Albatross (7 page)

“Though truth be told, Dr. Caulfield, I have increased my part-time job. I make three times as much in half the time compared to a full shift of nursing. A noble profession, nursing, but it just doesn’t pay,” Samantha concluded.

David had always thought that. She was one of his successes that he never talked about. He did appreciate that she always paid cash and was remarkably intelligent, but her options in life were limited when she was younger. Her getting sick with cancer and subsequent depression allowed her an opportunity to stop and look at what she really wanted to do with her life. He always recalled that her plan was to “have the power to redefine myself.” He knew a lot of smart people in his life, but her insight into her own future was startling in brilliance for one so young. She did use treatment, and not only did she go back to school and get her degrees, but she also changed her profession … though not entirely. He was always aware that she still kept a number of well-screened clients that paid very well. She was very courageous to make such substantial changes in her life; however, she was also paranoid, and she liked having a backup plan. Prostitution allowed for extra money, flexible times, untaxed and unreported cash flow and allowed for an alter ego. Sam Littleton’s alter ego was “Danielle Spencer.”

“So I take it that Ms. Danielle Spencer is alive and well,” David attempted to confirm.

“Yes. She not only keeps my finances in order and allows me the opportunity to volunteer at the VA, but it satisfies my sex drive,” was Samantha’s short answer.

“Wait a minute. You are paid at the hospital, aren’t you?” David asked. He was positive the nursing positions paid pretty well at the federal government level.

“Well, $35.20 per hour that is taxed compared to my ‘reduced’ hourly rate of $250.00 cleared. Well, I think you can see why I might consider my nursing gig a volunteer position.”

David had to admit that her numbers and her logic were sound. He decided to take another approach. “Well, Ms. Littleton, you look well,” he said.

“I am still getting rid of the last twenty pounds from the prednisone, but I am nearly back to my old self,” Samantha concluded.

“So what brings you here, and what makes you think I am going to conduct treatment with you in the room?” David pressed. He knew that Samantha knew that he would not allow her in his sessions.

“I know you weren’t going to let me actually sit in on the session. In fact, I just wanted to give you a major heads-up about your new client. When he says he doesn’t remember what happened, I do believe him. But he knows that he knows a lot more than he recalls, and he is desperate to find out. And so is a bunch of people in the intelligence community and the Department of Defense. I was the triage nurse on call and was the first to meet with him. He had all the classic signs of trauma-induced amnesia … not that I am trying to do your job,” she said and smiled.

Samantha always had a great smile, rare but radiant. “I’m glad you left me something to do,” David replied. “Please go on,” he urged

Samantha handed him a full folder of information on his soon-to-arrive client. There was an extraordinary wealth of data, though it was unusual to have this level of information before a session. Samantha knew that too. She continued with her report in the way she always had when she had interned for psychiatry many years ago.

“I have never seen such a wealth of data and history available, and yet it doesn’t seem to fit his persona. They have his life all laid out in a neat narrative. More importantly, he does not seem to ‘fit’ his own history. He seems more depressed than extroverted, more reflective than a partier. And when you dig a little bit into his past, it doesn’t add up.” Samantha became quiet and then continued, “A private client of mine who just so happened to graduate the same year from the same college did not know him. A picture of Burns from his yearbook compared to my client’s did not match up.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?” David had to ask.

“No,” she replied.

David knew why—her survival instincts were always online. She could read people and situations better than anyone David knew. If she thought something was wrong with this client’s past, he would bet she was right.

“Well, I gotta run,” Samantha said as she began to stand up. “I don’t want him to see me.”

David was genuinely surprised. “I thought you were going to bring him back and forth and were planning to ‘sit in’ on the sessions?”

Thinking more, David went on, “Wait a minute. Why are you so interested in this client’s well-being?”

David waited as Samantha slowly answered, “He is different from the other veterans. He had a head injury, and usually, we bring them off of the majority of the medication they are on once they are stabilized to get a baseline. They didn’t do that in his case. In fact, I swear they kept him on a whole bunch of medication to keep him sedated.”

“Hmmm. So why is he now coming to see me?” David pushed.

“I think because the director of the hospital wanted some movement in his case and you were recommended,” Samantha said.

David didn’t want to know how that happened, and Samantha did not elaborate any more.

David was often confused by Samantha’s behavior and her actions. She was a survivor but seemed to be driven toward fair play. Someone was victimizing someone, and she was going to stop it. This ran against “self-preservation at all cost,” which Samantha seemed to constantly project. He knew she had been abandoned as a baby. After years of knowing her, he eventually discovered that she had been in a number of foster care homes until she finally got to the one that had the only person he was sure she loved, her sister, Becky.
This sister had to be someone special,
he thought.
Maybe a caretaker? Maybe an actual mother? Protector?
She had to be someone Samantha could intuitively trust—someone real, genuine, and not fake. He knew her family was financially strapped, so prostitution for Samantha was not only a way to make money but also a way to connect—at least physically. That made David sad to think about. He envisioned a young, vulnerable woman trying to make connections that had time limits and prices attached. Always conditions. David remembered having lunch with a female colleague and Samantha joining them ever-so-reluctantly. While he was struck by her social awkwardness, it was apparent from the conversation his colleague expertly extracted from her that having lunch, dating, going to a movie, or having a swim—all these normal, everyday events—were simply alien to Samantha.
She just didn’t have a normal or easy life,
he had often thought after that revealing lunch. And still, after all that, she wanted to help some guy she didn’t even know.
Remarkable,
David thought. David pulled himself back to the conversation.
She’s not even going to say hi to him?
he wondered.

