The office was a small, cluttered space, papers and books spilling over every surface like an avalanche waiting to happen. The morning sun poured through the windows, casting a golden hue over the room, a welcome contrast to the chaos inside. Mrs. Garner, a chubby woman in her fifties with glasses perched precariously on her nose, typed away at her computer. She was the first point of contact for families reporting cases, and today, as always, Jamie sat across from her.
Jamie, who had become a silent observer of this place, seemed to take some comfort in the quiet, even though they rarely exchanged more than a few words. She was still so young, but there was something about her that made people wary. Perhaps it was the way she seemed so detached, so removed from the world around her. Despite their lack of interaction, Mrs. Garner had grown fond of the girl. Over time, she had come to understand that Jamie was dealing with something far more complicated than she was willing to admit.
Mrs. Garner stole a glance at Jamie, who was gazing intently at a painting of a waterfall on the desk. The girl was always lost in her thoughts. The administrator often wondered what went on in her mind. Despite her mother's constant reports of Jamie's petty crimes, Jamie never said a word. It was as if she had sealed herself off from everyone, even from those who might be able to help.
The morning routine was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, signaling the arrival of Officer Stacy and her partner, Russell. It was business as usual, more complaints, more paperwork, while Jamie waited for her turn. After a brief exchange, Stacy placed a reassuring hand on Jamie's shoulder.
"Jamie, can you wait outside for a few minutes?" Mrs. Garner asked gently.
Jamie stood and left without a word, the silence hanging heavily in her absence. As the door clicked shut, the administrator motioned for Stacy to sit.
"I think we should involve a therapist this time," Mrs. Garner began, her voice laced with concern. "Jamie is awfully quiet, and she never speaks about anything, no matter how serious the situation. I know she opens up to you, but we need to understand what she's going through. She's not old enough to live on her own, and she refuses foster care. Since her mother is always working, we're stuck with limited options within our usual parameters."
Stacy nodded, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the situation. She had hoped to avoid this, but deep down, she knew it was inevitable. Jamie had become a puzzle she couldn't solve.
"I know," Stacy replied, her eyes flicking to Russell for support. He met her gaze but said nothing, his expression unreadable. The two of them had been in this line of work long enough to know when things weren't going to be easy.
"We don't have much of a choice," she added, her voice softer now.
"Do you have anyone in mind?" Russell asked, standing behind Stacy. His voice was low, but his eyes carried a hint of wariness.
"Yes," Mrs. Garner replied, pulling a brochure from the cluttered desk. "Normally, the family would pay 50% of the session fees, and we would cover the rest. But there's good news, a therapist we work closely with offers her services for free as part of an initiative she started this year. She's helped over 30 teenagers with various issues, including suicidal tendencies, and they're all doing well now. I'm sure you've heard of her, Dr. Lucy Quist, the Celebrity Therapist."
Mrs. Garner handed them the brochure, her fingers briefly brushing Stacy's as she passed it over.
"Since you're Jamie's guardian, I encourage you to set up an appointment. You'll sit in on the first meeting so you can get an idea of what the sessions will be like. They'll also provide weekly updates and give you steps to help achieve progress. Does that sound alright to you?"
Stacy nodded, taking in the plan. It felt like the right thing to do, but it also felt like a step into the unknown. Was this the right path for Jamie? Would it even work?
"I'll make the call," Stacy said, tucking the brochure into her jacket. "But... she won't air it on her reality show, will she?" Stacy couldn't help but ask. There was a lingering concern that the line between therapy and entertainment could blur in Dr. Quist's world.
"No," Mrs. Garner reassured her, her voice firm. "She'll ask for your permission first, which is why you'll be part of the initial meeting. But no cameras without your consent."
Russell nodded in agreement, taking the brochure from Stacy as they prepared to leave.
"So, that's it?" Russell asked, glancing at the administrator one last time.
"I'll also receive updates and reports to track her progress," Mrs. Garner added, her voice quiet, but her concern palpable.
With that, the two officers left the office to find Jamie waiting for them in the car. They drove in silence, each lost in their thoughts, the weight of the morning pressing down on them.
Jamie broke the silence, her voice soft but clear.
"Do you think therapy is necessary?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window.
"Well, we could stop it if you tell me what's wrong," Stacy replied, her voice hopeful. This was the opening she had been waiting for, the chance to finally break through Jamie's silence.
But Jamie didn't respond. The silence stretched on, as it always did.
Stacy sighed, her fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. It had been years since Jamie had been the cheerful girl she once was. Stacy had held her in her arms the day she was born, watching her grow, full of light and laughter. But now, Jamie was a shadow of that girl, quiet, detached, and unfazed by anything. Stacy's heart ached as she thought about it. Jamie was still excelling in school, but her future seemed like a blur. She had no direction, no dreams, and that scared Stacy more than anything else.
Something was wrong. Stacy could feel it deep in her bones. But what? What had happened to the girl she once knew?
.....
Elsewhere,
His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he did was check his hands. Relief washed over him. He was back to his old self. He carefully removed the IV drip from his arm and changed into his clothes, his movements slow but steady. Gathering his things, he left the hospital and made his way home. As he walked out, he checked his phone and found a message about an appointment at 8 p.m. Glancing at the time, he realized he had three hours to spare. He hailed a taxi and headed straight home, the weight of the appointment already pressing on him.