The Shunning - 1. Chapter 1

"Hello, may I help you?" The pretty brunet secretary smiled, as she looked away from the computer screen on her desk to the tall, smarty dressed, and blond young man standing in front of her.

"Yes... I'm Dr. Steven Nash... I have an appointment with Dr. Richardson," he replied.

The woman raised a long nailed finger as her other hand busied itself with a phone. "Just a moment... Dr. Richardson, your 9:00 AM is here," she said into the receiver.

"You can go in now," she said after she had hung up the phone.

"Thank you," Steven said, as he followed her into the chief administrator's office.

"Steven... so you're finally here." The middle aged and half bald figure of Dr. Timothy Richardson smiled as he stood up from his folder laden desk.

"Always happy to do a friend a favor," Steven replied, as he shook his old med-school mentor's hand.

"This is more than a favor I am asking of you," Tim said, as he waved a hand to an empty seat.

"Hey, what can I say... life's been good to me. It's about time I gave something back to the community."

"Still... giving up a very profitable practice in the suburbs to join us in the trenches of inner city medicine, where less than half of our patients have health insurance."

"As I said, life's been good," Steven said, as he pulled on the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt.

"Is that an Armani?" Tim said in disbelief.

"Would you kill me if I said yes?" Steven chuckled.

"I might rip it off you and sell it on E-Bay. It might at least help us pay one nurse's overtime." Tim replied.

"I'll be sure to dress more casually the next time then."

"That might be a good idea... this hospital is not located in the best part of town, if you have not noticed. If it wasn't for the fact that we are the only inner city hospital left in town, I'm not sure the state would keep us open. As it is, we are under-funded and under-appreciated, and underpaid."

"That will not be a problem for me," Steven said confidently.

"That is what I am not sure about... the people you will be treating are not the high end, well mannered clients you are used to dealing with. Most of them are at the end of their ropes mentally, not to mention financially. Luckily, most drug companies' PR divisions have taken pity on us. They keep us fairly well supplied. All we have to do is give them a receipt, so they can claim a tax write off, and mention how generous they have been to us in our newsletters."

"I see you have not lost your cynical attitude." Steven laughed.

"Watch it yuppie... back when you were in diapers I was a free thinking idealist, with plenty of hair, plenty of sex, and enough spunk to have myself almost thrown out of med school. Now I'm a bald, fat, divorced father of three who's not gotten lucky in ages and whose radical idealism has become a rusty old cog in the machinery of this hospital's administration. The only benefit I get from this place is that I make so little that my ex can't sue me for alimony."

"Well then, I guess me being here will help brighten up the place. When do you want me to start?"

"Today... if you have time." Tim replied.

"Today... You've not even given me the grand tour."

"Don't worry... as this is your first day, I'm only going to hit you with one patient."

"Just one... come on, I'm used to working from 7:00 AM to 10:00 PM."

"I know. You're career has been most impressive. The patient I have in mind, though, is a special case."

"Oh?"

"Yes... he's one of our own doctors."

"This dreary place finally got to him?" Steven asked, as he looked up at the mildew stained ceiling tile.

"If that were true, he would have left us long ago," Tim replied. "You see, the man I am referring to is Dr. Gavin."

"Archangel Gavin?" Steven said, remembering the name from the news. The man was head of the ER at Memorial Hospital and, from what local media said, he was supposedly a miracle worker.

"Yes... that's what the media call him. Among the staff, though, he is known as the Stone King."

"I take it then that his bedside manner is lacking?"

"No... he is very warm and sympathetic with his patients, and very patient with the staff. It is just that once he walks outside of this hospital, it is as if a switch is flipped. He becomes cold, unresponsive, and unbearable to be around."

So he's not the life of the party?"

"That's putting it bluntly. Remember the storm three weeks ago?"

"Yes... played havoc with the telephone and power lines."

"It also brought more people to our ER than we are used to handling. With the phone lines dead we couldn't get in contact with the exchange to have them call in more doctors... at least not all of them."

"You mean they don't pay you enough to have cell phones?" Steven asked with disbelief.

"No... it just turned out that Dr. Gavin has never owned one." Tim sighed. "That's why I sent Stephanie, one of our candy strippers, over to his place to bring him here."

"And what did she find... that he secretly has his own Frankenstein lab?"

"No... she found nothing, and that's what has us worried."

"How can you be worried about nothing?" Steven asked confused.

