Of course, there’s a big difference between an M.D. and a Ph.D. I had no desire to be a medical doctor. Blood and bodily fluids? Ugh, no thanks. I cringed at the thought. No, I just enjoyed academics and studying. I hadn’t really intended to get my doctorate, but I enjoyed college so much that I continued on after getting my undergrad in sociology and my master’s in psychology. Then because I wasn’t ready to do anything different, I applied for a Ph.D. program and here I was.
I smoothed down the edges of the papers to review the file again—even though I had it nearly memorized—just as the door swung open. I leapt to my feet and offered my hand to Dr. Andrews. He was dressed in a white lab coat and, with graying hair at his temples, he fit the conventional image of a doctor.
‘Miss Drake?’ He returned my handshake, pumping my hand twice.
‘Yes, please call me Ashlyn.’
After exchanging pleasantries and a few stories about Professor Clancy, who Dr. Andrews knew quite well from their undergrad days at Loyola, he removed his glasses and rubbed his temples.
‘I understand you’re studying the psychological effects of amnesia and would like access to one of our patients.’
‘Yes, that’s correct. My goal is to complete a thesis proposal by spring term and I’d like to gather all the information I can through interviews and…’
‘Slow down. I doubt Bob--excuse me, Professor Clancy--explained it you. He could barely contain his excitement over the phone last night, but this is a very sick young man. My advice is to not make him the subject of your project. He’s dangerous, unpredictable and best left to the professionals.’
The condescending nature of his comment was like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face. All my life I’d battled people who underestimated me. People like me, who grew up in Detroit with an alcoholic, blue-collar father, didn’t go on to become doctors by the age of twenty-five. That perception was exactly what drove me so hard--to prove everyone wrong.
‘With all due respect, Dr. Andrews, I’m a Ph.D. student, not a high schooler working on a book report. I’ve interviewed prisoners before.’ He didn’t need to know that it had been for a project in graduate school and had been done via email. ‘I can handle myself.’
He looked down at the floor, now aware he’d offended me. When he glanced back up, his eyes were clear, his face softer. ‘Listen, Bob speaks highly of you and your work, and I want to help you out, but I just wouldn’t advise studying this subject.’
‘I know he’s been arrested for murder, and that doesn’t scare me. I have a thick skin, Doctor. I want to see him.’
‘Very well.’ He nodded. ‘I doubted you’d be persuaded to walk away, but I had to try. It’s clear working under Bob has rubbed off on you.’ He offered a forced smile.
Professor Clancy was one of the most dedicated professors I had. He lived, ate and breathed his work. I respected the hell out of him for that.
‘Here are his records, updated since he’s been in my care.’ Dr. Andrews handed me a manila file folder, already thick with papers. ‘He’s calm right now, but we’ve had some trouble with him.’
‘Trouble?’ I glanced up from his file.
‘He was transferred here three days ago from the county hospital. His first morning here he attacked a male orderly who was attempting to give him an injection.’
‘What provoked the attack?’
‘He was shouting, demanding information about why he’s being kept here, who he is, what we know about him. He has absolutely no memory of the murder. When the police came in to question him and showed him the crime-scene photos, he broke down. After that he didn’t talk to us for two days. Then he just lost it.’ He shook his head like it was that hard to believe this man would have trouble coping with a new reality. ‘The guy he attacked was twice his size. Needed eight stitches in his face.’
I swallowed a lump rising in my throat.
‘He’s got some pent up anger and aggression. Consider that a warning about being in the same room as him, but somehow I doubt you’ll heed that advice.’ He smiled at me but his concern was obvious.
‘Take me to him.’ My voice sounded calm, even though this situation was rattling me. I reminded myself that if anything happened at least I was in a hospital, but the thought didn’t provide any comfort.
Dr. Andrews opened the door and I gathered up my papers. ‘He’s resting now, but since you’re every bit as stubborn as Bob, I’ll take you in to meet him. I have no idea if he’ll cooperate with you, seeing as how he’s not my biggest fan.’
When we reached room 304, it was guarded by a uniformed officer. I stopped and faced Dr. Andrews before entering. ‘Pardon me, Doctor, but I’d like to go in alone.’ I had no idea where that idea had sprouted from, but somehow I figured the patient might be more willing to cooperate with me if I weren’t with Dr. Andrews, since the patient didn’t care much for him.
Dr. Andrews studied me, his eyebrows pulled together. He was old enough to be my dad, and I could see his concern was genuine.
‘I’ll be fine.’ I placed a hand on his forearm.
He nodded reluctantly and signaled the guard to open the door for me.
I stepped inside the cool, dimly lit hospital room. Directly across from me, the man lay sleeping on a narrow bed, nude except for the white sheet covering him from the waist down. He had an erection in his sleep; his tense cock rested against his stomach and tented the fabric covering him. Aside from that, he looked peaceful.
I stepped closer, wanting to get a better look. He was strikingly handsome with messy brown hair, a chiseled jaw, full mouth and well-defined torso. His body was cut with long, lean muscles--not bulky, yet completely toned. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks and he let out a low moan.
It felt like an invasion of privacy standing here viewing him. My stomach danced with nerves, like I was about to be caught doing something wrong. Lying in the hospital bed like that, he could have been posing for a cologne ad. Scent de insanity. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling, but that thought helped provide some much-needed levity to the situation.
I watched him sleep--this living, breathing, attractive man, who was so incredibly male. This contact with him provided a completely different experience than when I read his case file at my dining room table. This man was someone’s son. A friend. A lover. Were they looking for him? Except, I knew from Professor Clancy that there’d been no missing persons reports filed matching his description. Whoever he was before had disappeared into thin air.
I felt something pinch inside my chest. No one had filed a missing persons report? Who was this man? And what had caused him to block out his memory so completely?
I noticed one of the two tattoos documented in his file. The name Logan was scrawled in cursive writing along the inside of his bicep. My mind immediately jumped to figure out who Logan might be. Maybe Logan was his brother or a friend, but really, who tattooed a friend’s name to their body? Perhaps he was gay, and Logan was his lover. I pushed away the hypothesis that had no basis in reality.
His physical injuries had pretty much healed. His concussion was the only thing still lingering, along with a faint scar under his chin that was just
