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“Hayes Crawford Jr.,” I replied, giving in. “I am a patient at the Medical University of South Carolina located in Charleston.”
He closed my file after writing a few notes and checking boxes. He stood and headed for the door.
“Wait,” I said. “What’s next?”
His back was to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.”
“But wait. I’m fine, doctor. I don’t need to meet with you tomorrow,” I insisted. “This is obscene. You don’t really believe I’m suicidal, do you?”
He turned to face me, scribbling on a piece of paper for several minutes. I noticed he glanced toward the camera as he wrote in my file. He sat down across from me again and said nothing while I simply waited. After a minute he tore the paper from the pad and handed it to me, waiting quietly while I read it.
Hand this back to me when you are done reading this. No, I do not believe you are suicidal. I find you highly intelligent and of sound mind. Tomorrow morning you will have completed your seventy-two hour court-ordered evaluation. You have the right to insist that you are released but I caution you, your father and his hired physicians have made it clear that you are to be detained for as long as possible. That is against the law.
I handed the note to him without a word. He remained seated, wrote additional notes in the file, possibly as a ruse for the camera, and then walked out.
It was only a matter of seconds before a porter opened the door and gestured for me to exit the room. He followed as I made my way down the corridor. My room was private at least, but I still knew I was not free to move about the wing I was located in. Being locked in the psyche ward proved that my father was up to something.
I turned the television on in time to see my face plastered across the screen yet again since my fake rescue. Local news was having a field day with my return from the dead.
Billionaire heir to the Crawford family fortune has been located after surviving tropical storm Marie. Son of CEO Hayes Crawford Sr., and grandson of deceased Stanton Crawford, was found alive outside of Beaufort on Tuesday. He had been feared dead after sailing through the worst storm in five years. Sources state that a memorial service originally scheduled for Saturday will now be rescheduled as a celebration of his safe return. Mr. Crawford is currently recovering in a local hospital and was not available for interviews. We have reached out to his family and they have declined all interview requests as well. We’ll have more information on his safe return and harrowing ordeal soon.
I was the lead story on the news. My funeral had been planned and my family and friends assumed I was dead. That was a shitty thing I’d done.
I pushed my buzzer and waited. After five minutes a nurse appeared and asked what he could do for me. “Will you take me to make a call, please?”
He walked out and returned after a moment with the porter who’d brought me to my room earlier. “Follow me,” he said.
I followed through a locked door and into a small space between a second locked door. The one behind us clanked loudly and we waited for the next one to unlock. Stepping through the door, he opened a small room that had a desk and an old rotary phone. I checked the time on the wall clock and motioned for the porter to give me privacy before closing the door.
The phone rang three times before Sylvia, my father’s executive assistant, picked up. “Mr. Crawford’s office, Sylvia here.”
“Sylvia, this is Junior. Put me through to my father,” I stated coolly.
I heard a small gasp after she put two and two together. “Of course, Hayes.” Sylvia was too professional to ask how I was or to get personally involved. I liked that about her.
My father answered. “Son.”
“Hello, Daddy. I was just watching the news,” I said in lieu of a greeting. “A memorial on Saturday, huh? You must be so disappointed I’m not dead. Had big plans for my money, did ya?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have completely lost your mind.”
“You wish.”
“What can I do for you, Junior?”
“Listen, Daddy. You’re going to get your ass down to this hospital in the next two hours and drop your hold on my welfare,” I demanded.
“We won’t be doing that, Hayes. At least not until your doctors are confident you are of sound mind.”
“Two hours old man, or Momma receives my next call,” I informed him.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he murmured.
“Trust me, after this stunt of locking me in a psyche ward, you do not want to fuck with me. And don’t think for a second that I won’t tell her about your tawdry affairs, because I will,” I threatened. “Or if that doesn’t convince you, I’ll be calling in the loans I gave you. All fifty million. Do you understand me, Daddy?”
Click.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: Bo