"You don't get it... there was nothing at his place. No TV, no furniture, no appliances, no refrigerator, not even a bed. All she saw was a single garbage can, a twelve pack of diet Sprite, a pile of neatly stacked clothes, a thick quilt, and a telephone lying on the floor."

Steven sat silently as he let what Tim had just told him sink in. He could think of several reasons why a famed doctor might live such a minimalist life style... but none of them really made much sense. "So... you want me to find out what's really up with Dr. Gavin?"

"Yes... this hospital can't afford to lose its best physician... not one whom it uses as its poster boy for all of our fundraising. It's not just his iceberg personality, and lack of interior decorating. It's that over the past few months, staff has reported finding him crying in the doctor's lounge or in empty exam rooms. Something is wrong with him Steven. He's not happy."

"Does he know you and I are having this conversation?" Steven asked.

"He knows... The moment after you walked into my office Tara paged him. He should be waiting for you in his office."

"So... he wants treatment?"

"In a manner of speaking." Tim said evasively.

"Why do I sense a little underhandedness on your part?" Steven chuckled.

"Would I ever stoop to something so low?" Dr. Richardson winked. "Tara will take you to his office.

"Fine, keep your secret. I'm certain Dr. Gavin will tell me what method of blackmail you're using this time." Steven said as he stood up to leave.

Exiting the office, Dr. Nash caught Tara applying lipstick while staring into her tiny compact. "I hope you are not going to such efforts on my behalf." Steven smiled.

"Dr. Nash!" The secretary squeaked as she snapped the mirror closed.

"Dr. Richardson said you were to show me to Dr. Gavin's office."

"Of course sir... if you will follow me." Tara said as she stood up, walking in front of Steven, doing an excessive amount of swishing, to Dr. Nash's amusement.

Leading him down the basement past the morgue, she quickly turned around after reaching the end of a poorly lit hall, holding a small white card in her hand. "This part of town might seem drab, but I could show you a few of the more interesting sights."

"Like the gay bar three blocks away?" Steven asked, taking great pleasure in the look of shock and disappointment that grew on the woman's face.

"Damn it, Tim said nothing about you being gay."

"You know Tim... he likes keeping secrets... gives him a sense of empowerment."

"That bastard," Tara swore. "Well I guess Andy will win the bet."

"Bet?" Steven asked with an arched eyebrow.

"It's sort of a tradition around here... whenever an eligible bachelor comes, we unmarried girls and the few gay boys see who sleeps with him first."

"How big is the pot this time?" Steven asked.

"A little over five hundred dollars this time," Tara replied, clearly miffed.

"A big stakes game." Steven laughed.

"Yeah... which is, of course, all Dr. Richardson's fault. He passed around a few old photos of you back when you were a med student."

"Hmmmm... then I must not be as good looking as I think I am. My face is worth at least three grand."

"Oh... you're one of those."

"Charmingly handsome?"

"No, you're still a bastard... just now I know you are one of those egocentric bastards."

"Naw... I'm a psychiatrist, not a surgeon." Steven replied.

"Could have fooled me." Tara retorted.

Reaching into his pants pocket, Steven took out a money clip. "Here's five hundred dollars, add that to the pot."

"I don't see why I should. I'm not going to win it."

"But wouldn't you enjoy watching all your friends scrabble about trying to win a cool grand?"

"That's Dr. Richardson's pastime, not mine, but I see your point. It would be fun to watch all them clawing at each other," Tara said, just as her beeper went off. "I have to go now."

"Take care," Steven said, turning to face the smoky glass door before knocking on it.

"Come in." A man's voice replied.

Opening the door, Steven walked into a tiny dark office, the only light coming from the x-rays that were displayed across an entire wall. At one end of the room, sitting behind a small desk, sat a man dressed in a long white doctor's coat, resting his head in his hands.

"I take it you are Dr. Nash?" The man asked.

"Yes," Steven said as gently as he could. For some reason he felt as if the room he was in was littered with broken glass. "You are Dr. Daryl Gavin?"

"Yes... I still seem to be," Dr. Gavin chuckled nervously.

"May I take a seat?" Steven asked, pointing to the folded metal chair resting against the wall. It seemed that Daryl did not get many visitors down here in the dark recesses of the rundown hospital.

"Yes... I'm sorry. Dr. Richardson told me you were coming last week. I should have cleaned up the place," Daryl said, as he seemed almost to scurry from his seat to the light switch, flooding the room with white florescent light.

