopped at room 101 and she opened the door for me. "Laura Logan," she announced as I entered.

A small woman in her late fifties looked up from her desk.

Her light brown hair was streaked with gray and she had gelatinous dull brown eyes hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses with rather large lenses. Her thin nose had a bump at the bridge that seemed to have been made specifically for her glasses. She stretched her uneven lips a bit in a weak effort to smile and turned to find a folder on the desk.

"One moment, please," she said, rose, and walked to the inner office door. She wasn't much more than five feet tall, wide in the hips with thick calves barely visible beneath the hem of her lavender knit dress. She knocked, entered, and closed the door behind her. A moment later she reappeared.

"The doctor will see you now," she told me.

"Behave yourself," Mrs. Kleckner advised and released her grip on my elbow.

I glanced at her disgruntled face and then walked into the office, past the receptionist, who stood like a statue, her back straight, her shoulders against the door. It was as though she were afraid I might touch and contaminate her. She stepped out and closed the door as soon as I had entered. I looked back and then turned to Doctor Scanlon.

Now that I was in his office confronting him, I recalled seeing him in the building a number of times, but I had never thought of him as a doctor, much less the head doctor. I thought he was always in a great hurry and imagined him to be some sort of salesman. He never looked at anyone in particular or smiled, nor had I ever seen him in a conversation with a patient, as I had other therapists, especially Doctor Southerby.

Doctor Scanlon wasn't much taller than his receptionist. He had hair the color of weak tea. The strands were so thin his scalp was visible and I could see that his head was covered with spots that looked like enlarged freckles.

At the moment, Dr. Scanlon had his back to me and was gazing out his window. His office faced the rear of the building and the pathway that led down toward the ocean. It was where I had sat on the bench the night before, when Billy had accosted me.

He turned and looked at me, his hazel eyes wide with interest, but an interest that gave me the feeling I was under a microscope.

"Take a seat please," he ordered, nodding to the chair in front of his desk. "I like my patients to face me during their initial consultation. Later, you can lie on the couch if you like. Patients," he continued, pronouncing the word as if it designated an alien species, "can sometimes free associate easier when they're lying down. Did you sit or lie on the couch with Doctor Southerby?" he asked quickly after I sat.

"I sat," I replied.

He nodded and then gazed down at the folder his receptionist had brought in before I had entered. Still standing, he turned the pages, reading as if I weren't even there. Then he nodded and closed the folder. He dropped himself into his oversized chair, folded his hands on his desk, and leaned toward me.

"I'm Doctor Scanlon and I'm going to try to help you," he began.

"Why can't I stay with Doctor Southerby?" I demanded in response.

He didn't answer immediately. First, he closed his eyes, and held them that way for a moment, as if my question had given him great pain, and then opened them.

"Doctor Southerby works at another clinic as well as here. Actually, he has more responsibility at the other clinic. His patients at the other clinic now need more of his time and he had to cut back on his responsibilities at this clinic," Doctor Scanlon explained with obvious reluctance.

"We are a bit short of professional help these days," he continued. "Normally, I don't take as direct a role in the treatment of our patients. I'm here to consult and assist and confirm a diagnosis and treatment, but he left a gap and a gap must be filled," he added, giving me what I thought must have been his best efforts at a smile. I didn't think I liked being referred to as a gap.

"So," he went on, leaning back in his chair now, "after you were brought here, you were diagnosed with psychogenic amnesia and Doctor Southerby was helping you return to your past, helping you find your identity. I see from his notes that he was happy with your progress."

"I remembered more yesterday," I said quickly. I wanted to get this session over with as soon as I could. I felt very uncomfortable. It was clear to me that Doctor Scanlon didn't have Doctor Southerby's sincerity. He saw me less as a person and more as a patient, another statistic. In my way of thinking, the patients were lucky he usually didn't take a direct role in their treatment.

"Oh? And you had some sort of a reaction to that, I see. I have a report here," he continued, opening the folder again, "that you exhibited some acting out yesterday."

"Pardon me? Acting out?"

"You were running wild in the corridors, nearly knocked over a custodian, screamed hysterically, made demands, and nearly had to be restrained."

"I was excited. I wanted to see Doctor Southerby," I said. "I didn't mean to be loud, and I don't think I needed to be restrained."

"Umm-hmm," he groaned, without looking at me. He continued to-stare at the papers before him. How quickly Mrs. Kleckner had written me up, I thought.

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