I'm a Therapist, and My Patient Is in Love With a Pedophile- 6 Patient Files From Prison

by Dr Harper

  Guards rushed across the way — to Bernard and Don’s cell.

  Minutes later, my heart sank when I saw them wheel a body out on a stretcher.

  “The monster strikes again,” Tony muttered, nursing his anti-mind-control arm sling.

  “I warned him,” I said. “I told him this would happen.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” said Tony. “Same thing happened to his past four cellmates. Real shame though. He was young — had his whole life ahead of him.”

  I frowned, and then realized we seemed to be talking about a different ‘he’.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Who do you think is on that stretcher? Bernard or Don?”

  “The kid, of course.”

  “What?” I said. “No, it has to be Bernard. This afternoon, he was going to take a stand against Dr. Zhang for drugging Don.”

  Tony snorted. “I’m sure he didn’t need Zhang’s help to drug a kid.”

  “What are you talking about?” I walked over to the bed. “Bernard is his sponsor — 32 years sober.”

  “He may be sober,” said Tony. “But he’s the biggest dealer in here.”

  “Dealer?”

  “Well, every one of his cellmates ends up hooked on heroin, opiates, or meth. Then a month later, they have a cardiac issue. You do the math.”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t make any sense. Bernard helped me. He gave me HIV meds after Don attacked me.”

  Tony looked up from his crossword darkly. “If you accepted drugs from Bernard, you should expect to pay a heavy price. I’d flush them. Now.”

  “I can’t!” I protested. “I’m in the final 24-hour window. If I miss tomorrow’s dose, they’ll be completely useless.”

  “Doc, HIV should be the least of your concerns right now,” he said. “You’re in business with a chemical assassin.”

  “Business?” I repeated incredulously. “Even if you’re right, what the hell could Bernard possibly want from me?”

  With a warning in his eyes, Tony shot a glance at the cell door and looked back at his puzzle.

  I spun around and saw Bernard standing there next to two guards, and—

  “Hmmm…”

  I swallowed nervously as Dr. Zhang peered through the bars.

  “Mr. Harper…” she said. “Bernard here tells us that you took his prescription.”

  “What? He—”

  “Guards, toss the cell.”

  They did as she said, immediately finding the PEP bottles under my pillow.

  “Mr. Harper…” She tilted her head sadly, holding the bottles out to me. “Stealing pills? Again?”

  “Please,” I whispered.

  “I thought you seemed unusually confident in my office yesterday,” she said. “But that was only because you were planning to cheat.”

  “Please,” I said again. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Hmmm…” She smiled and lowered her voice. “The photo?”

  I bit my lip and closed my eyes.

  “I’m disappointed,” she said, wandering over to the toilet. “I’m curious to see if you change your mind in a place where cheating isn’t an option.”

  “No—” I protested.

  “Guards, please escort Mr. Harper to solitary.”

  As they cuffed my hands, Dr. Zhang slowly began sprinkling the PEP into the toilet.

  “24 hours should give him ample time to reflect on the… urgency… of his situation.”

  End of Patient File: The Bumble Bee

  Company Retreat: The Bumble Bee

  “I don’t want to talk about the other animals,” said James.

  “That’s okay!” said Noah quickly. “We’re leaving the cloud right now. We’re going to fly over the ocean now, and we’re turning on the invisibility shield, so none of the animals can find us.”

  “Wait,” I said. “But shouldn’t we learn more—”

  “Doc,” whispered Noah. “He’s upset. Let’s just help him relax until the police get here.”

  I sighed and nodded. He was probably right, but I really wanted to learn more.

  “This is a special ocean that glows in the dark!” Noah turned back to James. “We’re the only creatures up here. Just us, and the waves crashing below.”

  James took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  “Do you want to rest?” asked Noah. “This is a great time to sleep. Floating up here, safe and sound, invisible above the sea. Here, I’ll make you a bed in the stars.”

  As I watched Noah lay out our damp towels, I couldn’t help but notice that there was something so caring and purposeful about the way he created this imaginary world for the boy.

  “This is a magical bed,” said Noah to James. “Because when you look into the pillow, you can see the whole ocean sparkle below you. It’s like a light show — the waves, the water, the fish — everything is dancing with color!”

  James hurried over to the towels and lay down face-first into the pillow.

  “How did you learn how to do this?” I whispered to Noah.

  He tilted his head. “Learn what?”

  “The balloon, the magic, the ocean — all of it,” I said. “Is it some kind of grounding exercise?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just like telling stories, and it seemed like he might need one.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly. “Well, you’re really good at it.”

  His face lit up and he moved a bit closer to me. “Thanks, doc!”

  In that moment, even though I’m the most unimaginative person on the planet, I truly felt that we were leaning over the edge of a balloon together, looking out across the glowing ocean.

  ◆◆◆

  Minutes later, James started screaming.

  “Are you okay?” Noah hurried over and helped him up from the bed.

