CHAPTER 1

The Doctor is In

 

It's Tuesday, the alarm clock is blaring loudly as always at 4:00 a.m. As I lay still on my back, glaring through the sky view window above my bed, the sun has yet to make its appearance. The sky, lit only by the city lights, has a bluish-gray complexion that appears grainy, given that the morning fog is sweeping past making way for a beautiful spring day.

For the past half hour, I have been laying awake replaying recent events with my latest patient in my mind. This is normal for me. I tend to lose focus and suffer mildly from insomnia after diagnosing and treating my patients, who have all been traumatized and under the age of 18. For me, it is one of the many setbacks to being a child psychologist.

My job is to bring the minds of children that have been impacted by crises, back to a level state so that they can function normally in society; normally in this sense being defined as physically, mentally and emotionally healthy.

At times, it's troubling for me to think of the mental condition of this generation’s youth, aptly deemed the "Now Generation;" heavily influenced by the convenience of fast food, software technology and the access to endless amounts of information that's just a mouse-click away.

It is, above all, the parents and guardians responsibility to regulate and monitor their child's activity, but for the most part, that isn't happening. I like to think that I am doing my part in changing the future of the world for the better. However small or large my part may be.

Regularly, I get calls from the management and parents of child actors that I have to refuse, in view of the fact that I only take on extreme cases. Aside from that, I’ve always felt there should be stronger limitations on the use of child actors. I'm aware that I have something to contribute to the children of Hollywood, but for now I can only focus on my chosen area of expertise. I go where I am needed most and in my opinion, troubled Hollywood kids just need less camera time and more parenting.

 

Professionally, I have achieved almost every goal I have set for myself. I have a career most physicians can only dream of. My client base spans across the nation. The accounts I get are typically government contracts, or upper-class clientele because my services are pricey. I have my own successful practice; with an unorthodox approach to recovery. Basically, I immerse myself in the child’s environment for accurate treatment and faster results which requires 24-hour observation.

To begin, I monitor the child's behavior and mannerism from a distance, without the child's knowledge in order to see in what ways the child may be "acting out" and to get a better understanding of what my course of plan should be. Once I've established a treatment process, I come in contact with the patient and only when absolutely necessary do I introduce myself as a doctor. Plan implementation leads to countless hours of observation, recording and detailed reporting of development in behavior. I institute, review and repeat until a satisfactory analysis is achieved.

I travel across the country providing this tedious service that could occupy me for months at a time, but I can't imagine doing anything else. My whole life, I’ve taken this sort of tactical approach to everything I do, and it plays out in my career. It can be grueling at times, yes. It takes both a physical and emotional toll, but it is also financially and spiritually rewarding. I feel it is my life’s purpose.

I have given lectures around the world, written several books, and have proven well over a dozen theories. Some say, I should have been considered for a Pulitzer and that they feel I was overlooked because I am “too young;” but I feel every bit of my 35 years. Though it is an honor to hear people say such wonderful things about my work, I never let it go to my head. I prefer not to acknowledge the critics and draw attention to myself. I am not seeking celebrity status. In this line of work, too much publicity would be counter-productive. It's bad for business and besides, it's not what I want for myself. To be placed under the watchful eye of the public would only dampen my treatment methods.

 

I glance across the room to see my bags still packed from my return home last night from a month’s stay in Los Angeles. I’ve called New York my home since graduate school. For as long as I can remember, I've been drawn to the Big Apple. Even more than the city itself, I miss this place when I’m away. I live in a rebuilt 4 bedroom 2 1/2 bathroom town home on a discreet block in the Upper East Side of New York. It is classically designed, with a natural sandstone facade that lends itself to my engraved brass insignia that reads: DR. DANA GRAY, PhD. CHILD PSYCHOLOGIST.

There is a fireplace in the living room, as well as the master suite. It has a garden floor level, an enormous foyer and a large custom built stainless steel equipped kitchen that faces the garden. The finishes and fixtures are of the finest quality; all funded by my blood, sweat and tears. It is something I positively look forward to returning to whenever I am traveling for work.

