Michael arrived home earlier than usual, since he did not have any appointments. After fixing dinner, he brought up his suitcase from the small storage area each apartment owner was allotted. Gathering clothing for a few days, he was saddened by the process. Normally he loved to travel but he knew this trip would be anything but enjoyable. As he heard the door to the apartment unlatch, he walked into the living area to greet Peter.
"You're home early," Peter said as he went to kiss his partner.
"I cancelled all my appointments for today. Didn't feel I could counsel anyone when my mind was elsewhere. Most folks can get away with running on a half tank or with their mind preoccupied, but as a counselor I owe it to my clients to be at my best at all times. They are paying me to listen and to help them work through their problems. If I'm worried about my own, I'm cheating everyone."
"I love that you care about your clients." Peter walked toward the bedroom and unbuttoned his shirt, placing it in the hamper. Grabbing a long sleeve gray Henley from the closet, he slipped it over his head and then exchanged his dress pants for a pair of sweats. Sitting on the bed, he patted the area next to him, indicating Michael should sit.
"How'd it go? Did Sam agree to help?"
"Yes. He agreed. We're leaving in the morning. He's hoping that the doctor will provide information to us, but we won't know until we arrive."
"I thought doctors share information about their patients. Isn't it in everyone's interest to do so?"
"Like I said, this is a little different. When doctors share information, there is written consent from the patient or the family. John doesn't even know we know where he is. To complicate matters, he was sent there by the police. This makes it a potential legal issue."
"Do you think John will listen, get that what he did was wrong?"
Michael reached for Peter's hands and held them gently in his own. "It's not that simple. Sam isn't going to go in there, tell John he's not in a relationship and John will say sure. Things aren't that easy."
Peter sat on the bed lost in thought for a few moments, struggling with the many questions in his head.
"So what does happen? I mean... I guess we can't wave a magic wand and say boo."
"The mind is a tricky thing, hon. When you have an ear infection, the doc gives you a pill and 7-10 days later you're better. We're still trying to understand the mind, figure out why some people get sick and others don't. There are lots of people who experience horrible events and bounce back and others who experience minor trauma, who are so affected they can't function."
"But John hasn't experienced any trauma. He's had a great life. What happened? I mean I know we talked to him a few nights ago and he seemed pretty convinced that the artist was his boyfriend, but what caused this?" Peter asked, trying to understand.
"I wish I knew. Maybe I'll have a better answer after Sam has talked to him."
"And what happens after Sam talks to him? I mean, do you leave him there? Does he come home? How do you fix this?"
Michael gave a big sigh, wishing his partner understood more about psychology. "He will probably be given some medications, they will hopefully help him get rid of the delusions. Most likely he will have some therapy and the therapy will help him too."
"Delusions. That makes him sound like some crazy person. John isn't crazy," Peter said, defending his friend.
"He is delusional, Peter. What else would you call someone who makes an elaborate relationship out of a chance encounter? John met the painter when he was dancing at his birthday. It appears he understood this was an act, but some time recently, he lost connection with reality and decided the painter was his boyfriend. Something snapped. It's common for Mental Illness to first be diagnosed in the late teens to early 20's. Its possible John had an earlier break but you might not know about it. You've known him since high school, but did you guys go to college together? Did you keep up with him during that time?"
Peter rubbed his hands over his face several times, trying to process the information. Thinking back, he mentally mapped their time together.
"We went to different colleges and I do vaguely remember John took a semester off... I think it was sophomore year... maybe junior year. He said he had a sick relative that he was caring for. Maybe it was him that was sick. I could ask his sister." Peter took out his phone and started scrolling down the numbers.
Michael put out his hand, covering the screen. "No, don't. We need to know what is going on. You aren't treating him and neither am I but we are in a precarious position. He probably doesn't know we have any inkling about what happened in Pittsburgh and we have to tread very carefully. The John Sam hopefully sees tomorrow may not resemble the one you and I have known for years."
"What do you mean? Mental Illness isn't going to change him into a monster. I do at least know that much."