  “The animals found us,” he sobbed. “The bumble bee stung me.”

  “Oh no!” said Noah, searching for the mark. “Can you show me where?”

  James pointed to the inside of his left arm.

  I peered closer and was horrified to see red marks and scars all over — like a long-time intravenous drug user.

  That definitely wasn’t from a bee.

  “Why did it sting you?” I asked.

  James looked at me nervously, and then turned to Noah.

  Noah nodded, implying that it was okay to answer me.

  “He stings us for three reasons.” James’ voice was barely audible. “The first reason is to put us to sleep.”

  “What about the second reason?” I pressed.

  He hung his head. “To make us feel good when we do the bad thing.”

  Noah and I glanced at each other uneasily.

  “And the third reason?”

  Noah stepped between us. “You don’t have to—”

  “Please,” I said to both of them. “Tell us the third reason, so we can help you.”

  James winced, eyes burning red.

  “When boys say no, the bee puts them to sleep.”

  Before I could ask for clarification, he added one more word:

  “Forever.”

  Unusual Addiction

  In most social interactions, a certain degree of mirroring is healthy and expected. From a young age, we learn to take on the subtle tones, gestures, and inflections of the people around us. It’s actually a sign of well-developed empathy, and it tends to result in stronger interpersonal connections.

  Mirroring can become troublesome when we lack a stable identity of our own, so we begin taking on too much of the people around us. This phenomenon is most notably observed in patients with personality disorders, where they mimic not just small social cues — but big things too — like your hopes, dreams, hobbies, and insecurities.

  When someone copies your entire personality, it’s not a sign of empathy.

  It’s a sign of the complete opposite.

  ◆◆◆

  Solitary sucks, but I’m an introvert. I’ve gone a lot longer than twenty-four hours w
ithout human interaction, so I knew I’d be able to survive this.

  Still, after four hours alone with my thoughts, I’ll admit I felt a wave of relief when I heard that first whisper.

  “Hello?”

  I raised my eyebrows and examined the air vent by my side.

  “Hi,” I whispered back. “What’s your name?”

  “Elliot,” the voice responded.

  “Oh,” I said with a laugh. “That’s my name too.”

  “What are the odds?” he laughed too. “Are you also in here for pissing off a deranged psychiatrist?”

  I felt a strange knot form in the pit of my stomach.

  “Very funny…” I said. “How did you know that?”

  There was a pause from the other side. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s actually why I’m in here,” I said. “Did you really have a run-in with Zhang too?”

  “Yes!” said the voice, a bit louder. “She’s withholding life-saving medications from me. Does that count as a run-in?”

  The knot in my stomach tightened.

  “Alright,” I said. “Enough of this.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Clearly someone told you why I’m here, and you’re just copying my story.”

  The voice on the other end went quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Is your name Dr. Elliot Harper?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Are you also claiming to be him?”

  “I am him,” said the voice.

  I shook my head. What the hell was going on?

  “Okay…” I said. “If you’re Dr. Harper, why don’t you tell me your deepest childhood secret?”

  “Seriously?” he said. “Why would I tell you that?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. You’re full of shit.”

  There was another moment of silence, and then he spoke again.

  “I used to burn myself, because I was ashamed of my sexuality.”

  A wave of dread coursed through my body.

  “Okay, what the fuck?” I said, leaning closer to the vent. “Who the hell are you? Did Zhang put you up to this?”

  “What are you talking about?” he said. “I’m Dr. Harper.”

  I bit my lip and inched away from the vent, as if my personality was leaking through it.

  ◆◆◆

  Hours passed without any word from the identity thief.

  I enjoyed the silence, but something was still nagging in the back of my mind. How did he learn about my history of self-harm? It only came up once, during the trial, and those documents were sealed. There was no way any inmate here had access to them.

  “Hey,” I whispered into the vent.

  A few seconds later, the voice whispered back. “What do you want?”

  “I’m having a dilemma,” I said. “I have valuable information that Zhang wants. And unless I give it to her soon, I’ll most likely end up contracting HIV. You seem to be in the same predicament. So… What do you think we should do?”

  My guess was that this imposter was some plant from Zhang to convince me to give up the photo. Hopefully he’d take the bait, and then I could manipulate him into giving me information about Zhang.

  I heard a sigh from the other end. “Okay, I’ll play along. But only because I’m bored.”

  Jesus, he even spoke like me.

  “Great,” I said. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not going to give up the photo,” he said simply. “People live perfectly happy lives with HIV.”

  That wasn’t what I expected. My imposter seemed to have more of a spine than me. And he definitely wasn’t trying to convince me to give up the photo.

  Not yet, at least.

  “If you’re really Elliot Harper, you’d understand that this is a spiritual battle,” I pressed.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “My whole life, I’ve been given this choice between justice and peace,” I said. “And every time, I go with justice.”

  “How has that worked out for you?” he asked. “We’re sitting in solitary confinement, with a life sentence.”

  Bingo.

