by Dr Harper
Eleanor turned to me. “They probably thought they could trick you with their digital hallucinations too. That way you’d confirm their story, and dad would have no doubts left in his mind.”
I bit my lip, hard.
I hated these people.
Suddenly there was a stirring from behind the desk.
“Oh god, Noah.” I hurried over to him.
“W– What happened?” he asked in a daze.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “You just passed out.”
He furrowed his brows and thought for a second. “You hit me.”
I huffed.
“Yes, well,” I said stiffly. “ Be that as it may, we’ve determined you are no longer a threat.”
He crossed his arms and glared at me.
“Uh– sorry to interrupt,” said Phil. “But I think Eleanor and I are going to leave before it gets much later. The shelters tend to fill up fast.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Please, come stay with me for a while. The guest rooms are already made up. And you’ll be so much safer there. I have quite an elaborate home security system.”
That’s what happens when you work with stalkers and the darker personality disorders.
“I don’t know…” said Phil. “I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing,” I said. “I’d love to have you. You can sleep all day, and then I’ll cook a big holiday dinner tonight. I make the best turnips you’ve ever had.”
“Turnips?” Eleanor raised her eyebrows. “Blegh.”
“Trust me.” I smiled.
Phil and Eleanor looked at each other and did some sort of father-daughter communication with their eyes. Then Phil nodded. “We’d love to. Thank you.”
Noah cleared his throat. His arms were still crossed.
“Oh, right,” I said. “Noah, I’m sorry for punching you.”
He continued glaring at me.
“… And I’m sorry for calling you stupid.”
He didn’t let up.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Noah, would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”
Finally, he broke into a huge grin. “Awesome.”
“Wait a minute…” I said. “Why didn’t your calls go through to Eleanor?”
“I don’t know!” he said. “I dialed it in, just like you taught me at orientation. With +661 at the beginning.”
I sighed loudly and pressed my fingers into my eyes. “Five. Five.”
“Huh?”
“It’s +55, not 66.” I let out a deep breath. “Jesus.”
So, Noah wasn’t a cult member after all. Just a cartoonishly oblivious assistant who took an inappropriate interest in my patients.
Honestly, I think I would have preferred cult-Noah.
◆◆◆
People always assume my house is cold and dark, but it’s actually quite cozy – especially around Christmas. I love the lights, decorations, all of it. It’s a nice contrast from my otherwise bleak days.
We sat around the table as Joy to the World rang in the background. At our side, the tree twinkled with hundreds of gold ornaments and lights.
Joy to the world, Joy to the world! The Lord is come!
I closed my eyes and smiled. Good food, good music, and good people. If there was any purpose to life, this had to be it.
“You know,” said Noah through a full mouth. “I had a feeling it was a cult.”
Compared to the way Noah ate, you’d never guess Phil and Eleanor were the ones living on the street. He was already on his third plate.
And Heaven and nature sing!
“You thought it was a demon,” I snapped.
“Yeah, but that was my third guess,” he said. “Before that, it was mafia and cult.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
“Eleanor, please put your phone away at dinner,” said Phil.
I looked over and saw her tapping away.
“Wait, check this out!” she said. “They posted on the forum again.”
Joy to the World, the Savior reigns!
I leaned forward, curious to hear more. “Anne and Rose?”
“Yes,” she said. “They posted about how dad got involuntarily committed, and how he’s unable to perform his rituals. They asked if they should keep up the facade and continue hurting each other until he’s released.”
“Did anyone respond?” asked Phil.
“A bunch of people!” she said. “They’re crazy… The top comment says it’s better to get stabbed a few times now, than to start all over with a new investment, because new investments will mess up the ritual a few times anyways. Another says to keep at it, because the investment will probably ask to see the new wounds when he gets out. And then this guy wrote: ‘Sounds like he still loves you. I would keep going if possible. Save the footage to show him when he gets out. He’ll feel so guilty that he’ll never leave you again’.”
“That’s nuts.” Phil shook his head. “Eleanor, please put away your phone. Dr. Harper put together this nice dinner for us.”
Let the angel voices ring!
“It’s crazy,” she said, biting into a forkful of steak. “Everyone told them to keep at it. I seriously think they’re just going to keep stabbing each other indefinitely.”
“That’s the idea,” I muttered under my breath as I scooped some potatoes onto my plate.
Yeah, I wrote those comments. And a few more.
Like I said before, revenge is petty. But sometimes justice needs a little nudge in the right direction.
He rules the world with truth and grace!
“Noah, could you please pass the turnips?”
End of Patient File #116
A Note on Noah
I understand that you may still have concerns about Noah’s motives.
Trust me, I did too.
I have a bit of a paranoid streak in me, and this whole experience had me doubting Noah – again. But I’ll tell you more about my previous suspicions in the following patient files.
