"Peter and the Crazies" Chapter 4

4

Gwen was standing by another truck 10 feet away, although it was a much more recent model than Grandfather’s ancient Ford. She looked just as surprised to see them. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re going to see Dr. Prescott. What are you doing here?” Peter asked.

“I’m going to see Dr. Prescott, too,” she said with a frown.

This was a problem because Mr. Wainwright, Gwendolyn’s father, had forbidden her to make contact with Peter and Dill. He was convinced that Peter and Dill were troublemakers and had gotten his only daughter involved in a bunch of ‘monkey business’ that had landed her in court and on the wrong side of the law.

Which wasn’t entirely false.

Of course, they violated his orders every day at school when they ate lunch together. Gwendolyn lied to him about that. But as for hanging out after school? Completely out of the question. Peter had called her during the Boogeyman mess to see if she could help, but she was under lock and key at the time.

Much to Peter’s surprise, when he and Dill told her what happened at school on Monday, she was grumpy that she’d missed out on their near-death experience.

“We almost died,” Peter had explained in a I don’t think you heard me kind of voice.

“You would've been fine if I’d been there,” she’d said sullenly.

In fact, Mr. Wainwright so distrusted Peter and Dill that he had demanded his daughter have completely different therapy days with Dr. Prescott so that she wouldn’t see the boys.

Now that they were there, all in one place at the same time, and on a day Gwendolyn shouldn’t have even seen the doctor, Mr. Wainwright was going to be P.O.’d.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint.

“What the hell is going on here?!” he barked as he rounded the truck. He was a tall man with a bit of a middle-aged gut. He had a rugged, tanned face and streaks of grey over his ears. He wore the work boots, plaid shirt, and vest of a hunter – fitting, since that was the thing he loved to do most in life. He had passed on his great love of guns and marksmanship to his daughter, who was the best under-18 shot in the county. Probably the state. Maybe even the entire world, from what Peter had seen. And probably not just under 18 years, either.

Grandfather walked around the truck. “John,” he said gruffly.

“What exactly are you and – and those boys doing here, Mr. Flannagan?” Gwendolyn’s dad fumed.

“Going to their court-appointed head-doctor visit,” Grandfather said.

“Why are they here at the same time as my daughter?”

“Well, since this is their regular day, and the only things that have changed are the hour and the place, you’ll have to ask the good doctor about that.”

“I – well – I – ” Mr. Wainwright stammered.

“You can ask the good doctor right now,” said a thin, high voice.

Peter looked over and actually stepped back in surprise.

Dr. Prescott was walking towards them through the parking lot, but it was not the same man Peter was used to seeing. For one, he had on a black turtleneck and a navy blue jacket that sailors wore in movies (a ‘pea coat,’ Peter thought they called it). Dr. Prescott normally wore a suit to their sessions – either that or a long, white jacket, the kinds doctors wear in hospitals.

For another, he looked pale and sweaty. His hair was stringy and damp, and he had dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept in days. And the cheek under one eye kept twitching slightly, over and over.

But he sounded exactly like the Dr. Prescott Mom had talked to over the phone: a real butthole.

“My daughter is supposed to have sessions on Thursdays so we don’t have to be near – near them,” Mr. Wainwright said, pointing at Dill and Peter.

“Yes, well, we’re having group therapy today,” Dr. Prescott said. “Which necessitated the presence of all three children at once.”

“Group therapy? Why the hell does she need group therapy?”

“I believe Gwendolyn is repressing certain issues. I’d like her to confront them on a conscious level, and the only way I can do that is with the presence of the other children. Also, I need her in order to do a full investigation of the psycho-social group dynamics of the trio, and the effects I think that all three of them are suffering, including paranoia and shared delusions . A folie a trois, if you will.”

Mr. Wainwright’s was frowning, but now more from confusion than anger.

“I…what?”

“I think your daughter is suffering from shared psychotic disorder, Mr. Wainwright, and the only way I can diagnose it properly is to see her under the effects of the inducer with the primary delusion.”

“The…? Look, doc, you can talk fancy-shmancy all day long, but you’re lucky I even agreed to Gwenny going in that nuthouse. She is not going in there with those – ”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a degree in psychiatry?” Dr. Prescott butted in.

“Wha– no, you know I don’t.”

“A medical degree then? How about a doctorate in – ” Here, Dr. Prescott shuddered the slightest bit. “ – psychology? No, not even that?”

He grabbed Dill by the crook of his arm and snapped his fingers twice, and beckoned to Peter and Gwen the way he might command a dog.

Normally Peter would have been angry to be treated this way, but he was so unnerved by this new, sweaty, jittery, mean Dr. Prescott that he obeyed without question and walked over to him. Gwendolyn followed.

“When you do complete your residency, let me know, Dr. Wainwright, but until then, I’ll treat your daughter and her friends the way I see fit.”

The tall, thin man turned to go.

Mr. Wainwright stepped forward angrily. “Now look here – ”

Dr. Prescott whipped back around. He spoke firmly, but not angrily; more than anything, it was amazing how cold he was as he stared Gwendolyn’s dad in the eyes.

“No? You don’t like that? Then here, take her.” He pushed on Gwendolyn’s back and forced her gently towards her father. “I’ll let Judge Glendak know as soon as I get back in the building that you’ve decided to terminate her court-appointed sessions, and that you accept full responsibility in having her original sentence restored. I’m sure the sheriff’s department can pick her up tomorrow morning to transfer her to juvenile hall.”

Mr. Wainwright’s face looked pained, and all the fight went out of him. He shrank a little like a slowly deflating balloon toy.

Dr. Prescott saw it, too. He didn’t smile or gloat. He knew he had won, but he acted like the outcome had never been in question.

“No? Alright then, we’ll see you in two hours.”

Prescott turned to go again –

“Doctor,” Grandfather said roughly.

Prescott cocked his head in irritation, turned slowly around, and stared at Grandfather without saying a word.

“Are you feeling alright, Doctor?” Grandfather asked.

Prescott straightened his head and smoothed down the lapel of his jacket, a little taken aback. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re sweating…and that’s quite a heavy jacket to be wearing with such mild weather.”

The doctor straightened up even further. “I had to run down here to collect the children, that’s all. Thank you for inquiring after my health, but we really need to start the session, Mr. Flannagan.”

Grandfather looked long and hard at the other man…and then nodded the slightest bit.

Prescott averted his eyes and bowed his head at the neck – a little mockingly, and maybe a little unsure of how that last conversation had just gone. Then he turned around and strode through the rows of cars.

“Come along,” he said brusquely to Peter, Gwen, and Dill, and they followed him helplessly into Shadow Hills.

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Copyright © 2011 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.