Scene of the Crime

A Chapter by Luke Logan

It was one of those days where the sky is a salt and pepper color, like an aging man’s beard, the wind as gentle as a baby’s breath, and the temperature as warm as a lover’s embrace, which was why it was almost impossible to imagine that it was a week before Thanksgiving. The leaves from the maple, oak, dogwood, and ash trees had already detached from the tree limbs, and gardeners had already raked them, placed them in bins, or burned them. Winter was quickly approaching, but autumn was not going away quietly, especially in Southeastern Virginia. However, that wasn’t what bothered Dr. Richard Spangler, as he drove down the driveway and into the employee parking lot at Southeastern State Mental Hospital, what bothered him was that an ambulance and a police squad car were there to greet him.

Dr. Spangler was the chief psychiatrist at SSMH, a position he had held for more than ten years. He was a lanky, strikingly handsome man with a dimpled chin, and soft skin that held a year-round tan. He parked his Mercedes in his assigned parking spot, turned off the ignition, and cautiously assessed the situation before stepping out to address Officer Victor Schulz.

“Officer Schulz.” He shut the door and set the car security alarm. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Doc,” Officer Schulz was not as tall as Dr. Spangler was, but he had a barrel chest and solid forearms covered with suggestive tattoos; he displayed a neatly trimmed mustache and a crew cut as well. “We picked up a guy at the shopping mall construction site, and brought him here to see you.”

The two men moseyed side-by-side toward the hospital entrance.

“Is he a court order?” Dr. Spangler inquired.

“No, Sir,” Officer Schulz responded, gently. “As far as I know, he’s perfectly normal.”

“Then why did you bring him to see me?” Dr. Spangler appeared puzzled.

“He asked for you by name.” Officer Schulz enlightened him.

“He did what?” Dr. Spangler’s tanned skinned turned a few shades lighter.

“Yup,” Officer Schulz nodded, “he described you to a tee.”

“So, I’ve treated him before,” Dr. Spangler presumed.

“I’m not sure,” Officer Schulz appeared suspicious. “He said he wasn’t a patient of yours, and he claims that he only met you once…thirty years ago the day after tomorrow.”

“Really?” Dr. Spangler became fascinated. “When I was in my early twenties? How old did you say he was?”

“He said he was fifty when he first met you,” Officer Schulz asserted. “Which would make him eighty now.”

“Eighty?” Dr. Spangler seemed baffled. “Sounds like you should’ve checked the local nursing homes.”

“Yeah, well,” Officer Schulz clarified, “Max has a valid identification card from Pennsylvania.”

“Maybe he has a family looking for him, Doctor Spangler hinted.

“We’re checking into that now, Officer Schulz guaranteed him.

“How did you guys find out about him?” Doctor Spangler wanted to know.

“He refused to move from the construction site,” Officer Schulz explained. “The workers couldn’t do their job. He said he was waiting for Doctor Richard Spangler.”

“Why at the construction site? Why not at my home or here?” Dr. Spangler inquired.

“Beats me, Doc,” Officer Schulz shrugged his shoulders.

“What did you say his name is?” Doctor Spangler wanted to know.

Officer Schulz pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his shirt pocket, opened it, and read aloud, “George Maxwell...but he prefers to be called Max. Does that ring a bell, Doc?”

“Not even remotely,” Dr. Spangler admitted. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

“Perhaps he saw your picture somewhere,” Officer Schulz insinuated, “and confused you with someone else…maybe another doctor.”

“That’s not a difficult thing to imagine in today’s world,” Dr. Spangler rationalized,

“He could’ve seen my picture in a magazine or the internet.”

. As they approached the walkway leading to the hospital entrance, Officer Schulz stopped and concurred, “I’m sure you’re right, Doc. He most likely read about you in a magazine.”

“Where is he now? Is he inside?” Dr. Spangler appeared anxious.

Officer Schulz nodded, “Your nurse will fill you in on the rest, Doc. I have to get back to work.”

Dr. Spangler had a procedure that he followed religiously every day on the job: greet Joe the security guard, turn left into the doctor’s lounge and pour himself a cup of coffee; then journey the hospital’s back corridors to his office and read the patient reports left on his desk by the night staff. He saw no compelling reason to rearrange his routine, but that changed the moment he entered the front door and Nurse Venus Carrolton confronted him.

“Good morning, Doctor,” Nurse Carrolton seemed eager to see him, “I put Max…uh…the patient…in room C. I assumed you’d want to see him as soon as you got in.”

“Where’s Joe the security guard?” Dr. Spangler twisted his neck from side to side and searched the hospital’s foyer.

“I believed he called in sick,” Nurse Carrolton advised him, grabbing his arm and leading him to the right.

“Sick? The man hasn’t missed a day of work in more than a year,” Dr. Spangler permitted Nurse Carrolton to lead, but not without mild opposition. “What about my coffee? I always have coffee before work.”

“I’ll have the cafeteria send a pot to your office,” Nurse Carrolton steered him through the double doors and down the corridor in the direction of room

With his normal schedule broken, Doctor Spangler was having a difficult time concentrating on the task; he whirled around and backed into the food cart, knocking a tray of cups and silverware to the floor. “After my coffee, I normally read the night shift reports.”

“Don’t worry about anything, Doctor. I’ve got it covered.” Nurse Carrolton assured him.

“Why is it so important for me to see this old man?” Doctor Spangler questioned, “I don’t know anyone named Max.”

Upon hearing the crashing sound and Doctor Spangler’s voice, Max got up off the hospital bed and hobbled to the door. He was a small, unimposing man with a wispy-thin crescent of white hair atop his head and skin more worn than an old pair of shoes. “Richard! I knew I’d find you,” Max declared in a rusty voice that made Doctor Spangler turn toward him and stare.

Doctor Spangler studied Max’s face as if he were studying an x-ray for broken bones or signs of cancer; he slowly moved forward, as if a closer look might reveal something to jog his memory.

“My second chance worked, Richard. I changed my life for the better, and now I want to go back,” Max choked with emotion.