Soul Jumper

Part 2

I kept hold of his arm the entire way back to the office. He reminded me of a curious child, judging by the way he was looking around. "Have you never been here, or something?" I ask.

"Oh, no. I've been here my whole life." He answers, remaining distracted. "Well, you seem to be looking at everything." I point out. "There's something new everytime." He counters quietly. We walk silently for the rest. My mind spiraled with questions, but the one thing I learned is that you never rapidly fire questions off. If you're panicked, they panic.

We reach the small clinic, and I push open the door, leading him behind me. The secretary was behind the desk, pulling on her coat. "We closed an hour ago, Dr . Thompson." She sounds irritated, "and who is this?"

Our afternoon shift secretary was lately replaced. Blonde, peachy, Abby Hart was replaced with grouchy, irritable, Nadia Lawson. "Nadia," I addressed, "I only need a half hour. We'll be finished before you know it."

As I spoke, the man intently stared at Nadia's chest.

Nadia gave him an angry look, before sitting back down in frustration.

I smacked him quickly, before rushing him into my office. He stared at me, confused. We sat down across from one another, in the small room on the small desk. I pulled up my laptop angrily. "Staring at a woman's chest like that." I accuse.

"Her chest? I was looking at her necklace." He sounds offended. I shake my head. "You could have at least considered what it looked like you were doing. Why were you looking at it in the first place?" I question.

"I don't know. But it sure was ugly." He looks up at me. I grin slowly and turn to my laptop. "Alright. Name?" I poise my fingers on the keyboard.

Instead of an answer, he reaches for a wood pencil, from the cup on the edge of the table. This was intentional. I had placed the cup and pencils, making them the only touchable object near. This was all experimental, to see how the patient reacted or played with the pencil.

Taking me by surprise, he reaches for the cup instead, flipping the pencils out onto the floor. He then studies the cup. The sound of my impatient tapping causes him to look up. "Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Name?" I repeat calmly. "Oh? Yeah, Chase Williams." He replies.

"Alright Chase. What happened back there?"

He remained quiet, distracted.

"Chase." I call again.

He looks up again, and nods. I sigh, trying to look as sympathetic as possible. "Do you live alone? Family?"

He shakes his head. "I live alone, but I have a cat."

I went with the straightforward approach. "What made you want to jump? Do you feel sad at times? Are you in a relationship? Perhaps you feel empty?"

All of a sudden, his face changes, as if realizing something. "You think I'm suicidal?" He acts shocked.

"Well, why else would you jump off of a bridge?" I shot back. He puts down the cup and stares at me. "I don't need help. I was busy and you disrupted my channeling." He accuses. I sigh, exasperated.

This was a classic case of denial. The patient expects they can handle the problem alone, but it's the complete opposite. They require guidance.

It remained silent for the longest time. "There's another side." He says quietly after a few moments. I decide to remain quiet as he spoke. "It calls me. I just don't know what calls me."

I could already tell this was going to take a while.