For now, all you need to know is that Noah is a good human being. You do not need to worry about him. He’s clumsy, but he’s loyal and he has a heart of gold.
He stayed with me through more than one hundred clients – from Patient #114 to #220.
And I don’t like to talk about Patient #220.
Choir Boy
I realized that I haven’t even shared my gender with you yet. This single-part patient file will resolve that mystery.
◆◆◆
“There are burn marks all around his penis!”
Elliot’s mother, Ruth, sobbed into her handkerchief as he stared intently at the ground.
“Elliot,” I said gently. “Can you tell me more about these burns?”
He continued looking down.
“He won’t talk,” said Ruth. “I was hoping he’d open up to a woman, since he’s been afraid of the past two male therapists.”
I nodded. “That’s perfectly normal after abuse,” I said. “Elliot, you can trust us, okay? We’re just here to listen.”
He didn’t respond.
“Please show her.” Ruth turned to Elliot. “Just the ones near your inner thigh.”
Elliot shut his eyes.
“Please.”
He reached for his shorts and pulled them up, just enough for me to see his groin covered in red and white burn marks.
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. “I believe you both. You can put your shorts back down.”
Ruth sniffled again.
“Do you have any ideas who might be doing this?” I asked her.
“Father Michael,” she said, almost instantly.
“Is he a minister at your Church?” I asked.
“He’s the choir conductor,” she said. “Elliot has a beautiful voice. More solos than any other choir boy in the Church’s history.”
She beamed.
“He’s a bit old to be a choir boy, isn’t he?” I asked, reviewing his patient file. “Fourteen, right?”
> “Yes,” she nodded. “He’s a late bloomer. It’s a gift from God, blessing us with more of his music before puberty takes his voice from us.”
Elliott began tapping his foot on the ground.
“Elliot, do you know Father Michael?”
He nodded.
“And is he the one who’s hurting you?”
He shook his head.
“Then who is hurting you?”
He continued looking at the ground for a while, and then mumbled: “God.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s God.” He looked up. “God is doing this to me.”
Ruth began crying again. “You have to stop saying that, Elliot! It’s blasphemous.”
“Wait, hold on a minute,” I said. “Elliot, can you tell me more about why you believe God is doing this to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s Father Michael!” Ruth shrieked. “The burns always appear after choir practice. Elliot’s just confused, and blaming God for it, because Father Michael is a religious figure.”
Surprisingly, I agreed with her initial assessment.
“Have you gone to the police with your concerns?”
She shook her head. “My husband won’t allow it.”
“Why?”
“Father Michael is an upstanding member of the community,” she said. “If we’re wrong, we’ll be ostracized from the Church.”
I thought for a moment, and then decided to turn my attention back to Elliot. I’ve gotten in trouble for jumping to conclusions in the past.
“Elliot, do you have any close friends?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Zach. He’s in the choir too.”
“Have you told Zach about your burns?”
“No,” he said. “But he helps me feel better after.”
“That’s good,” I said. “It’s great to have friends help us through difficult times.”
But silently I wondered if Zach was being molested by Father Michael too.
“How does he help you feel better?”
“We go to the top of the bell tower after choir practice on Sunday nights,” he said. “And we map out the stars.”
“That sounds nice!” I said encouragingly.
“I know all of the constellations,” he said proudly. “Even the ones that changed a thousand years ago. Zach only knows the big dipper and a few others.”
“That’s really cool,” I said. “Elliot, would you mind if I spoke to your mother alone for a moment?”
He nodded.
I motioned for Ruth to step outside the office with me.
“Ruth,” I began in a hushed voice. “I know your husband is opposed to contacting the authorities, but I have to insist–”
“Oh, we can’t.” She shook her head.
“Listen,” I said more firmly. “I have reason to believe that your child is in danger, and we have a pretty good idea of who’s doing it to him.”
She looked at me with red eyes. “But what if we’re wrong?”
“What if we’re not?” I challenged. “What if Father Michael is out there hurting other kids too? Like Zach.”
She bit down on her lip. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to call the police, and let them open an investigation,” I said. “That’s it. If he’s innocent, fine. But if he’s not, at least, he’ll be away from the kids while they investigate.”
Finally, she nodded.
◆◆◆
It was Monday morning, and the police were holding Father Michael while they investigated Elliot’s case. It gave me enough peace of mind to focus on my other patients, but I still couldn’t stop thinking about Elliot.
I’ve seen this kind of sexual abuse before, but it’s such a sadistic thing to do to a child. This type of thing can seriously mess up a young person for a long time.
I was just getting ready for another session when Ruth stormed into my office with Elliot.
“Ruth!” I said. “Our appointment isn’t until next week.”
It’s really important to maintain boundaries with patients, otherwise they start calling your cell phone at all hours of the night.