"No, you're right. Mental Illness doesn't change people's appearances and most people don't even look sick. What it does do is change the thought processes; their thoughts and rational abilities are changed. Things that don't make any sense to the rest of the world make perfect sense to them." Michael smiled at the idea that John had changed into a Frankenstein overnight. "At least the medical community has made some headway in making the public realize that individuals with Mental Illness are not mutants and people to be feared.
Of course, the media is also to blame for the extra fear people experienced. Any time a shooting or other rampage occurred, the media is the first one who pushes the Mental Illness agenda. To top it off they are also the ones who report to the public regarding the person's medical status and whether they had been under the care of a physician or other medical personnel.
The finger gets pointed many times when it was really the person's refusal to be treated. Unless the person appeared to be a threat to himself or others, it is their right to refuse treatment. To complicate matters, many people are very smart and able to hide their unstable minds. A therapist can only work with the information that the person chooses to share. A good therapist can often spot when the patient isn't telling the whole truth or only sharing a piece of the picture, but that doesn't give them a crystal ball to fill in the blanks. When someone is very sick, like John, it is actually a little easier to spot the gaps in their story, but oftentimes the information the patient provides appears very plausible." Michael stopped his little PSA when he realized that his first response would have been sufficient.
"Sorry. I get carried away when the public starts attacking my profession." He looked down at the pale blue and brown geometric design of their comforter, zoning for a minute on the pattern. He leaned in and gave Peter a kiss on the lips. "Let's eat. I'm sure you're hungry."
They got off the bed and went into the kitchen where they set the table and then dished out the food.
"I guess seeing John is out of the question?" Peter asked as he brought his plate to the table.
"I think you realize how complicated the situation is, dear. He doesn't even know that you have any inkling of his arrest or subsequent ‘evaluation'. You, showing up would result in more questions and explanations than either of us are ready to provide. I know you are anxious to ‘fix' this but I hope you realize that won't happen." Michael sat down at the table and took a sip of his water. Reaching out to his partner, he took his hand and gently squeezed it. "I would love to tell you that everything will be fine, but that may not happen any time soon, if ever. John is a changed man. Even if the medication works and the therapy is successful, he will still have to live with the knowledge of what he did. Hopefully he didn't screw up work and Darren will hold his job."
Peter lay down his fork and opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. Rubbing his face with his hand, he sighed at the enormity of the situation. "I hadn't even thought about Darren and his job. I was so focused on getting him out of this situation. Well, I did mention telling Darren, but that was really to.... Shit!!! I don't even know what I was thinking. I'm beginning to question my own thought process. I wanted to tell Darren so he wouldn't worry where John was. I didn't even think about the ramifications of having an employee in the psych ward. Hopefully the presentation John gave went well and the company signed on the dotted line. Darren's a cool guy. I'm sure he'll hold John's job. He'll be back in no time." Satisfied with his own solution, Peter picked up his fork again and started eating the meatloaf Michael had prepared.
"We could talk all day, but neither of us really know what is going on in John's mind nor do we know how Darren will react. As much as we want to put some closure or finality to the situation, we will just have to wait and see. I wish I could give you all the answers you want, but unfortunately I can't. Let's watch the BBC Sherlock Holmes' new episode. It's gotten great reviews and I'm tired of having to skip all the spoilers." Michael swallowed the last of his meatloaf and brought his plate to the dishwasher.
"You're right. I want you to tell me everything will be just fine and I know that you can't do that. I like knowing what is happening. Will you call me as soon as you know something? I understand it might be something as simple as John will be released on Tuesday, but at least something concrete."
"Sure." They sat down on the couch and watched the episode, both trying really hard to concentrate on the action on the screen rather than the questions in their minds.
Sam and Michael arrived at the Western Pittsburgh Psychiatric facility before noon and were allowed on the grounds. Parking their car in the visitor lot, they went into the tall high rise brown building. Had they not known it was a Psychiatric hospital, they could have felt like they were entering a grand hotel. Since it was a hospital specializing in Mental Health, it lacked the antiseptic smell that often accompanied many hospitals. Still the pale green walls and the deep blue signs directing visitors to the appropriate hallway made Sam and Michael feel like they were in a hospital.
