Wednesday, March 25th, 7:30 AM
Longwood Medical Area, Boston
Ethan
Four years of med school had taught Ethan to appreciate waking up in his own bedroom. Most rotations had overnight call, where you were lucky to get an hour of sleep on a cot in some windowless closet. So what if psych was out of his comfort zone? He’d clean bedpans for a month in exchange for the chance to sleep in his own bed every night.
After snagging a strawberry Pop-tart from the kitchen, he returned to his desk and turned on his laptop.
Good morning, Google. What can you tell me about my new patient?
He typed in “Callahan Perrin” and got fifty-five million results. When he looked up “Ethan Chase” for comparison, he got 1.6 million hits. Not too shabby, until he realized only a dozen of those linked to him, tops. The first one pulled up an old article from the Needham Patch, featuring that infamous photo of Dad’s crumpled Porsche.
Way to be immortalized, asshole.
He clicked away in disgust and re-entered Callie’s name, scanning the most popular links. They were mostly headlines about her recent suicide attempt and hospitalization. The pages kept coming, some with thumbnail pics that enlarged to reveal her face. Most looked like publicity head shots, but the gossip blog Prime Dirt linked to a nighttime scene of paramedics hauling a stretcher from an ambulance. The victim was cocooned in white sheets with only a tuft of black hair poking out, but Ethan recognized the entrance foyer of Mass General in the background.
How the hell did they get that shot? He pictured the paparazzi staking out the ER entrance and felt a sudden surge of anger. Goddamn parasites.
He clicked onto Google Images. Instantly, colorful pictures of Callie flooded the screen. Glam shots of her posing on the red carpet in a rainbow of designer dresses. A close-up of her beaming in front of an art gallery. Then sprawled out on the beach, toned and tanned in a string bikini. Leaving a Starbucks dressed all in black, cell phone pressed to cherry-red lips. Or kissing a heavily tattooed guy who Ethan vaguely recognized from a recent movie, or was it some rock band?
Was this really the same girl he’d just met? He stared at the endless stream of pictures, noticing more differences than similarities. This girl was a bombshell. All curves, pouty lips, and smoky eyes, confidently strutting in front of the camera.
But when he looked closer and focused on the grainier shots, the voyeuristic ones that had obviously been taken through a telephoto lens, that’s when he glimpsed another side of her. In stolen private moments. On a balcony in her sweats, a cigarette hanging from her lips and dark circles ringing her eyes. A bikini shot that showed off her rib cage in a way that looked more anorexic than sexy. A snapshot of her taken in some dimly lit club, eyes stormy and distant. It was the same haunting look he’d seen yesterday.
“Dude! You’ve got a smoking hot fiancée, so why are you checking out internet porn?”
Ethan swiveled around to find Larry Lui standing at the door, dressed in flannel pajamas and a bathrobe. His roommate greeted him with a lopsided grin.
“It’s not porn.”
“Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me.” Larry pulled up a chair and scooted in front of the laptop, short black hair spiking with either static or testosterone as he ogled the bikini shots. “Hey! I recognize this chick. Isn’t she the hot one from that reality TV show? You know…” He snapped his fingers, taking all of two seconds to pull up the details from his Pentium chip brain. “Prodigy. What was the tagline again?” He laughed as it came to mind. “‘Wild Art…Wilder Life.’ Hey, I heard from Darshan Patel that she rolled into MGH last week as an OD. Code Blue.”
Code Blue. Respiratory arrest. That sounded right, based on the details Ethan had gleaned from Sophie Choi and Belmont’s electronic medical record now that he’d been granted access.
“Wait up,” Larry blurted as he made the connection. “Didn’t she just get transferred to Belmont?”
Crap. So much for the non-disclosure agreement.
“Holy shit!” Larry almost fell out of his chair. “That’s why you’re Googling her now! She’s in your psych unit, isn’t she?”
Ethan stood up, avoiding eye contact. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Ah, but you don’t need to. Weak and transparent your mind is, young padawan. Easy. To. Ma-ni-pu-late.”
“Nerd.” Ethan whacked his roommate’s bony shoulder. “You know, come to think of it, you kinda look like Yoda in that robe.”