After I purchased it about 3 years ago, I converted it into a live-in work space. I save a lot on the overhead, mainly because I have no employees on staff. I process and maintain my own files, manage my own calendar, answer my own phones; it's quite liberating. People criticize me for not having any employees, but it would be impossible for me to find anyone who could match my passion for children and my desire to help them. Simply put: I can’t imagine sharing this space with anyone—I love it here; it's so spacious, classy, quiet and comfortable. In my eyes, there is no other place like this in the world. I have worked like a mad woman to get it. Everything about it informs my drive and ability to find tranquility in solitude.

I took careful consideration with every piece of the decor, as well as the organization and placement of all items. I've never been a hoarder. I can't stand clutter or busyness. I love live plants; the more exotic the better, but not too many. The sound of trickling water is always peaceful and soothing to me. I would love to have an aquarium, but I'm not home enough to maintain it properly which is why I don't have any pets.

Once I became the owner, I took every measure to ensure this place would be all that I want it to be. What I wanted was the feel of a day spa, slash office, slash art studio. I pride myself on comfort, while most people are only focused on style or name brand. I can never understand how people are so willing to sacrifice their comfort for beauty and style when furnishing a home; it doesn’t make sense. In any case, it's good to be home. Now, I can finally take some time to relax and refresh.

 

More than anything, my bed is what I miss the most. It is my greatest short-term investment. I won’t even go into the amount of money I’ve spent on bedding. I am normally not one to splurge, but the costs of my sheets alone are ridiculous. It's not a compulsion, nor do I have an anal personality. Sleeping is a major factor in life for me. If I sleep comfortably for 3 hours, I feel it is equivalent to a rough night of 8 hours. So, it isn’t just about getting sleep, it's about getting a proper night’s sleep on a regular basis. I believe this to be just as important as the food we eat.

Today, although I didn’t get much rest, I’ve got to get some running in or my day won’t go as smooth. I need to rejuvenate after a long and trying session. It's 4:05AM, I switch the alarm clock to “off” and in an instant, with cat-like reflexes I get out of bed, throw on my running gear, grab my key chain which has my handy portable mini-voice recorder attached, and head for the door.

At the end of the steps, I check my watch, take a deep breath and start my course. I enjoy running this early because there isn’t much foot or auto traffic and I can run my trail without it being an obstacle course. Occasionally, there are people out walking their dogs and I have to make leaps and bounds over poop and hounds; resembling a really feminine running back going in for a touchdown, I imagine. I can't help but to laugh whenever it happens.

When I’m on my AM run, it is my alone time that often times we all desperately need. Not only does it help maintain my physique, but the fresh air refreshes my thought process and revitalizes my sense of spirit—and there you have it: a healthy mind, body and soul. Over the years, I have had many revelations while on my run, or while soaking in a hot bath. Running or soaking can serve as a remedy for me during times of ailment or confusion, which in turn helps my patients.

 

About a mile into my run, I keep seeing images in my mind of Amy, the little girl I spent the last month with. She is a 5 year old witness to a murder-suicide involving her mother and her mother’s boyfriend. Amy was 2 years old when her mother starting dating a younger man with drinking problems. According to my sources, he had issues with jealousy that resulted in him taking the life of an innocent person as well as his own. The classic case of “if I can’t have you, no one can!”

Amy was able to recover quickly because she was living in squalor prior to her mother being killed. Now, she is assigned to a terrific foster home, and she has all the attention, toys and educational tools a child could ever need. These superficial things will be enough for now, but when she grows older not only will she remember the murder, she will have unanswered questions that will be a gateway to deeper emotional issues.

It took us about two weeks of working together before she overcame the night terrors. The playground was major part of her therapy. I took her to parks swarming with kids and homemakers or nannies, where she was able to socialize with other children. Amy is still very much in a delicate state but with a caring environment surrounding her at all times, the fate of her mother may very well turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

The most stressful part of jobs like this, is knowing exactly what she and other children like her need, but not being able to take them all home and supply it to them. It can be heartrending. So, working under these conditions I can only hope that I’ve done my job, and that they receive the proper care from adopting families or foster homes. A large percentage of my clients are no longer with their parents.