Now able to see the room clearly, Steven was surprised to find that it was not the total wreck he had at first assumed it would be. The desk was covered with charts but all of them seemed neatly organized into well kept stacks. The floor was not only clear of any litter, but shone with a polish that had been lacking in the parts of the hospital Steven had seen so far. In fact, the only thing that seemed out of place was the atmosphere of sterility that filled the room. It was as if the room was not the office of one of the city's busiest doctors, but a museum's example of what a doctor's office was supposed to look like.

Remembering what Tim has said about what was found at Dr. Gavin's home, Steven began to wonder if he was dealing with someone with an obsessive compulsion for cleanliness. "So, tell me, how did Tim blackmail you into agreeing to see me?" Steven asked, deciding light humor was the best approach.

"He threatened to fire me." Daryl replied as he returned to his chair.

"You knew that was a bluff... didn't you. He can't fire his best doctor, not the one who brings in so much needed funding," Steven said, wanting to get an idea of Dr. Gavin's grip on reality, and only receiving a shrug in reply.

"Come on... you can do better than that." Steven pressed.

"I knew he would most likely not fire me, but I saw no reason to challenge him on the issue. I'm needed here, that's all that matters," Daryl replied with little emotion.

"And I must say you have done an excellent job," Steven said, thinking of the nickname the staff had given Dr. Gavin... Stone King.

"It's what I have to do," Daryl replied.

"And why is that?" Steven asked curiously. "Certainly you have received offers from other hospitals... I mean you are the archangel."

"I hate that name," Daryl said with disgust, showing the first hint of emotion Steven was able to observe from him.

"Not the religious type?" Steven snickered.

"I am!" Daryl insisted, his eyes opening wide.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend."

"Not your fault. You know nothing about me."

"From what I understand, nobody knows much about you... other than that you are a brilliant doctor."

"Now that is my fault." Daryl chuckled with a weak smile.

"Well, that's why I'm here, to help you figure things out."

"I don't think I want that."

"And why's that? Do you like being miserable? Because, quite frankly, after ten years of medical practice I've not seen a patient as sad looking as you."

"That's suppose to impress me?"

"No... that's supposed to worry you."

"That may be, but I don't see what help you can offer."

"I can be an ear for you. Help you sort things out. There are also some pretty amazing medications available now."

"I can't take drugs," Daryl said quickly.

"That's a peculiar thing for a doctor to say. Then again, doctors are supposed to make the worse patients."

"It's not that... I just can't be taking anything that's mind-altering."

"You a Mormon or Scientologist?"

"No..." Daryl said in a tone that did not invite further discussion.

"We can talk about that later," Steven replied, knowing when not to press. "Tell me why you're so unhappy?"

"Because I deserve to be."

"Now that's not very American of you. Is this not the land where the pursuit of happiness is a God given right?"

"..." Daryl remained silent.

"Ok... why do you think you don't deserve to be happy?"

"Because of the things I have done, the crimes I have committed," Daryl said evasively.

"Crimes?" Steven asked with an arched eyebrow. "You're not thinking of committing a crime or hurting someone?"

"No... it's not like that. I've never broken the law, not even had a speeding ticket," Daryl said.

"Then what did you mean by saying you've committed crimes?" Steven asked as he saw Daryl squeeze something hidden under his shirt.

"I've committed crimes against my church and family."

"I see... you sure you're not a Mormon?"

"No Dr. Nash... I'm not," Daryl replied, once again in a tone that did not invite further questions.

Hearing his cell phone go off, Steven did not get to his next question. Unhooking the phone from his belt, he opened it. "Hello?"

"Hey Steve." A very familiar voice replied.

"Hey Patrick... is this going to be a short call?"

"They already have you seeing patients?" the Man chuckled.

"Just one... sitting with him right now."

"Is he cute?" Patrick asked.

Steven looked across the desk, giving Daryl a quick look before responding. "You might say so."

"Well I hope you remember why you are really there... no monkey business."

"Yes... I've learned my lesson." Steven sighed.

"Good... I was just calling to let you know that the store only had pre-frozen salmon so I went for the Ahi tuna. Does that sound ok for dinner?"

"Sounds find with me... just be careful with the pepper this time."

"But I like pepper." The voice on the other end pouted.

"Patrick..." Steve warned.

"Fine... I'll cook yours separately."

"Thank you." Steve said as his eyes noticed Daryl starting to fidget. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes... I got the Stockton report ready. It will be waiting for you on your desk."

`Thanks... hopefully that will be the last one I have you do."

"Considering what happened... so do I. Take care."

"You too," Steven said before closing his cell phone. "Sorry about that... family stuff."

