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Frederick Chilton’s day hadn’t been off to a good start. In fact, it was downright dreadful; he’d overslept, spilled coffee on his shirt, nearly gotten into an accident on his way to work, and was still ten minutes late. He nodded at his secretary, not managing to muster up a pleasant expression and not caring, and opened the door to his office. He stopped short when he saw the small bouquet of flowers on his desk.
“Christine?”
“Yes, Doctor Chilton?” she said, poking her head into the open door of the office.
“Who left these?” he asked, pointing to the flowers. It occurred to him a split-second later that there was probably a card attached but he let the question hang in the air anyway. He was getting a headache.
“I don’t know, doctor. They were here when I got here. I don’t know how your door got opened.” She gave him a small smile. Maybe they would cheer the surly bastard up; he could definitely use something.
“I see,” was all Chilton could manage before sinking onto his couch. Christine left and slowly closed the door behind her.
After a few minutes of lying on the couch with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to will the headache away, he got up and made his way to the desk. The flowers were nice, he had to admit, and there was a card attached. It contained three words: “Your Secret Admirer.”
Well, wasn’t this awkward. Someone was having a laugh at his expense – wouldn’t be the first time in his life – or maybe… maybe someone here really did have feelings for him. Either way, his face was flushed and his hands were trembling slightly. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. That didn’t stop him from picking up the bouquet to smell it. If it was someone’s idea of a joke, at least he got some nice flowers out of it.
He’d nearly forgotten about the flowers a week later, but when he got back to his office after a new patient evaluation and saw the envelope lying on the ground outside the door, his heart began to race. He hurried into his office, locking the door behind him, envelope nearly crushed in his large hand.
He settled onto the couch and slowly unclenched his hand. The envelope was wrinkled and damp; he really needed to calm down. The words “Dr. Chilton” were written on the front in a light, spidery hand. He willed his hand to stop shaking and opened the letter. Instead of a “GOTCHA!,” which he half expected, there was a paragraph:
Dear Dr. Chilton,
You probably have no idea who I am. All I can say is that I’ve been admiring you from afar for the past few months and my heart is ready to burst, hence this letter. Did you enjoy the flowers? I hope so. I had no idea if you even liked flowers. There’s a lot I don’t know about you. I’d love to know you better, but I’m much too shy to sign this with my name, let alone talk to you in person. For now just confessing my feelings anonymously gives me a thrill and soothes my heart. You will be hearing from me again, dear doctor Chilton. I hope that thought excites you as much as it does me.
xoxo Your Secret Admirer
He read the letter again, trying to remember if he’d seen the handwriting before. It was unique, almost old-fashioned; he’d have recognized it for sure. Who could it possibly be, and how could he find out? It offered little in the way of clues. It had to have been someone relatively new, probably someone he didn’t interact with much – unless they meant that he simply didn’t notice them regardless of how much time they spent together. It couldn’t be Christine, could it? She’d mentioned a boyfriend a few times, hadn’t she? Unless-
This was ridiculous. He had better things to do than swoon over a love note like a pathetic teenager. He carefully folded the note and pocketed it, then reached for his laptop and headphones. He had an intriguing new patient waiting for him and only a few hours left before it was time to go home.
Chilton wore his favorite tie the next day, even taking the time to polish his already-shiny tie pin, and spent an extra ten minutes fussing over his hair and grooming his beard to perfection. If he saw his secret admirer, they’d be getting an eyeful today. Not that he was going out of his way for them or anything. After all, he had a hospital to run and couldn’t afford to be thinking of this all day.
Unfortunately for Chilton, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He told himself it was the mystery more than anything. When would the next contact occur? Would they leave hints? Had they already done so and he was just too dense to pick up on them?
He found himself looking at almost everyone in the hospital in a new light. Was it Jeanette, the grad student who worked part-time in the cafeteria? She did always stutter around him, but that could be a habit she had around everyone. He’d never paid enough attention to her to notice. Could it be Daniel, the newest nurse? He definitely didn’t seem straight, that was for sure. Maybe it was a patient, though he didn’t know how they’d have gotten the letter to his door. Maybe it was someone who didn’t even work or reside here; a relative of one of the patients or an FBI agent, someone like that? And there was still the possibility that it was someone playing an elaborate hoax. The idea hurt, but he had to admit it was possible.
After lunch he eagerly hurried back to his office, and when there was no sign of the secret admirer he forced himself to stop being so ridiculous. They didn’t specify when he’d be hearing from them again, after all. He poured himself a drink, put his headphones on, and settled onto the couch to see what Eisler was up to. He should be distracting, at the very least.
The next bit of correspondence from the secret admirer came a few days later. This time he was greeted with a small basket of candy when he opened his door to head home. Maybe he should cut back on the listening for a few days – they’d been right outside his door god knew how long ago and he’d had no idea. Christine had gone home early, which was convenient. Did the secret admirer know that? He picked up the basket, delighted to find a note attached, and went back into his office.