In Amy’s case, the whereabouts of her birth father are unknown. She had no one. Her case, was popular. I did all that I could to keep her out of the flickering and flashing camera lights of photographers and news crews; away the reporters’ microphones and tape recorders—shield her from the crowd of people holding up their cell phones trying to get a glimpse for their own selfish reasons. Getting the story and footage was all that those people cared about; not giving a damn about what effect they would have on this little girl’s life in the long run. She needs all the help she can get. Nothing can take away her memory of seeing her mom murdered; that will haunt her for as along as she lives.

That reminds me; I hold up my mini-recorder panting as I talk into it: “note to self, schedule return visit to LA. for follow-up…” The recorder cuts me off, and makes a loud beep. It's full, no more memory. Ugh! There’s so much that needs to be done.

* * *

When I get back home from exercising, it is still very early but I have a voice message from Jade, one of my best friends. “Hi, Dana it’s Jade. Just wanted to check in and find out how your trip was. I know it's early but I’m having trouble sleeping…Brian left me for Marissa, can you believe it? After 3 years of devotion…He’s a breast man—always has been; her tits are like two deployed airbags. I should have known better. I thought I could trust him, that son-of-a-bitch! Anyway, I’m staying with my sister Bernice, you have the number. Call me when you get this, maybe we should get together with the girls. So, yeah. Call me. Please? Welcome home.”

The recording ended. I could hear the pain in her voice, but I can’t say that I didn’t see the heartache in her future.

Jade and Brian met three years ago at a charity function, and had been inseparable since then. They were swingers; frequenting sex clubs and parties on what seemed like a weekly basis. They thought it would be healthy for their relationship and “wanted to keep things exciting, fresh and new. “

I knew it was just an opportunity for Brian to fuck other people, without losing the hold he had on Jade. Marissa was one of the girls they had an arrangement with. They had an agreement that they would only meet with their outside sex partners occasionally, sharing the costs of the swank hotels and they were to remain on a first name basis to sustain anonymity. Apparently, Brian didn’t hold up his end of the bargain.

I never liked him. From the moment he and Jade started dating, he put a hindering on my friendship with her. Poor Jade. She has to be the most unfortunate in our circle of friends, even though she is the most beautiful.

 

I pick up the phone and dial the number for her sister, but there is no answer. She must have been up all night and had finally fallen asleep. I decide to leave a message, “Hello Bernice, I hope all is well, this message is for your sister. Hey Jade, it's Dana, I just got in from my run. Sorry to hear about Brian. You know that I’m here for you, and yes we should get together today, for lunch. So, round up the girls and I’ll set it up. Let’s meet at our usual spot at 11:45.” I sigh, “I can’t wait to see you, bye!” I hang up, make reservations for four and jump in the shower.

* * *

After my shower, I dress comfortably in my sweats and NYU t-shirt, and make a light breakfast. I check my calendar and my schedule is clear for the day, so I start perusing through my files. After a few hours of making business calls, generating invoices and going over notes, I freshen up, get dressed for lunch and run outside to hail a cab.

 

When I get to the restaurant, the girls are already there. Hmm. I check my watch because I’m never late. But now, after giving it a second thought; I know that because they all arrived before me, Jade’s situation is serious. I’m always the last to know.

As I advance toward the table, which is stationed by the window with a perfect view of the bridge, I see Jade, who is wearing big, dark designer shades to hide the puffiness of her eyes. Her hair is in a ponytail and she is wearing a white, free-flowing frumpy little number that resembles a muumuu with white thong-style sandals. Not even remotely close to the dazzling outfits that she would typically wear that makes everyone stare and wonder if she is a celebrity.

To the right of Jade sits Sabrina, who gives me a troubled look of discontent, disapprovingly shaking her head from left to right. Sabrina is a domestic mother of three boys, with a husband named Bruce, who is in the construction business. She is wearing a bright, colorful sun dress that compliments her skin and eyes. Sabrina is the optimistic friend who is always smiling, and sees the silver lining in the clouds—today it seems she has trouble with that.

Lastly, on her left is Michelle, who is wearing a black 3-piece Marc Jacob suit and flagging down a waitress. She orders a refill on the mimosa she hasn't quite finished, mildly barking out the order in her British accent that comes and goes depending on her mood, "No, in fact, can you just bring out a pitcher, dear please? Thank you, da'ling." That's Michelle, alright. She knows how to make any environment feel like a party; even at the worst of times. Michelle is a corporate lawyer, specializing in acquisitions and mergers and for her, there's always a reason to celebrate. She is not at all a drunk; she is in complete control at all times and I have a deep admiration for her.