“So you’re not even going to stop by to see him?” David asked further.

Samantha smiled again. She folded her arms, and her eyes seemed to get unevenly dark. “Dr. Caulfield, they removed me from the case two months ago. I asked too many clarifying questions. I was then transferred to another ward. I ‘collected’ this file as it was the one they brought in from the field, and I am betting the one that the attendant will be bringing you will be somehow ‘different.’” She continued, “Over the last month, I have spent more time at my other work address in the evening and seemingly less time at my home and the hospital. I go to work as business as usual, but I am certain something is wrong there and I am being watched.” Samantha handed him a simple cell phone. “This cell phone has my work cell number and information on a meeting place where I might interview new clients. Don’t call me at my day job. Right now, I am going downstairs to my massage appointment a girlfriend has set up for me. I am sure they called to confirm I am there now. Good luck.” And as simply as that, she walked out, sunglasses on, backpack slung over her shoulder, looking like so many older students or young moms in the neighborhood. She was dressed to fade into the background.

It was rare for David to be speechless. This was one of those times. It was surreal and completely foreign to him. While he had seen some strange stuff both within the bounds of the law and out, this situation seemed very uncomfortable and covert.
Samantha couldn’t just give me a cell phone number but a whole cell phone instead
, David thought.

“Michele? When my new client gets here, make no mention of Ms. Littleton’s arrival please.”

Without hesitation or question, Michele confirmed she would not recall.

He was still pondering all that had transpired when the door chimed again. This time, it was a young brunette woman with dark features. This nurse was not fully comfortable in her white uniform. She also held a large case file in her hand and David’s new client in tow. She was not pretty but also not homely either. “Strong” or “athletic” would be the best words to describe her. Maybe she was of Mediterranean descent. Her mannerisms seemed all business to David. There was something about her eyes David didn’t like.
Not exactly nurturing for a nurse,
David thought.

“Good morning, Dr. Caulfield. I am from the veterans’ hospital. Here is Mr. Burns’s medical file.” The room seemed too quiet, and she became uncomfortable suddenly. David did not help with the uncomfortable situation as he started reading the new file, simply standing quietly in front of her and his new patient. “So should I come in with Mr. Burns, or should I remain outside?”

David came out of his reading trance and returned to the here and now. “Yes. I mean, yes, you can remain in the waiting room. Michele will let you know the best places to get coffee. I typically do my work with my clients without observers. If that is a problem, I am sure there are a number of qualified clinicians that could see Mr. Burns.”

The attendant was surprised but not as much as Michele. David knew there was a lot of money that was being pushed out the door. His new client remained quiet, but David noticed he was smiling just a little bit. The attendant recovered quickly, “No worries. I will be able to read.” Michele’s eyes closed with obvious relief that David did not lose such an economic windfall. Once settled, the attendant sat down. Quiet, broad-shouldered, and somehow present and invisible at the same time, Mr. Burns walked slightly ahead of David and took the seat closest to the door.

“A double door? Is it for noise or security or both?” Mr. Burns asked.

David became self-conscious of the first file he had been reading, the one that was still open on his desk. He took a moment to walk over and close the other file, and he then opened the “newer file” in front of him now.

“More for sound than security. Much more for reassurance than anything,” David said in a distracted manner. He was reading the file again, and while it seemed the same, there were some differences: grammar, sentence structure, and slight changes in the time line, especially in regards to the college years. It became apparent that David was being rude simply focusing on the case file when Burns asked, “So how do we get started?”

As if awakened out of a sleep, David made a decision. He put the file down, took out a pad of paper, walked around to chair beside his new client, and said, “Okay. Let’s start.”

Burns asked, “Where would you like me to begin?”

David responded, “At the beginning. What do you first remember?”

Chapter 5

Burns was sitting in
an oversized, leather chair. Unlike most of his clients, he did not settle back into the chair. Rather, he sat more on the chair’s edge, his feet firmly set on the floor, his hands folded on his lap. Burns wasn’t wringing his hands per se, but they were nervously moving. “I remember waking up in a hospital about six months ago. I remember my hands were bandaged up and my eyes were covered. I remember the smell of smoke from electrical circuits. I also remember having difficulty breathing as if I was underwater.”

David noticed scarring of second-degree burns on his hands and slight scarring near the client’s eyes and nose. There was new hair growth on the back and right side of Burns’s skull, indicating either recent head or brain surgery. Burns’s cadence and voice was low, but his eyes were everywhere in the room. The eye movement was not that of someone nervous. The gazes seemed more purposeful. David asked, “What are you looking for?”

Burns stopped and focused on David. “I am just checking out your office. I do that as a matter of course. I am not looking for anything in particular.”

David knew otherwise. “No, you are looking around for something. Either an advantage point or an escape or both.”

Burns smiled. “Sorry. A job hazard … so I am told.”

David noted the smile. It wasn’t a nervous smile or a fake one. The smile seemed genuine. The corner of the eyes narrowed, and the nose seemed to flare slightly.

“And what were you told your job was or is?” David queried.

“They tell me intelligence.” Then Burns shifted quickly. “So, Dr. Caulfield, is everything I say in her confidential and private, or will you be reporting to the hospital?”