  I pretended to play along with his concerns.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Justice never works out for me. I’m always trying to control the outcome, because I don’t think people can be trusted to do the right thing.”

  There was a pause from the other end. “So what would happen if you chose peace instead?”

  “I don’t know, because I’ve never done it.” I laughed. “It’s like I keep getting the same test over and over again. And I keep failing it.”

  “Story of my life,” he said.

  “The alternative would require more faith, right?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well,” I began, “When I do these self-destructive things for justice, it means I don’t have faith in God, right?”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I’m playing judge and jury, because I don’t trust that God will deliver justice,” I said. “Which also means I don’t accept the gifts being offered to me along the way.”

  “Gifts?” he said.

  “Noah,” I said quietly. “My first chance at love, and I threw it away for justice — justice that never even occurred. Now I have this choice between pursuing vigilante justice yet again, or saving myself from a life-threatening illness. How much more blatant can these lessons get? How many times do I need this choice from God, before I learn my lesson?”

  “You think we’re all here to learn a lesson?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And until we resolve that lesson, it will continue to cause us suffering — in this life, and the next.”

  We both went quiet for a few minutes.

  Hopefully that would be enough for him to believe that he was changing my mind. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Dr. Zhang’s face when I spat in it.

  For the next several hours, we continued talking about spirituality.

  It’s a bizarre thing, discussing deep personal issues with someone claiming to be you. But it certainly passes the time.

  ◆◆◆

  “Hmmm…”

  Predictably, Dr. Zhang knocked on the solitary door with only several hours left to take PEP, before it lost all effectiveness. At this point, it was a gamble if it would even work anymore.

  “Mr. Harper, I just wanted to give you one final opportunity…” she said. “Have you made your choice?”

  “Yes.”

  My imposter and I answered at the exact same exact time.

  “My choice is that you rot in hell,” I said. “And you can tell your little pet to back the fuck off.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then the voice from the next cell spoke.

  “The photo is in the showers,” he said. “There’s a loose tile on the far wall.”

  My heart screamed. What the fuck. How could he possibly know that?

  “NO!” I pounded on the door. “NO! HE’S LYING!”

  I continued slamming and shouting, but I knew Dr. Zhang was already on her way to the showers.

  ◆◆◆

  “How did you know about the tile?” I hissed through the vent.

  There was no answer.

  “Hey,” I said. “How the fuck did you know? Are you stalking me in the showers or something?”

  Again, I was met only with silence.

  Heart racing, I paced around the room, unable to shake the anxiety surging through my body.

  Dr. Zhang returned several minutes later.

  “Thank you for your honesty,” she said. “I’m glad we can finally put this matter to rest. Now, let’s get you back to your cell so you can start a PEP regimen.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s not fair! I should be the one getting PEP.”

  I wasn’t about to lose the photo and the PEP.

  “What?” The other voice spoke up. “I told her where to get the photo!”

  “You don’t even need P
EP!” I said, exasperated. “This was Zhang’s deal with me. Not—”

  “Gentlemen, please…” Dr. Zhang spoke calmly. “As promised, I will provide the prescription to Mr. Harper.”

  I let out a heavy sigh of relief as the doors to my cell opened.

  “HEY!” The imposter screamed. “I GAVE YOU WHAT YOU WANTED!”

  I walked out of the cell with Dr. Zhang and she handed me the two orange bottles.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, unscrewing the caps and swallowing both pills as we walked away.

  In the distance, I heard the imposter continue to shout.

  “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME? I CHOSE PEACE OVER JUSTICE. I LEARNED MY FUCKING LESSON!”

  Jesus Christ… What a lunatic.

  ◆◆◆

  Later that night, I finished writing out the patient file and set my pencil aside — ready to finally get some sleep after this whole fiasco.

  I surveyed the mess around me. Pieces of paper strewn about the floor. Hundreds of documents, court transcripts, and news articles. Videotapes and photographs from the trial.

  Those were all very helpful in absorbing his personality, but in the end, it was one single essay that gave me a window into his soul:

  The intersection of psychology and spirituality, by Dr. Elliot Harper Psy.D.

  Dated six years ago, it painted the picture of a deeply rational man with one glaring exception: his relationship with God.

  He did not believe in demons, ghosts, or anything remotely paranormal. Yet, he took solace in the idea that we humans are all connected by an “energy” that surges through everything in this universe.

  When it came to psychology, he believed that most suffering could be traced back to old emotional wounding — trauma that blocked the connected energy from flowing freely through our bodies, causing us to instead feel isolated, fearful, and defective.

  Dr. Harper believed that we were here on Earth to resolve those wounds, and re-connect with the universe around us.

  All I had to do was remind him of his own beliefs.

  He longed for hope and reason amongst all the chaos. He was comforted by the idea of a divine plan. And so, when I presented the plan to him, he did the rest of the work for me. He assumed I was the voice of God, or at the very least, a blatant sign from God to learn his lesson.