 

I arrive at the table, greeted with warm hugs. The waitress comes over with the pitcher of mimosas, takes my order and my menu, and dashes into the kitchen. At that point, we all move in closer as if we we are in a football huddle.

Jade, like she was given a signal, starts to cry, "I'm pregnant!" My face is empties of all emotion, "You're what?! Oh my, goodness Jade!" is all I can conjure up. I am in complete and total surprise with no idea on how to react. Now, I understand why this time, I am the last to know. If we weren't best friends, I'd be amazed that she decided to share this with me at all, considering the circumstances. Unless, she's already made up her mind on what she's going to do next.

Aside from deep concern, my mind came up with all sorts of questions, like: Is Brian the father, and is she certain that he is? Isn't she on the pill? Will she have the child? Since, I know I am the one whose opinion mattered most at the moment, I decide to go with a more safer reaction to the news, "So, how far along are you?" Hoping a leading question would actually work, so I wouldn't have to ask any further questions. She evades my question, "Well, to be honest with you, I haven't made any decisions. I haven't even told my parents because I know how badly they've wanted grandchildren and I don't want to be swayed." Jade proclaims, "You all know how much I loved Brian, and I can't bear having just this small piece of him in my life, and not being with him. I just--I just don't know what to do! Please, help me!" she cries out.

Sabrina puts her arm around Jade to pacify her. Michelle's eyes roll up, as if she were praying to the heavens for help then she sips her drink, "Listen Jade, whatever you decide to do, we are all behind you, and support you 100%. It is your choice; you have the power to control what happens in the next chapter of your life."

I try like hell not to have a disturbed look on my face, but I don't know if I am succeeding. Jade buries her face in a table napkin to avoid the waitress, who is bringing out our orders. No one touches their food.

Jade removes her shades, and collects herself, "Look, I know I've been foolish and...I just want to say that I fully understand the situation I'm in. Bringing a child into this world takes a lot of responsibility and, I know my track record isn't a portrait of responsibility, but--I am willing to give this child a chance. I know you all may be wondering whether or not Brian is the father, and even though we were being safe, those things aren't 100%. To be honest, I don't think that any of it matters now does it?” We all gave each other a look, as if to say we all agreed.

Since Brian was out of her life anyway, what did it matter if he was the father? I just have to ask, "So, he doesn't know that you're pregnant then?" Jade looks at me as if she needs me to promise, and then says, "No, he doesn't and he'll never know, okay?" Again, we all look to each other and agree.

Jade's cell phone starts to ring, but she doesn't recognize the caller. "Hello? Yes, this is she. Okay. Yes. Yes, certainly. Thank you." She ends the call with a vexed look on her face as though she is trying to make sense out of what just happened, "That was the hospital...Brian, was attacked. I was on his emergency contact list, and they want me to come down to the emergency room."

Michelle smiles, holds her mimosa high in the air, "Cheers!" Right then, Sabrina and I both knew that Michelle put in a call to the team of guys from her firm; not exactly “employees” so to speak, but they are hired to perform side work that doesn't exactly involve paperwork. Sabrina and I are shaken and staggered while Jade, signaling for the check, doesn't have a clue. I just hope this truth never surfaces. Michelle, in her typical manner, makes an off-subject suggestion, "So! What's next? Mani's and pedi's? What do you say girls?"

* * *

On the cab ride home from lunch, I ponder on today's events and what the future will hold. That was a surprisingly emotional lunch and it's weighing heavy on my mind. I have mixed feelings on the whole ordeal but I have to keep those thoughts to myself.

A large part of me feels jealous, because I thought I'd have my friend back since Brian is out of the picture but now, she's focusing on motherhood. Pretty soon, I won't have much of a social life at all. Two down, two to go. Another one bites the dust.

That leaves Michelle and I, but Michelle works hard; and plays even harder. I speak with Michelle’s assistant and voice mailbox, more than I do with her. She's really hard to keep up with, and I can‘t dream of her ever going into motherhood. It sure was nice to see all of my girls today, though.

