Post by Jeremiah Arkham on Dec 19, 2020 16:09:56 GMT -7
The fluorescent lighting would soon be replaced by a more sustainable, cleaner source of lighting, but for the moment it buzzed above him and the man he’d guided inside. It was a small space, no more than a quick intake room used to assess patients brought to the asylum on an intake and emergency basis. It’s where Pamela Isley should have been taken, but Aldrich wouldn’t follow procedure. Honestly, the man couldn’t even practice decency.
He was also a poor liar.
As Jeremiah took in Grant, the young, no doubt rookie officer who’d been assigned as Aldritch’s protege, he couldn’t help the frown that turned down his lips. His brow was also furrowed as he glared at him. Well, not at him, but his obvious injuries.
“You were in a car accident, right,” he said, “I expect you’ll be experiencing whiplash tomorrow. Sore muscles, a sore neck.” He clinically pointed out the symptoms. That would be the part of this interaction. The facts a person knew, information, there was a comfort in those. “I’ll have one of our residents prescribe pain medicine and muscle relaxers. I’m a doctor of the mind,” he gave a smile at that, “not the body. They’re more appropriate for that, but being a doctor I do know some things.” Again his gaze raked over his face.
He stepped forward, closer to the man he’d told to sit on the stretcher when they’d first entered. “You’ll have a nice black eye in the morning. Your lip is also split and then, there’s the broken nose.” He nodded at this. “I’ll have one of our medics come and set it. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be quick.” He grabbed a stool that sat against the wall and pulled it over to the bedside. He took a seat.
That was the end of the facts. He could tell him what was wrong physically, but he still remembered the haunted look in his eyes when he’d first brought in Ms. Isley with Aldrich. How he seemed so dazed. It was more than just the daze of a car accident. It could have been traumatic shock, but was it from the physical accident of wrecking the cruiser? Or was it more psychological.
“So with that out of the way, let’s talk about that black eye and broken nose while we wait for the medic.” His voice was now gentle, in psychiatry mode. It was also honest and wise. “I think we both know that Ms. Isley didn’t cause your broken nose. Sergeant Aldrich’s? Certainly, but something tells me not yours.”
He was also a poor liar.
As Jeremiah took in Grant, the young, no doubt rookie officer who’d been assigned as Aldritch’s protege, he couldn’t help the frown that turned down his lips. His brow was also furrowed as he glared at him. Well, not at him, but his obvious injuries.
“You were in a car accident, right,” he said, “I expect you’ll be experiencing whiplash tomorrow. Sore muscles, a sore neck.” He clinically pointed out the symptoms. That would be the part of this interaction. The facts a person knew, information, there was a comfort in those. “I’ll have one of our residents prescribe pain medicine and muscle relaxers. I’m a doctor of the mind,” he gave a smile at that, “not the body. They’re more appropriate for that, but being a doctor I do know some things.” Again his gaze raked over his face.
He stepped forward, closer to the man he’d told to sit on the stretcher when they’d first entered. “You’ll have a nice black eye in the morning. Your lip is also split and then, there’s the broken nose.” He nodded at this. “I’ll have one of our medics come and set it. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be quick.” He grabbed a stool that sat against the wall and pulled it over to the bedside. He took a seat.
That was the end of the facts. He could tell him what was wrong physically, but he still remembered the haunted look in his eyes when he’d first brought in Ms. Isley with Aldrich. How he seemed so dazed. It was more than just the daze of a car accident. It could have been traumatic shock, but was it from the physical accident of wrecking the cruiser? Or was it more psychological.
“So with that out of the way, let’s talk about that black eye and broken nose while we wait for the medic.” His voice was now gentle, in psychiatry mode. It was also honest and wise. “I think we both know that Ms. Isley didn’t cause your broken nose. Sergeant Aldrich’s? Certainly, but something tells me not yours.”