"I called ahead yesterday and spoke to Dr. Farsi. I explained who I was in relation to John and asked to speak to him and possibly to John. He agreed to see me, but wouldn't commit to letting me talk to John until after our meeting," Sam said as he looked at the directory and located Dr. Farsi's office number.
"I'm pleased to know he agreed to speak to you. If I was in his shoes, I'm not sure what I would have said," Michael said as they turned down yet another short corridor. "I swear this place is a maze. I feel like I should get a piece of cheese when I reach Dr. Farsi's office."
Sam laughed. "I think a lot of psych hospitals are designed like that. Maybe it's to deter patients from trying to elope. They can't leave if they can't find the door."
"I never thought about it that way, but I guess there could be a case for that. Either way, I'd rather be anywhere else but here. I had trouble sleeping last night, just trying to figure out exactly how today was going to go. I feel like I owe Peter.... Give him some good news... tell him John is fine and it's all a big mistake, but I know that won't happen. The police sent John here for a reason and I talked to him, he is not thinking right." There was a sign designating the numbered suites, showing the visitor which direction to go to find their destination. They walked to their left and the only sound was the fluorescent lights above their heads. "I work with people with Mental Illness on a daily basis and often talk to their families trying to help them understand, but the reality of the situation really is hitting me now."
"There is a reason why doctors don't treat their own families. It's a lot harder to step back and be neutral."
"It is. Thank you again for doing this. I know you had to rearrange your schedule to come here."
"You're welcome, but I have to think you would do the same for me." They stopped in front of a door whose only designation was a number. They weren't sure if they were supposed to knock or turn the knob.
"Surely, there is some type of reception area and we wouldn't be walking in on a session," Michael said as he looked down the hallway, hoping to see another visitor who might be able to provide information.
"We walk in. Dr. Farsi told me that this is his private office but his one for patients is in another wing."
"Oh. No wonder I didn't see anyone walking around."
Turning the door knob, they walked into a small waiting area. A sign read they should ring the bell and after locating the bell, they tapped it lightly one time.
About thirty seconds later a middle age man with a salt and pepper beard opened the inner door. He was about Sam's height, 6" and appeared toned, no belly hanging over his pants. He wore a pair of grey slacks and a blue button down shirt but did not wear a tie. He walked toward his two visitors.
"Mr. Ohi, I presume?" He asked as he stuck out his hand in greeting.
"Yes," Sam said and returned the hand shake. "And this is Mr. Strong. He is the friend of Mr. Scott that I spoke to you about. Thank you for taking time to talk to us. I'm sure this is somewhat unusual."
"Come into my office." He opened the door wider and gestured toward a larger room. The room was furnished with a large mahogany desk and an executive leather chair. There was a credenza behind the desk filled with papers and files. In front of the desk were two blue client chairs.
"I guess there is some universality among therapists and doctors. I think I have the same chairs in my office," Sam remarked trying to make small talk.
All three men laughed at the comment.
"May I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Water?"
Both men shook their head and sat down in the chairs. Dr. Farsi sat in the leather chair and turned toward the two men. "Since the police sent you this way, I will acknowledge that Mr. Scott is here." Dr. Farsi poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the credenza. He blew on the cup to cool the drink before taking a small sip.
"This is a highly unusual situation. Usually when someone is taken in for an evaluation, it is at the request of the police or immediate family who feels the person is out of control. If the patient comes to the hospital voluntarily, an intake specialist interviews them and determines if they need admitting. While the police did request the evaluation, it is rare that a third party like yourself becomes involved." He took another sip of his coffee and then placed the white cup on a small ceramic saucer. "Of course, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Both men shook their heads, acknowledging his statement.
"I can't share any information about Mr. Scott, but I would like to ask you some questions, help me understand him better. We frequently interview families when a person is admitted; try to understand the dynamics of the family."
"Is he being admitted? I thought he was just being held for observation," Sam asked.
"I can't really answer that question, but talking with you may give us some insight. If he is held beyond 72 hours, then I will ask him if he would like visitors. We don't allow visitors during evaluation."
"Of course." Michael wished that patient confidentiality wasn't such a sacred cornerstone of their profession. Understanding the need to protect someone's privacy as well as providing a safe place for an individual to share their secrets and feelings was paramount to the patient/counselor relationship and allowed a higher level of trust and intimacy between them. On the other hand, as a friend or family member of the patient, he could see how frustrating it would be not to be provided the information the patient shared.