"I see." Daryl replied just as his beeper went off.

Steven watched as Doctor Gavin looked at his pager, the expression on his face melting into a frown. "You have to go?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. We have a TSTL upstairs."

"A TSTL?" Steven asked, not recognizing the lingo.

"Too stupid to live." Daryl sighed as he stood up. "The nurses came up with it."

"Not a very nice thing to say," Steven chuckled.

"You have to know the patient," Daryl replied, heading for the door.

"I see... in med school I think we called them `repeat offenders'." Steven said as he followed after Dr. Gavin.

"Funny," Daryl chuckled lightly. "Shall I have someone show you the way out."

"I'm going with you... gives me a chance to see the archangel in action."

"Fine... but stop referring to me as the archangel, gets on my nerves."

"Would you rather I call you the Stone King?"

"My name is Daryl," Dr. Gavin grunted.

"Alright Dr. Dare."

"Daryl." He corrected.

"No, I think I like Dare better," Steven insisted.

"Whatever," Daryl sighed, opening the door to the stairwell and taking the steps two at a time.

Following Dr. Gavin to one of the ER's exam rooms, Stephen had to control a burst of laughter when he saw the patient. Lying on his stomach on the exam table, the man had what looked like half a clarinet sticking out of his ass.

"Well Ed... want to tell me what you were trying to do this time?" Daryl asked, his face remaining stoic as he slapped on a pair of latex gloves.

"Don't bother Dr. Gavin... he's too stoned," Jessica, a short black nurse replied.

"What about what's his name... his friend Sid?"

"Rotting in jail hopefully," the nurse replied. He's the one the police decided sold Mr. Baron whatever shit he is now on."

"Language..." Daryl sighed. "This is a hospital not a bar."

"Sorry, Dr. Gavin," Jessica apologized, waiting for Daryl to turn to examine Ed before sticking out her tongue at him.

After watching Daryl apply an anesthetic, and carefully remove the instrument section by section, Steven had to admit he was impressed. Most doctors, even in the ER, would not have acted so calmly, not when the removal of the clarinet's mouth piece soon triggered a spray of fecal material.

"Code brown... we have a code brown in exam room three," Stephanie laughed on the intercom, while Dr. Gavin went to the sink to clean his face.

"You ok?" Steven asked concerned.

"Yes, fine... should have seen that coming," Daryl replied, wiping his glasses clean before turning to face Jessica. "Clean Mr. Baron up and see him on his way."

"That's all?" Jessica asked, surprised.

"I would put him on pain meds, but it took a court order to get him off them last time," Daryl replied. "I gave him Celebrex last time, but thinking it was like Vicoden he tried to get himself stoned on it. Had to pump his stomach."

"We could keep him here a few days... at least till the swelling goes down."

"You know I would like to do that, Jessica, but with the bed shortage I can't justify it. I tried to get him a bed in a mental facility, but since the shrinks at the state hospital don't see him as a danger to anyone they won't give him one."

"Maybe I can help?" Steven offered.

"You got any pull with the state hospital?" Daryl asked.

"No... but I do sit on the medical boards of three private ones."

"Ed doesn't have insurance." Dr. Gavin warned.

"Don't worry... I can pay for it." Steven said as he reached for his cell phone.

Three phone calls later, Mr. Baron was in an ambulance being taken to a private hospital located outside the city.

"Thank you," Daryl said to Steven when he reached the end of his eighteen hour shift four hours later.

"Not a problem... just wish I could have gotten you to go along as well."

"You really think I'm that bad?" Daryl asked, as he walked into the doctor's lounge.

"No... you're not schizophrenic. You are certainly suffering from a depressive episode however."

"So, what is your recommended prescription?" Daryl asked, as he popped three quarters into the soda machine and selected a root beer.

"Well, since you have already said you won't take any medication... I think I would concentrate on cognitive, followed by behavioral therapy."

"So... you believe my depression is caused by delusional or misguided thinking?" Daryl chuckled before taking a swig of his soda.

"You're a doctor. Did you do a psychiatry rotation?"

"No... but I did take a basic psychology course."

"Ah... and were you like most 101 students, thinking you could self diagnose yourself after a single course? I know I did." Steven laughed.

"No... it did teach me enough to know I really didn't want someone fumbling through my head though."

"But you are going to let me `fumble' about inside you, as you say."

"Only because I would find Dr. Richardson's attempts more annoying," Daryl replied, wiping the foam from his mouth.

"Good... then I expect to see you in my office tomorrow," Steven grinned.