Larry snorted as he got up and shuffled into the hall.
“Which reminds me,” Ethan said, following him into the kitchen. “Want to catch the new ‘Star Wars’ next week instead of Friday? Jess needs me in New York this weekend.”
Larry fished a box of ‘Lucky Charms’ out of the cabinet, frowning as he poured some into a bowl. “Good try changing the subject, but no way. I want details. Come on, man! Nothing exciting ever happens in the lab. Give me some juicy gossip.”
“You already know too much.”
“So, it’s true. Just tell me one thing.” Larry looked up as he slopped milk into the bowl, managing to spill purple horseshoes, yellow moons, and green clovers all over the countertop. Why was it the guy could perform microsurgery on a chick embryo but still hadn’t mastered the art of pouring a bowl of cereal? “Did you meet her?”
Ethan put on his best poker face. “No.”
“Yeah, bullshit. What’s she like?”
“I told you. I haven’t met her.”
“Sure thing.” Larry smirked and rolled his eyes toward the laptop still glowing in the distance. “Cyberstalker.”
*
Who else knew about Callie’s hospitalization? The better question was: who didn’t?
As Ethan approached the entrance to Concord House, he mulled over the ridiculous notion of a non-disclosure agreement. Patient confidentiality? What a freaking joke. All you had to do was check the Internet to know Callie’s diagnosis and the details of her latest suicide attempt. Truth was, the right to privacy didn’t exist for someone like Callahan Perrin. She’d surrendered it in exchange for fame. The higher she flew, the brighter the spotlight, and if the beam grew too hot and set her wings ablaze, well… that was even better. People loved watching their idols crash and burn. They couldn’t get enough of that shit.
He glanced skyward and scowled at the news chopper circling overhead. A few minutes earlier, he’d heard a low buzz and looked up to see a fat-winged bird hovering above the tree line in a way no normal bird should hover. A drone, stalking the windows in search of a million-dollar glimpse.
When he reached the nurses’ station, he patted the iPhone in his pocket, wondering why they didn’t make him check it in. One well-placed selfie would probably pay off all his med school loans.
Callie’s door was slightly ajar, so he knocked. No response. He put his ear to the crack and heard a soft hissing noise, like radio static. When he knocked again, she shouted, “I’m in the goddamn shower!”
“Sorry, Miss Perrin!” he yelled back, stepping away from the door. Jesus, she sounded like she wanted to chop off his head. “I’ll come back later!”
The shower noise cut off abruptly. “Hey! Is that Ethan the med student?”
“Yes, it is,” he replied, noticing the sudden change in her tone. Axe murderer one moment, perky cheerleader the next. Did bipolars really cycle back and forth that rapidly? Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe she was expecting Sophie Choi.
“Thank God! I thought you were Robo-shrink,” she called out, confirming his suspicion. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”
He gave her ten, taking the time to review her electronic medical record. No major events overnight but Grieves had discontinued the Abilify and started a new med named Horiza. This was one thing Ethan had already learned about psychiatry: the clinical practice was one-part science and two parts art. The top psychiatrists seemed to work like master chefs, tweaking established recipes and improvising to get the best results. He pictured Grieves in an industrial kitchen somewhere in the bowels of Concord House, mumbling over a boiling cauldron. Let’s start with a base stock of Prozac and add a dash of lithium.
When he returned to Callie’s room, he found her sitting on the edge of her bed, leaning over to towel-dry her hair. Dappled sunshine streamed in through the window behind her, lighting her profile in a way that reminded him of that famous impressionist painting of a stretching ballerina. He thought of the thousands of photos that had been taken of this girl, knowing none could capture this kind of spontaneous beauty.
Get your shit together, Chase. He bit his lower lip and turned away in frustration. She’s your patient. What the hell is wrong with you?
“Good morning, med student.”
He looked up to see Callie smiling at him. She was wearing black running shorts and a pink t-shirt, maybe a light slick of lip gloss and some subtle eye shadow. She looked better put together this morning, like a college kid getting ready for class. Yesterday’s clothes lay neatly folded on the dresser.