My dearest Dr. Chilton,
Every day it gets harder to keep my feelings to myself. I realize that I did not elaborate much in my previous letter, so I am hoping that if I do so now, it will help to ease what I’m going through. It’s hard being in love (please don’t let that word scare you) with someone in such a high position as yours, someone who is so intelligent. Not to mention… I feel a little embarrassed writing this… so handsome. Those green eyes of yours are like the most valuable peridot, and that perfect nose looks as if Michelangelo sculpted it. Not to mention, if you’ll allow me to be a bit crude for a moment, that amazing behind. I hate to see you go but I love to watch you walk away, as they say. I hope to one day know exactly how it feels in my hands, just as I’d like to feel your beard rubbing against my inner thighs. Sexual desires aside, I’d love to explore your mind, find out where your brilliant ideas come from. My only dream is that one day you’ll know who I am and will love me back. For now, though, please don’t forget that you have a
xoxo Secret Admirer
He sat down, his mind reeling. No one had ever talked to him like that before. How was one supposed to respond to something like this? Should he be offended by the sexual references? He wasn’t offended, though. In fact, he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. He pocketed the letter, grabbed the candy, and practically sprinted down the hall.
Chilton had a hard time concentrating the next day. His curiosity had turned to desperation and everyone at the hospital was a suspect, every word or action a potential clue.
Still, though… even if he didn’t find out anytime soon, Chilton was content to revel in the fact that someone out there, someone in this very building, was harboring a crush on him. They’d even used the word love. No one had ever had a crush on him before, let alone been in love with him. This was going to take some getting used to.
He was in such a good mood that he didn’t even notice he was too close to Eisler’s cell and didn’t care when the man took the opportunity to spit at him. He just smiled and moved on to the next patient.
“Dr. Chilton,” Abel Gideon said, head cocked to the side. “Why the good mood? Whose life have you ruined today?”
“Well, Abel, not that it is any business of yours, but it seems you are not the only one who receives love letters.”
“You mean someone’s actually dating you?” Gideon leaned forward, fascinated. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“We’re not here to talk about me,” Chilton snapped, reaching for his notepad. “Tell me, did you have the dream again, Abel?”
He barely listened as Gideon droned on – nothing about the Chesapeake Ripper in there, so nothing useful – and as soon as the time was up he stood up. Patient visits were usually the highlight of his day, but he had more important things to do. People to observe, clues to decipher. “If you remember anything important, be sure to notify me,” he said.
“Oh, I will,” Gideon said. “You know, Dr. Chilton, I hate to see you go.”
“I doubt that, Abel.”
“But I love to watch you walk away.”
Chilton felt the world stop as the color drained from his face. “What did you say?”
“Did you like that line? I’m quite proud of it, myself.”
Chilton couldn’t believe this was happening. He should have known, of course no one here admired him enough to send him candy and flowers and ridiculous confessions of love. He’d let himself hope, and that was a mistake. It was just sixth grade all over again, and was he just destined to relive his awful adolescence? Being bullied by his own patients, people locked in cells because they’re too deranged to live among normal people?
“You’re not the only one who can play with people’s minds here, Frederick. I feel it’s only fair after the nightmares I’ve had to suffer as a result of your ‘sessions’ with me.”
Chilton gripped the notebook so hard his knuckles turned white. He was not going to cry in front of him.
“I must admit, Frederick, it was quite a challenge coming up with things to admire about you,” he said. “So I just went with the most obvious things. I knew you’d lap it up like a starving cat.” He grinned. “Though you do have a nice ass.”
“You just got every privilege taken away,” Chilton said when he trusted his voice to be steady enough. “From now on it’s the bare minimum required to keep your pathetic life from ending.”
Gideon shrugged and Chilton had never wanted to reach through the bars and strangle him more. “Who helped you?” he asked. “Who was your delivery person?”
“I wouldn’t want to get them in trouble for my rudeness,” Gideon said, and this time Chilton did get close to the bars.
“Your mattress and pillow will be taken away until I know,” he said. “And I’m going to go over my recordings thoroughly. If I find out before you tell me, you’re never getting them back.” He turned on his heel and stomped down the hallway, cheeks burning.
Two hours later, he was no closer to finding out who Gideon’s accomplice had been. Nothing in the audio; Gideon must have found some other way to communicate. The bastard probably thought he was so clever. The video footage yielded no results either. Had it been tampered with? And, more importantly, how many people knew about this? Gideon did have a habit of gossiping with whoever would listen, and Christine knew about the letters and gifts. Word got around fast… He lowered his head slowly until it hit the desk. What was the point? He’d been humiliated like this before. He should just go home and sit in front of the TV with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of scotch.
A few days later Jones, an orderly who’d been working at the hospital for a few months, admitted to helping Gideon. Chilton sighed and shook his head as he read the resignation letter. At least the whole business was over and he could go back to his normal routine – including extra sessions with Gideon. He was more determined than ever to make him admit he was the Chesapeake Ripper. At least something good had come of this.
He headed to the cafeteria, his mind set on getting some of that ridiculously high-calorie lasagna he usually stayed away from. “Hi, Dr. Chilton,” Jeanette said, her smile shy and her eyes kind. “You came at just the right time. The lasagna’s fresh out of the oven.”
“Thank you,” Chilton said, and he realized that he genuinely meant it. Jeanette may not have been his secret admirer, but she was kind and friendly and maybe she really did have feelings for him. Maybe when he had more free time, after this Chesapeake Ripper business was finally over, he’d ask her out.
He took the to-go box to his office and smiled when the heavenly aroma of cheese and tomatoes reached his nose. He wasn’t going to let Gideon or anyone else get to him from now on. He’d show them who ran this place, and he’d show the world that he was a smart and competent psychiatrist who had one of the most notorious serial killers in his hospital. For now, though, he was going to eat this lasagna. He deserved it.