“You’re a part of Doctor Fielding’s class?” the guard looked at him disbelievingly.
“Yes,” Molson said shortly. He knew the man was making a judgement on based on how Molson looked. It was something that happened all the time, so Molson wasn’t that concerned. “I’m gonna be late. Fielding appreciates punctuality.”
“Why don’t I walk you down there?” the guard asked.
“Sure thing,” Molson didn’t care. He started walking, the guard falling into step with him. Soon he found Fielding with a group of other students.
Fielding glanced at his watch, pursing his lips. “Cutting it close Colborne.”
“I had personal escort,” Molson replied, cocking his head at the security guard.
“Just needed to make sure,” the guard nodded at Fielding before leaving to do his rounds.
“We’ve already gone over the rules. Perhaps one of your classmates can fill you in,” Fielding tossed him a hospital identification badge. “Wear that at all times. Don’t lose it. Don’t be late again.”
“Yes sir,” Molson drawled as he clipped on the piece of plastic. He and Fielding didn’t get along. Fielding had made it abundantly clear that if Molson stepped out of line by a fraction of an inch, he’d love to kick him out of the program.
Fielding narrowed his eyes. “This is a practical program. Here we will see how everyone’s knowledge stacks up in the real world. No one can cheat here.”
That was a deliberate barb at Molson. Fielding had openly accused Molson of cheating on written tests. The man didn’t understand how Molson could show up to class without textbook, not bother to take notes, yet maintain nearly perfect test scores.
If he had simply asked, Molson would have told him he had a near perfect memory. When he applied himself, Molson needed to read a textbook only once and nearly all of it was imprinted on his mind. It seemed a waste to tote around heavy books when it was already locked into his brain.
So Molson showed up with a notebook he never used and a pen that stayed firmly in his pocket unless a test was at hand.
It drove Fielding mad. In return, he drove Molson mad.
If Fielding wasn’t going to ask how he did it, then who was Molson to tell him? Let the man think the worst. He’d never find any evidence of cheating because Molson didn’t cheat.
Fielding was just another person who had taken one look at Molson and made a snap judgement. He thought Molson was some piece of trash.
Over the years, Molson had just fallen into the routine of letting people think what they would. He knew who he was. If people couldn’t be bothered to do anything other than judge based on first impressions, he didn’t need them in his life.
After passing the classes Fielding gave with flying colors, Molson had been dismayed to learn that he needed to put up with the man again, this time as his supervising doctor at the hospital.
Molson stuck to the rear of the group as Fielding led them through the hospital, narrating where they were and what their duties might be in each area.
“How is Edna doing this morning?” Holly asked the nurse as she pulled a chart.
“Not too bad, Dr. Urshman,” the nurse responded. “She seems to be more alert and cooperative.”
“Good. She’s making progress then,” Holly was pleased. Edna’s therapy sessions seemed to be progressing along nicely.
Holly had been a therapist at Mercy hospital for three years now. She had her own set of offices, assisting people who were already admitted plus doing outpatient care. She loved her job and the challenges it represented.
Flicking her long braid out of the way, she wrote a note on Edna’s chart before replacing it on the stack on the counter. A movement caught the corner of her eye and she watched as Dr. Fielding took a new group of students on a tour of the hospital. She remembered that he had mentioned a new set of student residents were set to start again. Fielding had been grumbling over one new resident in particular while Holly and he shared coffee and a snack in the cafeteria during one of their few breaks that lined up.
She looked over the new hopefuls, starting their career as doctors, noting how one or two of them looked like they weren’t even old enough to drive a car.
It was a funny comparison since it wasn’t very long ago that she had graduated from her programs.
A gasp of surprise escaped Holly. She had to take a double look at one man in the group to be certain she was right.
It was him! The guy who was Detective Colborne’s brother. She remembered him distinctly. He had the band of tattoos around his neck and arm. He was in scrubs, on the outside of the group, listening as the tour continued, hands in his pockets, posture slouched as he disinterestedly watched.
She would recognize him anywhere. He had probably saved her life, thought at the time she hadn’t realized the danger she was in.
Holly had been called by a frantic Ted Searson, saying that his daughter wasn’t well, that he was worried she might harm herself. Bethany Searson was one of Holly’s clients and she had been undergoing therapy to investigate a repressed memory from her childhood that had haunted her with nightmares. Ted had given Holly the address. He was due to fly out for some conference and needed Holly to come to his prestigious office building downtown to discuss Bethany’s treatment further. Ted had been in tears, beside himself, wanting to know how he could help his daughter. Although Holly would have much preferred to have the meeting in her own office, she hadn’t hesitated to go.
