"Is there anything else you need, Dr. Westbrook?"
"What?" Ramrod straight, Ms. Bierce had closed the accordion folder and was staring at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Uhh, no, I don't think so. I'll read the patient summaries and then start fresh tomorrow."
Ms. Bierce nodded and turned away.
"Staff meeting at ten in room 204," she announced as she pulled the door closed behind her. I gave the blue file one last look, then wandered to the window. Beyond the thin steel bars was a small open area crossed by a tilt-slabbed sidewalk. In the near distance a boundary was formed by a solid wall of trees. I tried to match the scene to the pictures in the glossy brochure the headhunter had given me.
Wheaton Fields surrounded by Autumn's orange blaze of sugar maples, aspen, and white oak. Verdant summer fields in all their bucolic glory. The tree-shaded main building outlined against a cloud-strewn blue sky. Each image tastefully captioned with words like 'restful' and 'serene', 'peaceful', and 'stress free.'
"Wheaton Fields provides first class facilities in a secluded location. Our expert staff is trained to provide a confidential, restful, and nurturing environment in which persons suffering from the trauma of high-stress modern life can re-discover their emotional center and re-orient their lives from the negative influences that have plagued them. Our primary goal is to help our patients return to a happy, productive existence and to re-discover joy and satisfaction in their everyday lives."
Judging from the brochure, Wheaton Fields was shooting for the Betty Ford clientele, but considering the hulking stone building, the 1930's architecture, the linoleum floors, and the empty rooms, reality didn't seem to match the brochure's promise. But, I reminded himself, that's not my problem. As much as some of the patients, I'm here to get a fresh start.
Idly, I leafed through the patient roster, then paused and flipped back one sheet. Daniel J. Rivers, age 42, paranoid schizophrenic. Daniel J. Rivers? Former Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense, Daniel J. Rivers? Rivers had resigned from the Administration, what, a little over a year ago for health reasons? Good God, we had paranoid schizo running billion dollar weapons systems? How long had he been here? I scanned to the bottom of the page. Admitted ten months ago. I made a mental note to review Rivers' complete file the first chance I got.
I flipped a few more pages then paused again. Elaine Adair? Hadn't she been nominated for an Academy Award a couple of years ago? Apparently she'd been at Wheaton Fields for about six weeks. And her problem is…? Reading between the lines the words 'speed freak' popped into my head.
How the hell was this file organized? I flipped past several pages but I could find no plan or structure. Perhaps Ms. Bierce had added the sheets in random order just to frustrate me. I removed the fastener and sorted the summaries into alphabetical order, in the process moving Elaine Adair to the top of the list.
Butter-colored beams of light were slipping between the window's bars. Time to go. I resolved that I would come in early tomorrow and finish reviewing the patient summaries. Squaring the blue folder on the center of my otherwise empty desk, I ended my first day at Wheaton Fields.