Freefall
oo3.
He is desperately shuffling through files, folders, any paper he can get his hands on. His next appointment is set to arrive within the next few minutes and he can’t find the patient’s folder: how very professional. In his rush he doesn’t hear the almost inaudible tapping on his door. As the time slips by the tapping grows more incessant; certainly more annoying.
“Dr. Aniston,” a husky voice drones through the door. Aniston intakes a sharp breath, jumping out of fright.
“Y-yes! Come in!” he fumbles, attempting to straighten up his desk. The heavy oak door is pushed open effortlessly and a burly policeman makes his way in. A boy not more than seventeen follows quietly, eyes flicking around the brightly lit room with a spark of curiosity.
The chief clears his throat, and nods to the boy. “This is Ryan. He’s the one you’ve been told about.” He smiles warily, then takes his leave, closing the door silently.
“Ah, Ryan! Won’t you take a seat? My name is-“
“Dr. Aniston,” Ryan smiles, finishing his statement.
“Uh, well, yes. So you’ve heard of me then?” Aniston questions politely, finally recovering the boy’s file.
“No, not at all,” Ryan tells him innocently, nodding to the name plate perched on the end of Aniston’s desk. He makes his way to the plush leather couch by the window, plopping down and stretching out comfortably.
Aniston laughs uncomfortably before continuing, “So, maybe we should get started. Do you know why you’re here, Ryan?”
“We were just playing a game,” Ryan pouts. “Hey, we never got to finish! Where is that guy anyways?”
“It’s just us, Ryan,” Aniston informs him calmly. “You said you were…playing a game?”
Ryan nods his head vigorously, leaning forward. “I lost… I have to talk…to…” His voice trails off, leaving the silence of the morning. Ryan’s gaze travels out the window, to the flowery grounds beyond. “They told me that I’m sick,” he mutters sadly. “Do you think so, sir?” His gaze tears deliberately through the air, resting on Aniston.
“No, Ryan. I don’t believe you’re sick. We just have to prove that to them.”
---
He sighs a disheartening sound. Ryan had been taken to a room in the nearby terminal ward. “If only I knew how to talk to him… To understand just what happened…” he tells himself, in an attempt to lessen his anxiety. The words that had been exchanged between the two hadn’t meant much of anything.
“The first session is always more of a test run anyway,” he mumbles, pacing to the window. Ryan was going to prove a tough subject, he notes. Aniston steps over to his desk, shuffles through the papers on the top.
“Research is much necessary…” His words float on the air, upward to the ceiling.
“Dr. Aniston,” a husky voice drones through the door. Aniston intakes a sharp breath, jumping out of fright.
“Y-yes! Come in!” he fumbles, attempting to straighten up his desk. The heavy oak door is pushed open effortlessly and a burly policeman makes his way in. A boy not more than seventeen follows quietly, eyes flicking around the brightly lit room with a spark of curiosity.
The chief clears his throat, and nods to the boy. “This is Ryan. He’s the one you’ve been told about.” He smiles warily, then takes his leave, closing the door silently.
“Ah, Ryan! Won’t you take a seat? My name is-“
“Dr. Aniston,” Ryan smiles, finishing his statement.
“Uh, well, yes. So you’ve heard of me then?” Aniston questions politely, finally recovering the boy’s file.
“No, not at all,” Ryan tells him innocently, nodding to the name plate perched on the end of Aniston’s desk. He makes his way to the plush leather couch by the window, plopping down and stretching out comfortably.
Aniston laughs uncomfortably before continuing, “So, maybe we should get started. Do you know why you’re here, Ryan?”
“We were just playing a game,” Ryan pouts. “Hey, we never got to finish! Where is that guy anyways?”
“It’s just us, Ryan,” Aniston informs him calmly. “You said you were…playing a game?”
Ryan nods his head vigorously, leaning forward. “I lost… I have to talk…to…” His voice trails off, leaving the silence of the morning. Ryan’s gaze travels out the window, to the flowery grounds beyond. “They told me that I’m sick,” he mutters sadly. “Do you think so, sir?” His gaze tears deliberately through the air, resting on Aniston.
“No, Ryan. I don’t believe you’re sick. We just have to prove that to them.”
---
He sighs a disheartening sound. Ryan had been taken to a room in the nearby terminal ward. “If only I knew how to talk to him… To understand just what happened…” he tells himself, in an attempt to lessen his anxiety. The words that had been exchanged between the two hadn’t meant much of anything.
“The first session is always more of a test run anyway,” he mumbles, pacing to the window. Ryan was going to prove a tough subject, he notes. Aniston steps over to his desk, shuffles through the papers on the top.
“Research is much necessary…” His words float on the air, upward to the ceiling.