text: "Richard, as we established in your first session, they’re yours. The information you share stays in this room. We are now in your third visit, and it’s mimicking the first two. You haven't said a word for twenty-five minutes. If you aren't going to utilize the time--" "Well, Stanley," Richard interrupted. He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward on the small sofa, and continued. "As you just pointed out, it's my time. You're still getting paid, so what the hell do you care?" Not even trying to hide his smugness, he leaned back, and casually draped his arms across the back of the sofa. "It's Dr. Bennett, Richard. Please try to remember that.” “Who names their kid Stanle y, anyway?” Richard snickered, seemingly on a roll with his sarcastic wit. Dr. Bennett gave him a pensive look, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He set his notebook aside, and picked up the phone. After a brief pause, he said, “Amy, please contact Captain Sheridon at the 53 rd precinct. Inform him I’ll have my evaluation and recommendation on Richard Sullivan’s return to work status by tomorrow morning.” “Yes!” Richard blurted out. With a wide grin, he shook his fist in triumph. “Finally, something positive comes from this total waste of time. I should have been back on the streets two weeks ago.” Dr. Bennett removed his glasses and took his time polishing them. Putting them back on, he looked across his desk, and said, “Richard, you have no idea what my recommendation will be, and the only person who considers this a waste of time is you. Have you forgotten why you were sent here in the first place?” Richard’s grin slowly faded. He looked down for a second, then up again with a serious, defiant look. Shaking his head, he said, “No, I will never forget the day I thought that son of a bitch was going to hack me to death with a machete. It was a righteous kill.” “No one has ever said it wasn’t,” said Dr. Bennett in a soft tone. “So, what’s all this psychobabble bullshit for?” Richard raised his arms in a sweeping gesture, then ticked off points on his fingers. As he did so, his voice grew louder. “The guy was high; he came at me with a machete; I told him to drop his weapon, but he kept coming. I fired my weapon, as I was trained to do. End of story.” Richard opened his hands like a book, then closed them. He stared at the psychiatrist. The doctor nodded, then said in a low, calm voice, “Except that guy who came at you with a machete was only fourteen years old.” When there was no reaction or response, he kept going. “Even though your own safety was at risk, finding yourself in a situation where you were forced to shoot anyone, but especially a child, had to be the most difficult circumstance anyone could imagine.” Richard still said nothing. His gaze moved from the doctor to the floor. Neither spoke for several minutes. Eventually, and in that same relaxed, comforting voice, Dr. Bennett said, “When you’re out there keeping the public safe, and the adrenalin is pumping, it must feel like the best job in the world.” Richard looked up, and said in a more thoughtful tone, “You finally get it. Some of it, at least.” He stood up and paced in front of the sofa. Moving toward the desk, he placed his hands on it, and leaned in until he was less than a foot from the doctor’s face. Dr. Bennett backed his chair away a few inches. Richard didn’t seem to notice. He said, “And that’s exactly why I need to get back out there. Ya gotta know Doc, patrolling the streets, having to be alert at all times, it’s my life. It’s all I ever wanted to do, and I’m good at it. I hope to make detective someday.” Dr. Bennett nodded appreciatively, and gestured for Richard to go back to his seat. Maybe there would be a breakthrough, after all. That was the most the man had said about anything related to the job. He said, “I understand how important your work is, and from all reports, you’re really good at it, but Richard,” the doctor tilted his head a bit, “what do you do when the chaos dies down, and the adrenalin disappears? How do you untangle all of the thoughts from the day when you find yourself alone? It’s only natural that events would play in your mind.” “Oh, so we’re back to that. That was sneaky, Doc, playing up to me like you understood where I was coming from.” Dr. Bennett rested his arms on the desk, and said, “Look, I know you aren’t a callused, uncaring person. Maybe you came from a family who thought sharing feelings and being vulnerable were signs of weakness. I don’t know, but I promise you they’re not. What happened that night had to have left some kind of impression. Not only was he a kid, but it was also the first time you ever fired your weapon. I’m just trying to help you come to grips with the issue, and recognize the emotions and be okay with them.” Richard fidgeted in his seat, cleared his throat a couple of times, then looked up at the doctor with a defeated look. Shrugging, he gestured with open hands, then dropped them. Tears glistened in his eyes. Swiping at them with the back of his hand, he cleared his throat again, and said, “You’re right. I haven’t slept through the night since it happened. I can’t see a kid on the street and not see him.” A sob escaped, and he choked out, “Damn him! Why didn’t he listen to me and just drop that damned machete?” Tears were streaming down his face. Dr. Bennett moved slowly around the desk until he was standing in front of Richard. “Because he was high on PCP. You did everything right that night. The only reason you’re here is because you needed to say it out loud.” Richard let out another loud sob, then sat down and covered his face with his hands. A knock at the door startled both doctor and patient. It opened, and someone stuck their head in. “I hope you guys are done. We need the room for another role-play rehearsal.” “Sure. Just give us a second to gather our stuff.” Jonathan Wells, playing the role of Dr. Stanley Bennett, patted his friend on the back. “You’ve come a long way tuning in to your emotions. You almost had me in tears. Great job!” Randy Thomas, aka Richard, blew his nose and said, “Thanks.” Standing, he grabbed his jacket while Jonathan picked up his empty notebook from the desk, and said, “We’ve worked our lines ‘til we know them backwards and forwards. Let’s go grab a beer.”