I’m having trouble focusing today. I‘m zoning in and out. I've been ignoring the cabbie, who I’ve just noticed as the same driver that picked me up from the airport less than 24 hours ago. I hear "Funky Kingston" by Toot and the Maytals playing faintly. This song always brings my spirits up. I suddenly feel energized and ready to finish up some more work, "Could you turn the volume up a little please?" The driver gives a perplexed smile, glancing at me through his rear view mirror, "Irie!"

We are jamming all the way home, as I thought to myself about how I should take a Caribbean vacation; maybe the girls would want to go. Jade needs this. Hell, I need this! We could leave this weekend—I hope they're up for it.

* * *

When we arrive in front of my home, I give the driver a huge tip and jump out of the cab like an excited little girl, "Keep the change!" The cabbie jumps out and runs after me trying to get my attention.

He is crowning a white head wrap that bundles in the back, and cascades down on top of his dreadlocks draping down the middle of his back. Each time I‘ve seen him, he has worn a green military jacket, with matching green camouflage pants. He doesn‘t strike me as the militant type, so I‘m guessing it is his dressing style.

The cabbie smiles and says, "me dun wan let go of such a fare, lady, 'ear me now?" He gestured toward the car, and then me. It was a play on words: fare and fair. I chuckled at his corny but clever joke, and then he hands me his card with his contact information on it.

The card is green, with a marijuana plant pictured on it—and it must be scratch n' sniff because it reeks of ganja. He seems like a nice enough guy, so I will assume he has a prescription for medical marijuana with no intention to sell or dispense.

He is a man of few words, "Call me anytime, bay-bay gal." I thank him and wave goodbye. I run up the steps, through the door and head straight for the phone to call the girls about taking a trip, and I see that there are phone messages.

The first is from Mother, "Hello honey, it's mom. Wanted to find out if you've made it home safely and I want to know when you will be able to come and visit us. Hopefully, soon. I can't wait to see you, sweetheart. Call me, I love you!"

The second message couldn't have come at a more worse time. "Hello Dr. Gray, my name is Sandra Arnold and I'm calling from Child Welfare Services here in New York. I was wondering if you are available to take on a case. Please give us a call back at..."

Damn it! As she reads off her phone number, I’m taking it down and cursing myself because I should have called the girls. Oh well, my motto is "business before pleasure.“ The government jobs are my bread & butter and they rarely last that long. I return her call and agree to meet her at the police station in a half hour. I dig into my purse and pull out the cabbie’s business card and it looks like my next call is to: "Baker, the Taxi Driver." Right, I get it; he gets baked—again with the conundrums, this guy.

* * *

Baker drops me off in front of the precinct and asks me to call him if I need to be picked up. I thank him, again and wave him off. I go to the 3rd floor of the building where the homicide department is.

The environment is loud and fast-paced. People moving about the office, files everywhere, phone ringing continuously, fax machines coughing up documents—controlled chaos. Miss Arnold, my contact is here to greet me at the reception area with a non-uniform policeman.

She is just the way most social workers are—serious, but compassionate. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, dressed in a blue skirt suit, with a white blouse and dark blue Rockport pumps. Her hair is pulled back, and if I hadn't known any better I would have guessed that she has been standing there since we spoke on the phone. She is standing firm with clipboard and pen in tow.

She reaches for my hand to shake, "Dr. Gray, a pleasure to be working with you, this is the Lead Detective Jeffery Sanders, he is assigned to the case." I shake their hands respectively, "A pleasure to meet your acquaintances."

Detective Sanders is something right out of a police action film; an overworked, underpaid man of civil service, who could use a shave. He is wearing his gun holster over a black dress shirt that bares his chest, with his sleeves rolled up and no wedding ring. His badge is clipped to his belt that holds up a pair of neatly pressed black slacks. I would probably be prone to wearing all black too, if I worked for homicide.

On his best day, he could very well be a print model for Dolce & Gabbana. Just once, I‘d like to seem him with his shirt off. He tells us, "Dr. Gray, Miss Arnold, follow me please."

His orders were direct, but non-threatening which is refreshing. Most of the male detectives I've worked with in the past have had issues about working with me; I assume it's because I am a doctor and they have full knowledge of the amount of money I make. Most men aren't secure enough to handle a woman of my status. For this very same reason, I am single and childless.

