Page 7 of Puck Me

“I can.”

“If you do this, I won’t cooperate. I’ll never speak to you again. You won’t be able to treat me. You won’t be able to do anything.”

“I’ll take that with you alive over you being dead.”

“I told you, they’re just fantasies.”

“Oh, really? So, you’ve never made any plans to act on them?”

Chester opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“That’s what I thought,” I say gently. “Tell me, Chester, what do you have hidden from Noah?”

“Nothing.”

“Chester, you can tell me.”

“What, so you can lock me up like a psycho?”

“The admission is already non-negotiable. Anything you tell me isn’t going to change that.”

“Why would I tell you anything?”

“I think a part of you wants to be helped. If that part didn’t exist, you wouldn’t have bothered to say anything today. Instead, you spoke with me, even though you were doubtful about my ability to help you. I know there’s a part of you that wants to die, Chester, but I also believe that there’s a part of you that doesn’t.”

Chester bites his lip, blinking back tears. “I’m scared,” he admits. “I don’t know what happens after death, you know? I mean, it would sure as hell be better than this, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t terrify me.”

“What do you have hidden from Noah, Chester?”

“Ropes,” he says quietly after a moment’s pause. “Strong ones, too. I’ve scoped out ligature points in the house as well. I know exactly where… Noah only comes once a day. I’d only have to wait until he leaves until…”

“Thank you for telling me, Chester. Like I said, you need an admission. I’m going to get started on the paperwork now. I’m going to call an ambulance to pick you up here and take you straight to the hospital.”

“If you do that to me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Like I said, I’d rather have you hating me alive than have had your regard for a short time before your death.”

Chester glares at me but doesn’t get up to leave. That gives me hope. If he truly didn’t want the help, he could have made a run for it. Not that he’d get far on those crutches, but I’ve seen patients with less mobility try.

“With your permission, I’d like to update Noah on the situation.”

Chester shrugs. “I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want.”

“Thank you, Chester.”

Noah is still in the waiting room.

“Noah, would you mind stepping into my office, please? Chester has given me permission to update you on the situation. I think it’ll be helpful for you to be in the loop.”

“Of course.” Noah glances to Chester, who is slumped in a chair, staring at the floor.

Before I turn, I lean over and take Chester’s crutches. I’m not risking him leaving, even though he doesn’t look capable of moving voluntarily right now.

Noah raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.

We sit down in my office, and I get straight to business. “Chester is suicidal.”

Noah flinches, but he doesn’t look entirely surprised. “He said the box cutter incident was just a one-time thing, and only because he was drunk, but I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. I gave him his razors back when there weren’t any other incidents…”

---