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My last shift at UCSF was busy and I didn't have any time to spend thinking about my short tenure there and how much I enjoyed the ER setting. It was an epiphany for me – someone who thought I could only function happily in a calm setting like a neurosurgery OR theater. I thrived in the ER, enjoying consulting on emergent cases that required fast diagnosis and treatment. It was exhilarating.
The last face I saw after I finished all my paperwork was none other than Christy – the woman who was responsible for my abrupt departure more than anything else.
At three in the morning, there were few staff around other than those of us working the evening and overnight shift, so I didn't have a big send off. Instead, I popped into the staff room on my way out, my bag over my shoulder with my laptop and other files of journal articles I'd collected during my brief stay at UCSF.
She saw me from where she sat on the sofa in the seating area of the staff room and glanced quickly away. I wondered why she seemed hesitant to see me and figured she maybe got a hard time from her supervisor. I'd mentioned her name when I spoke with him after tendering my resignation. He said little in response, but I could tell from the expression on his face that he felt she was a busy-body.
Beside Christy sat Greg Watson, one of the residents in the ER. I went over and shook his hand to say goodbye. We'd worked together for a number of shifts and got along well.
"Drake!" he said and stood, extending his hand to me. "Sorry to lose you, man. I really appreciated having your expertise in the ER on the cases we worked on. People with your level of still are few and far between."
"Thanks," I said and took his hand, shaking warmly. "I enjoyed working in the ER far more than I would have thought. If you're ever in Manhattan, give me a call. If you need a reference, keep me in mind."
"Will do."
Then I turned and left without a word to Christy. Before I got out the door, she called out to me.
"Don't say goodbye, then."
I stopped in the doorway, wondering what to say in response. I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself but didn't want to show Greg how upset I was.
"I won't," I said and smiled at her and then at Greg, whose expression was priceless – like he felt towards Christy the way I did.
Then I was gone.
As I drove away and watched the lights of UCSF in the distance, I felt both satisfaction and regret. Satisfaction that I had done a good job while there and truly helped out the ER staff with neuro cases. Regret that I had to leave under such circumstances, but it was for the best in the end.
When I crawled into bed beside a sleeping Kate and Sophia, I felt lucky that I had so much in my life. A beautiful wife and baby. A new family with my mother, Kent and Amanda, plus my other siblings I hoped to meet soon. My existing families with Ethan, Elaine and Heath and his family. The O'Rileys.
Life was good.
A few days later, in the afternoon while Sophie was sleeping, I got a call from Gary Wood, the lawyer who would be taking my case in Manhattan, with a time and date for us to meet to discuss the case. Lara had recommended
him from her list of BDSM-friendly and knowledgeable criminal lawyers. He understood the lifestyle and what it entailed. I could feel comfortable talking about my past with him and not fear judgement.
In Lisa's case, I would be a witness for the prosecution and I had to be prepared to face cross examination by Lisa's lawyers, who would try their best to make me look like a bad influence on Lisa – anything to lessen her own culpability in what happened to Kate and Derek Richardson and make her more sympathetic to the jury.
"I know you and Lara have gone over everything that happened between you and Lisa, when you first met her and had those encounters with her and Richardson, back before you met Kate. I have all the dates and times you were alone with her after, when you started working at NYU and she was in the residency program. I want to subject you to the kinds of questions her lawyers will ask you on the stand, so you won’t feel flustered and will know what to say."
I frowned. "I'll tell the truth," I said plainly. "That should clear things up. It's her fucked-up psychology that's the cause of this, not anything I did."
"I know that, but you have to remember you're going to be talking in front of a jury and a judge who are scandalized by anything to do with BDSM, the whole Mr. Grey fan club among romance readers aside. You have to explain things in a way that makes clear you barely remembered her, despite the sexual encounters. We have to make sure nothing you say puts your innocence into question."
"I'm innocent, so I don't see how telling the truth could get me into any trouble."
"That's very idealistic, but it's also very naïve, Drake," Gary said, "but I understand your view. She was young when this all happened—."
"She was a consenting adult of legal age who signed a non-disclosure agreement and a contract with Derek Richardson specifying what would happen when they were together."
He sighed audibly. "I know that, and you know that, but her lawyers will try to make her appear as sympathetic as possible. They'll play up her youth and her tragic past as a victim of sexual abuse, and will claim that you two adult men – into dominance and bondage – preyed on her innocence and corrupted her."
"That's not how it was," I said firmly.
"That's how her lawyers will portray it and you," Gary replied. "An older man who viewed her as nothing more than a willing hole for your pleasure."
It was my turn to sigh heavily. Of course, that's how they would present her.
"That's the way many men view women. Some women like that. I don't judge them for wanting it. I understand the psychology of dominance and submission. This is about a sociopath who tried to kill my wife, who did kill Derek Richardson, and who compelled her boyfriend to kill himself. This is not my fault and it has nothing to do with bondage and dominance but mental illness."