“Wanna hear something hysterical?” she asked, pulling her hair into a damp ponytail. “We’re supposed to take yoga classes every morning, but the Belmont brain trust won’t let us wear yoga pants.”
“Seriously?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, trying to process that nugget without getting too visual. “What’s the deal with that?”
“Fabric’s too stretchy, I guess.” She fashioned an imaginary noose and then jerked her neck skyward, tongue sticking out.
“That’s ridiculous,” Ethan said, laughing at the pantomime. Mental note number one: Miss Perrin has a dark and slightly twisted sense of humor. “Do you think someone’s actually tried that?”
Callie nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah. We nut jobs are way resourceful. That would be some kinky way to go though, right?” She grinned and he could imagine her dreaming up the tabloid headlines. “Pull that one off and all the Internet trolls and pervs would build me a virtual shrine.”
“Um…” Ethan shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly realizing it might not be one hundred percent appropriate to joke about suicide with a girl who had just tried to off herself. “Is that something you’d like to talk ab—?”
A balled-up towel sailed past his head before he could finish the question.
“Dude.” Callie stood up and crossed her arms, scowling. “We seriously need to set down some ground rules here.”
“Okay.” Ethan held out his palms to invite her to continue.
“Rule number one: if you ever try to get all shrinky with me again, I’ll kick your ass to the curb. You don’t even like psychiatry, remember?”
He nodded to concede the point.
“Right, so don’t start channeling Doctor Sophie effing Choi on me.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Rule two: this is a two-way conversation. No, scratch that. We’ll start with something simple, like ‘Truth or Dare.’ I’ll ask my question, then you get to ask yours. Sound fair?”
“I guess.” He shrugged. “But what’s the dare option? Tequila shots are obviously out.”
“Yeah. Too bad about that.” She scrunched up her forehead, grinning when she came up with an alternative. “Okay, first question: What’s in your Facebook profile? You know, relationship status, sexual orientation, family stats.”
“What’s the dare?”
“Next time you visit me with Sophie Choi, you have to pinch her uptight ass.” She giggled. “Preferably in front of Grieves.”
“Whoa.” Ethan laughed at the image. “I’m definitely going with truth on that one. I grew up in Boston. BB & N school, then Harvard undergrad. You already know the med school part. Sexual orientation, straight.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Yup. We just got engaged.”
“Congratulations, dude.” She flashed him a genuine smile. “Let me guess, college sweetheart? Is she another med student?”
“Nope. Lawyer.”
“Nice.” She gave him the thumbs up sign. “And what about your family?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Do you really want to grope Choi’s ass?”
“Fine.” He huffed. “Mom’s a curator at the Museum of Fine Arts. Dad’s an orthopedic surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.” He paused before adding, as if in afterthought, “They’re separated.”
She flopped back down on the bed, eyes not leaving his. They were strikingly green like Jess’s, he noticed, but so different. Where Jess’s were a constant emerald, Callie’s seemed to change as often as water – dark as the deepest ocean in one moment, then bright and clear as a mountain lake in the next. That’s how they looked right now as she asked, “How do you get along with them? Are you close?”
“With my mother, definitely.” He eased into the desk chair to face her. “She’s a classic helicopter mom… constantly nagging, but out of love, if you know what I mean. Dad’s the exact opposite.” He frowned, surprised by the direction this conversation was taking. Wasn’t she supposed to be spilling her past to him? “I guess you could call him emotionally walled off.”
“Hmm.” Callie cupped a palm under her chin, doing a surprisingly good impression of Sophie Choi. “That must have been so hard on you, Ethan. Why don’t we explore that more, ‘kay?”
Now it was Ethan’s turn to throw the bath towel at her. “Enough,” he griped. “You’re up now. Same question. What are your Facebook stats? Same dare too, except you have to pinch Grieves’ ass.”
“Lame.”
“Are you dishing or fondling?”
“I don’t even have a Facebook page.” She smirked. “Psych.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah? And how do you know? Did you Google me or something?”
When he didn’t answer right away, her face lit up with amusement. “You did, didn’t you?” She tossed the towel back at him. “Stalker. So, tell me, how many likes do I have? Last week alone must’ve put me over twenty million.”