"While I would love to talk to Mr. Scott, my presence here would be difficult to explain. Would you allow Mr. Ohi to be part of the evaluation team?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Mr. Ohi doesn't have credentials to work in this area and since it is a police mandate, we cannot allow any bending of the rules."
Michael sighed and shook his head in understanding. "Well, what kind of information can we assist you with?" Michael asked, hoping to maybe glean some information based on the questions that the doctor asked.
The doctor asked a number of questions about John. He questioned Michael about John's family and his relationship with them. He asked about his job, his friends, his hobbies and his relationships. Unfortunately, there was nothing that provided Michael any information about John's state of mind.
"I'm scheduled for a meeting in a few minutes and it takes a few minutes to get there in this maze of a building. Thank you for your time and information. A decision will be made tomorrow regarding Mr. Scott's mental competency. I will be happy to discuss with you the next step at that time. If he is released, he will be returned to the police and if he is kept here, then I would speak with him regarding a visit. Either way, you will have more information by tomorrow."
Sam and Michael shook Dr. Farsi's hand.
"Thank you for seeing us. I appreciate you position. I will expect your call in the morning."
"Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you. It appears that Mr. Scott has some excellent friends."
The three men rode the elevator down to the first floor and Dr. Farsi walked toward the left corridor while they walked toward their car.
"I wish he could have told us more. I understand why he couldn't. If nothing else, I have a greater appreciation of my patient's families when they press me for information." Michael pushed open the door leading to the parking lot. "If it were you doing the evaluating, would you let him go? I mean he hasn't made a threat towards Mr. Taylor, but professing your love for him is pretty creepy."
"This is such a hard case. I don't think they can keep him here, especially if he doesn't admit to any plans to cause harm to Mr. Taylor's boyfriend or Mr. Taylor. If they let him go, he will most likely be put on probation and have to check in with an officer. If the officer thought he had potential for following through on any dangerous acts involving Mr. Taylor or his partner, the courts could possibly mandate treatment. Stalking someone is not an offense where the courts generally lock a person up; it's a misdemeanor. If he came near Mr. Taylor again, they might arrest him. There are so many ifs that I can't speculate." Sam unlocked the car and turned on the ignition so they could put the heater on, getting rid of the chill.
Acknowledging neither of them had any answers and discussing the situation would not result in any resolution, Michael said, "let's not waste the remainder of the afternoon. I hear the Incline is pretty interesting and we could visit it in a few hours."
Sam got the GPS out from under the passenger seat and plugged in the Incline as their destination. They spent a few hours there as Michael predicted and retired to the hotel where they watched the Pittsburgh Penguins play the St. Louis Blues in hockey.
As the two men were eating breakfast in the morning, Sam's phone rang. He didn't recognize the number but saw it was an out of area exchange. Hoping it was Dr. Farsi or someone else involved with his visit to the area, he answered the phone.
"Hello. This is Sam Ohi."
"....Yes. Thank you. We'll be there in a little while."
Michael put down his coffee cup and looked expectantly at Sam, hoping for good news.
"The hospital is releasing him."
Michael let out a sigh of relief. "That's great."
"The police are charging him with a misdemeanor and he will have to check in with a probation officer. The courts are agreeing to an officer in New York, even though that is out of the area. They feel that having John come here to check in would be detrimental; they don't want to encourage any further visits to the area."
"Ok. That's doable. We talked about that being a possibility. Why the frown?"
"Slow down. Have you thought about what you are going to say to John? How are you going to explain your presence here in Pittsburgh, let alone at the police department?"
"We could tell him the truth." Michael stood up to walk to the cashier with the check, anxious to get to the police station. "Oh what a tangled web we weave: When first we practise to deceive! Sir Walter Scott." Michael quoted one of his favorite sayings. "We'll figure it out."
Each man paid for their food and walked to the car.
"The truth is probably a good place to start. Trouble is; will John accept/believe the truth? His truth is different than everyone else's truth," Sam said as he typed in the address for the police station where they were holding John.
TBC