“You were wrong!” she said. “He has another burn.”
“Another one?” I said. “But Father Michael–”
“Thanks to you, he’s been with the police since last week,” Ruth hissed. “But a new burn appeared just last night after he came home from practice. Go on, Elliot, show her.”
Elliot was about to pull up his shorts again, but I stopped him. “I believe you,” I said. “I’m sorry I got it wrong. I just wanted to make sure he was safe.”
“Well clearly he’s not safe!” she hissed. “Isn’t this your job? He won’t talk to the police and he won’t talk to me, so what are we paying you for?”
“You’re right.” I nodded. “I’m going to do better. I have a client arriving in a few minutes, but I’d like to spend more time with Elliot as soon as possible. I’m fully booked this week, but can he come in this weekend?”
“Yes,” she said shortly. “Before choir practice on Sunday night.”
Elliot was staring at the ground again and shuffling his feet.
We were running out of time to save a boy’s future – his body, his emotional health, his humanity.
◆◆◆
“Thank you for meeting with me, Father Michael.”
I know, I know… I shouldn’t have come to their Church. But before I saw Elliot this weekend, I had to rule out Father Michael once and for all. He was still the most logical answer, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be other Church members involved.
“Of course,” he said.
“I’m sorry for falsely accusing you,” I said. “I was wrong.”
“It’s quite alright,” he said, gesturing to the grand nave around us. “Ephesians 4:32… Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”
I gave him a short smile. “That’s a nice verse.”
“I understand why you did it,” he said gently. “But I hope you can see now that a man of God would never initiate inappropriate contact with another male.”
I found it a little unsettling that he seemed more concerned about the male thing than the 14-year-old thing.
“Father Michael, are there any other members of the Church who you think could be doing this to Elliot?”
He gave me a dark look. “Yes.”
I felt my adrenaline surge.
“Who?” I asked. “Please tell me so I can help him.”
He took a long pause and then said, “Elliot’s mother.”
I accidentally let out a laugh. “Ruth?”
He nodded.
“That’s impossible.” I shook my head. “She’s the one who brought him in to see me. Why would a mother ever do that to her own child?”
“A few months ago, I told her that Elliot would need to leave the choir soon.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because his voice is changing,” he said. “We have a beautiful adult choir that he would thrive in, but Ruth hated that idea.”
“She insisted that he stay with the choir boys?”
“It was more of a threat than insistence,” he said. “She started screaming at me and told me I was wrong about his voice changing, and that he would be a little boy forever.”
“Wait, you don’t think–”
“Yes…” he said gravely. “I got the sense she’d do anything to keep Elliot’s voice from changing.”
◆◆◆
As I waited for Elliot and Ruth to arrive for our Sunday afternoon session, I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. I couldn’t stop moving. Fidgeting. Thinking.
Finally, the doors opened.
“Thank you both for coming in,” I said quickly, standing up to greet them. “Ruth, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to speak with Elliot alone for this session.”
“Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “He needs
me.”
I cleared my throat. “The therapeutic process is actually more effective if–”
“I said no.”
I felt my blood boiling. “Is that because you’re the one hurting him?”
Oops.
“Excuse me?”
“The choir,” I said. “You want to keep his voice this way forever.”
“What– What are you implying?” Her voice got more shrill. “You think I would burn my boy’s body for some music?”
“That’s exactly what I think,” I said. “Another horrible stage mom who forces her child to perform, just to make up for her own lifelong failures.”
Her face was rapidly turning the color of a tomato, which I had to admit brought me some satisfaction.
“The police already ruled me out!” she screamed. “Father Michael fed them the same story, so they looked into it. We have home security videos that prove the latest burns appeared after practice last Sunday. While I was home, and Father Michael was with the police.”
I accidentally bit at my nails. Damn it. Therapists weren’t supposed to have nervous habits.
The adrenaline was wearing off, and now I was starting to doubt myself.
“I’d like to take a look at your security videos.”
“How dare you!” She grabbed Elliot and turned for the door. “We came to you for help, and it turns out you’re just a judgmental bitch who can’t do her job.”
“If you’ll just–”
“I’m getting a restraining order,” she said. “And if you ever contact us again, I’ll call the police.”
She slammed the door behind them, and I sat in my office feeling incredibly embarrassed. Sometimes I get worked up – almost excited – by the idea of a big fight. But afterwards, I always feel ashamed. Especially when I’m wrong.
It was Sunday, so I didn’t have any more appointments. And a restraining order didn’t mean I had to stop thinking about Elliot. So I just sat in my office for hours, mulling over the information and trying to figure out what I had missed.
There could still be other members of the Church or choir hurting him. His dad could even be involved, but presumably the police had covered that possibility. I needed more time alone with Elliot. I had to learn about the other people in his life.