“Try thirty,” he corrected.
“How about Insta and Twitter?”
He gave her a bow. “What can I say? You’re a social media goddess.”
“Sweet.” She rolled her eyes in a gesture that was becoming familiar. “Bridget must be thrilled.”
“Bridget?” he asked, sensing an opening. “Is that your mom?”
“Nope. My agent.”
“What about your mom?”
“You mean Elin? We’ll get to her, but I haven’t finished with you yet.”
“Hey, stop trying to wiggle out of your turn!”
“You’ll get your chance, but we still haven’t finished the Ethan Chase story. Let’s see, what haven’t I asked you yet?” She snapped her fingers. “Of course. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
He nodded once before turning away to stare out the window. That spring morning had been as picture perfect as this one, with cream puff clouds floating in a sky of robin’s egg blue. When he closed his eyes, he could almost hear his cell phone ringing to deliver the news.
He took a deep breath and faced Callie. No point in avoiding her question. If they were going to be open with each other, someone had to jump first.
“I had a sister. Abbie,” he started, “but we lost her. That was five years ago, this week.”
***
© Copyright 2025 graymartin. All rights reserved.
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Conversation is an excellent way to move the story along, and give your readers insights into your characters. This chapter was mostly dialogue and it worked fine. It also reinforces the truth about bipolar disorder without being preachy.
I’ve googled myself and discovered I’m everything from a New Hampshire lumberyard owner to a Colorado District Attorney. Fun!
Great writing, Gray.
Stay safe!
Lawrence
Thanks, Lawrence. Google searches can be really interesting, especially when you discover one or a few "alter egos" floating around in the world doing stuff with your name attached. I always feel bad for folks I run into (often as patients) with unfortunate sir names (like Bundy or Lanza or Mengele). Then there are people with the obvious misfortunate of having names like Molly Butz or Jack Dingus. I always wonder why they didn't just get those legally changed, but I guess it can be character building?
Regards,
Gray
Favorite chapter so far. Your descriptions are so spot on. Not to sound like an ass kisser, but I want to steal all of them. I love Larry - I have him in my head after just a few paragraphs. (Lucky Charms are nasty, btdubs). Truth or dare is a great vehicle for expo. I love all of it,
Onward
So Dr. Grieves was right after all - Callie does connect better with Ethan. I wonder if Grieves knows about Ethan's accident from five years ago. If he sees Ethan as a role model for Callie - if Ethan can put his self-destructive behavior behind him and work towards healthy goals, so can she.
Larry Lui is fun. And smart. He put together the pieces very fast. He's also very well informed about Callie - is it because he's interested in her or likes her work? Not sure if he'd keep up with the latest tabloid news otherwise, there's just too much of it about too many celebrities. Mostly people just know enough to say "didn't she get into trouble recently?" My 2 cents here.
It's believable that Callie has these two very different personalities. Ethan handles her very well. Their conversation reads nice and natural. It's interesting that Ethan opens up to her. Eager to see how that goes.
Good chapter overall.
Howdy, Gray. I think we're seeing the "default version" of Callie. The way she'd always be were it not for all that psychic snake venom that's still coursing through her "veins." I expect a great of bad, bad events lurk in her past. When she went off on him, it was obvious that the hurt is still quite deep. "Hurt people hurt people," someone said. And it's true. Being that open with her about his sister's death. . . though Callie's not what I'd call evil, if she goes off on him some more - and I expect that's gonna happen - oh, boy! Yeah, she has a potential weapon, it seems.
Still, it's good that she's more "up" this chapter. I like that she's able to laugh at Choi more.
CHEERS!!
Mike
Hi again, Mike. My goal was to make both Callie and Ethan complicated characters. Both are supposed to be flawed and damaged but fundamentally good people, although Callie's nature is deliberately left questionable for much longer than Ethan's. He starts out seeming Ivory soap pure and she starts out seeming like a hot mess, but their character arcs run in parallel and they have more in common than it seems at first. Thanks so much for the continued engagement in my story!
Gray
Lawrence Burdick