The spot was at the corner of Riverside Dr. and West 89th Street. It was just by the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument, Upper West Side. This was the place that early arrivals of the group often gathered before the meeting. Sometimes the good Doctor would even step outside and invite them in whenever the documentation for the previous meeting was completed. Such was not the case on this bleak of nights. November had bred dark skies and harsh winds. The atmosphere was unkind yet filled with flurries of crystals in the wind. The last month of the year was rapidly approaching in the next two days. Christmas celebrations were supposed to make headway into the consciousness of the city’s citizens. However, such a phenomenon had failed to be victorious for years. Christmas did not feel anything like it did in the old days. The nostalgia continued to be ravenous and unfed.
Doctor Stanton’s offices were located inside a stylish building complex. The ground floor had a reception area complete with couches and authentic plants. The ceiling reached high and various engravings and ornaments clad the walls. All of it had a high brow and sophisticated aroma. A pair of elevators were clearly indicated further inside, past the reception desk. Many of the floors above were residential apartments for what could only be assumed to be well off middle class people, bordering the higher echelon. The therapist’s office was close to the top of the building, just two stories shy of the penthouse. He never disclosed where he lived, but one could suspect that one of the lavish apartments were his. A man of his experience and reputation would surely allow such a convenience — to live and work in the same building.
The group therapy session was the Doctor’s flagship. He had earned renown and praise within several academic circles for it. The current selection was a unique composition of individuals. Even if the Doctor had conducted private talks with each member, it was when they combated their demons together that they saw tangible progress. Bernard was one if not the oldest member of the group session. The two men had extensively discussed the various chapters of Bernard’s life, the intricacies of faith and divination, and paranoia and delusions. Among the younger and female members of the group were Alex. The Doctor’s discussions with her had been utmost confidential to the point that no recordings or notes were taken during their private sessions. The official record holds that she is being treated for anxiety. What the Doctor actually knows about her past remains unknown. There was no limit to Stanton’s methods. Some of his private sessions consisted purely of painting. It was a practice he indulged in with one of the other group members, Valerian. Many things could be discovered through abstractions of the mind revealing themselves in strokes and paint. Long sessions of either discussion or silence ensued. Such was also the case of Russell. Some days there was little or nothing the good Doctor could do about the man’s unique beliefs. Stanton was no stranger to personal tragedy and misfortune. Much of it was connected to the past, and the service for Russell. There was another cop in the group, Serena. The Doctor had spent long hours discussing aspects of guilt, fate, and misdeeds with her. Stanton had lost his only son to a tour in Iraq during the Bush administration. That experience, although harsh on his state of mind, had come to serve him positively when dealing with patients. One such patient was Cole. There were instances of guilt and night terrors in this man as well. Stanton only wished that some of his elderly wisdom in these matters had assisted Cole in his recovery.
Stanton had an assistant. Perhaps ‘secretary’ was the right word for it. However, it still did not do her justice. She was also trained in the arts of psychology. The only thing she lacked was the experience, the years of practice that the good Doctor had to his name. Maybe the word ‘apprentice’ would have been more suitable, although unconventional. She handled much of Stanton’s documentation, contacts with various hospitals and clinics, social media and digital relations, and new and old patients of his. Linda was her name. Doctor Stanton’s patients grew to know her just as well as they knew him. Sometimes she attended the meetings to observe, take notes, or offer additional support during especially taxing sessions. She was the good Doctor’s right hand. Probably the left one too.
This eerie night of November 28th had been unusual to begin with. Linda had taken care of a few contracts and legal matters with one of the hospitals in the city. She would normally already be at Doctor Stanton’s office, but not today. Given the situation and time, Linda figured that she would meet ‘the group’ by the monument, where they often gathered, and walk them inside. Perhaps it would strike some of them as odd or signs of omen. However, that was not her intention. She was a kind soul and nurturing by nature. If anything, meeting them at the spot was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. She was a bit early. The monument was brightly lit and all the street lamps were at full function. Even so, visibility on this night was slim. Between the darkness and misty white filter covering the entire world view, the somewhat playful but harsh snow in the wind made everything a blur. The creeping cold was almost unbearable.
N O T E S
The meeting starts at 8 P.M. and usually lasts two hours. It is Thursday night. Your post can entail anything prior to arriving outside the building, either before or after the assistant. Any character with +1 Sixth Sense or above will have a gut feeling that something if off. This is not a normal night at the group session. This feeling might have put them off the whole day or just recently.
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