He leads us through a corridor and into a small conference room. He must be single because he isn't much of a gentleman, "Take a seat, please." We pull out our own chairs after giving each other a quick glance to show disapproval of his manners.

We sit side-by-side ready to take notes like two studious schoolgirls. Detective Sanders places his hands on his hips, throws a file on the table and starts to brief us on the case, "What we have here, are two under-aged witnesses to a murder—twins. Eva and Ava Donovan. We believe they witnessed their grandfather, William Donovan, age 54 murder their mother, Amanda Donovan, age 30. For 48 hours, we've had Mr. Donovan in custody, who claims that he did not kill his daughter. He claims that he and his daughter had gotten into a physical altercation, and that was it. We're still waiting for an autopsy report, but Amanda's neck was broken and there are obvious signs of struggle. He has scratches on his arms and according to the Coroner’s office his DNA matches what was found under Amanda's nails. As far as we know, he is the prime suspect, but he is refusing to talk any further. He even waived his right to an attorney. We are trying to locate a next-of-kin but until then, we will need to place the girls into your custody and care. They haven't spoken a word to anyone since we picked 'em up this morning; they tried to make a run after fleeing the scene. We're not sure if they are in shock, or they're just choosing not to cooperate. Dr. Gray, what we‘d like for you to do, is work your magic to see if you can‘t get a story out of ‘em. We need something—anything."

I chime in, "How old are they?" He flips through his files, "Let's see here...they're 14 years old." We go over a few more details and work out the arrangements. The girls will be in my care at a prominent New York Children’s Mental Health Facility, where I will be provided with the space and equipment to treat them. Miss Sandra Arnold will be making occasional supervising visits on the government's behalf.

She slightly turns her head in my direction, “I will be transporting the girls to the facility later tonight after they are seen by a medical doctor for a complete physical. I will see to it that they are checked in before your arrival tomorrow, Dr. Gray.”

Someone knocks on the door. Detective Sanders has other work to attend to, so he gives me his business card and says his goodbyes, “We‘ll be in touch...good day ladies.”

 

Miss Arnold offers to give me a lift home, so she would be able to discuss additional details; policies, time lines, protocol, logistics, etc. On our trek to her car, she continues to brief me on the details of the case up to this point.

During the drive, I zone out again. I pretend to listen and nod, but I keep thinking about how I'm not sure why I took this assignment, without having had any rest. Shit, I hadn't even unpacked! I was this close to planning an island retreat!

I am not focused, and this is not good. I'm feeling tired and overwhelmed, and I’m having second thoughts about whether or not I will be able to give these girls my all. I’m dealing with not one, but two personalities this time and this is a first for me.

At age 14, these children are much further along in their developmental stages; and with girls, I will be faced with the onset of puberty. Adolescent children can be hurtful and rebellious. They are able to think, reason and respond as well as young adults can. I need to be at the top of my game in order to see through their little masks of deception and get them to open up. Damn it! I should have at least eaten my lunch. My mind is all over the place! What have I done? What am I doing?!

CHAPTER 2

A Game of Chess

 

It's a new day, and after having my morning run, a shower and a nutritious breakfast, I am feeling invigorated and ready to take on the world. I forgot to set the alarm clock, but I woke up without it today which speaks loudly of just how eager I am to make a fresh start.

I made some calls, built a huge to-do list and I’m about to put my foot in today’s arse! I sip some orange juice then the buzzer sounds. It is Baker—right on time. I grab my things and dash out to his car.

On the drive, Baker plays some more reggae tunes he thought I’d enjoy and told me, “ ‘ear me now, next time ya call, me come bearin’ gifts for ya, eh? Musical gifts for ya listenin’ pleas'jah. No cha’ge!“ Which means the next time I called him, he will have a CD mix for my enjoyment at no charge. “Thanks, Baker. That’s great. Thank you.“ Not only has he turned out to be my personal driver and DJ, but he’s also a really good guy. He opens up a little more, every time we meet. Baker has seen my signage in front of my home office, and knows my line of work. He feels at ease speaking to me about his personal life which I am certain is out of character for him. It's not that he’s bartering music for my services or anything, he feels he has found a friend in me. He’s right.