Criminal Therapy

“I’ve been feeling the same thing. Like, sometimes it’s almost like I want to be… a better person.” He spat out the words with disdain, and, from the circle of dirty men and women, several people shifted in their seats as if repelled by the very idea of this self improvement.

“And you shouldn’t feel bad about that, right? We all think things without following through sometimes,” said the doctor from the bedraggled couch. “The important thing is recognizing those feelings, then we can go from there.”

Heads bobbed and a general murmuring of approval resounded.

“So you fine ladies and gentlemen, you all might think sometimes, ‘Oh, I should be better. I should be working on myself. Maybe I should come clean with the law,’ and when you think those things, instead of beating yourself up about it, just give me a call and we can work through it together, alright?”

Again, nods and words of quiet affirmation abounded.

“Alright then. Well, we’re about out of time, I’m afraid. It’s been lovely as always, I’ll be back around next month for another session,” said the doctor, standing. “Until then, work on the things we’ve talked about today, and we’ll see how it’s gone next time. We’ve made some great progress already, and I’m sure things will only get better from here.”

“Thanks Doctor Brown,” Daniel—a great bald hulk of a man—piped up, sounding close to tears, “it gets real hard sometimes you know,  bein’ bad an’ all, and I jus’ want youda know that I appreciate you.”

“Amen to that!” said the lanky man, Gabriel, sitting next to Daniel.

“Yeah, ‘prettiate you Doc.”

“Yeahh!”

Doctor Brown smiled. “Always glad to help.” He walked to the massive vault door and yanked sharply on the rusty steel wheel, shoving it open. As he exited, he called over his shoulder, “Be safe with the heist tomorrow!”

Six Days Later

Doctor Cornwall Brown became suddenly fascinated with the ant crawling from a crack in the concrete floor. Across the table from him, the detective sighed in frustration and defeat.

“Mister Brown, please just answer the question?”

Doctor Brown watched the ant struggle over the lip of the crack. “Doctor, if you would, detective.”

The detective closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Doctor. Brown. Would you please answer the question?”

The ant made it over the lip and scuttled in the direction of the doctor’s loafers. Silently he watched it crawl along. Finally, he spoke. “Detective Willson, why did you become involved with the police?”

The doctor could practically hear Willson's internal eye roll, but he played along. “Same reason as anyone,” he said, shrugging. “Wanted to make a difference, decided this’d be the way I did it.”

Doctor Brown nodded knowingly, still focused on the ant, which had made it almost to the small metal table at which he sat. “An admirable pursuit; thank you for your service. So tell me,” he continued, his piercing gaze finally meeting the detective’s, “do you believe imprisoning good people that do bad things is the best way to help them?”

The detective sighed a second time. “Doctor Brown, it appears this isn’t going to go anywhere, so let’s just-”

“Do you believe,” the doctor repeated with newfound intensity, “that putting  good people that do bad things in prison is the best way to help them?”

Detective Willhelm sighed frustratedly. “I… don’t believe there’s any better way. I do what I can to protect who I can, and that’s all anyone can ask for.”

Doctor Brown smiled. “And, Detective Willson, what if I told you I was doing the very same thing?”

“I would probably tell you that working against the authorities isn’t ‘protecting who you can.’”

Again the doctor smiled. “Maybe. Maybe…”

Cornwall pulled into his driveway a little after midnight, exhausted. He fumbled with his keychain, burdened with dozens of keys, until he selected the right one. He inserted it, turned, and gently, quietly, opened his front door. Maria, his wife, was sleeping softly on the living room couch, the soft rise and fall of her chest nearly in time with the old grandfather clock standing resolutely beside her.

He painstakingly peeled off his coat, removed his boots, and tip-toed down the hall. As he passed his children’s room, he peaked in. In the feeble light emanating from the living room he could just barely make out the restful forms of Jeffery and Sandra, their stuffed animals clutched to them for dear life, dreaming peacefully. He smiled in at them.

As he turned to go, from her bed, Sandra—who Cornwall had taken to be sleeping--whispered, “Daddy?”

“Hey, Sandy!” he whispered back, turning back to the room, “why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Mommy said she didn’t know where you were.”

Cornwall crept into the room to Sandra’s bedside. “And you were worried?”

The little girl nodded solemnly.

“Oh, Sandy. We’ve been over this, remember? Daddy has to work after the sun goes down sometimes.”

“I know. But Mommy says you shouldn’t. She says you’ll get in trouble.”

Cornwall paused. “Does Mommy say that?”

Another nod.

“Well, Mommy’s a smart lady. Maybe I ought to listen to her,” Cornwall said with a smile, taking Sandra’s hands in his. “But I’m back now, and that means you can go to bed now, right?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I bet some other night you’ll go out again, then you’ll- you’ll get in trouble,” Sandra said with a sniffle.

“Hmm. What if I promise you not to go out again? Then will you go to sleep?”

Once again Sandra nodded.

“Well then, Sandra Brown, I swear to you I’ll try not to go out again.”

“Promise with a cherry on top?”

“With all the cherries I can find,” Cornwall said conspiratorially.

Sandra giggled. “Okay, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night Daddy.”

Cornwall gently re-tucked her in, stood, and made his way to his room. As he turned from his daughter, his smile faded. Oh Cornwall, what are you getting yourself into now?

“So, Doctor, where are they now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Doctor, you are a smart man, don’t play dumb. You turned yourself in to us because you helped a group of criminals escape. Where did you take them?”

“I let them stay at my office for a while, but they left some time when I wasn’t there. I haven’t a clue where they are now.”

“No hideouts you’re aware of? Perhaps you have a safe house of some kind for these sorts of things?”

Doctor Brown laughed. “With all due respect, my good detective, playing get away driver for criminals isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for me.”

“I see.” The detective scribbled something on his notepad, then paused. “So... why did you do it this time, then? If this isn’t something you’ve done before, that is.”

“I...” The doctor deflated a bit and sat silently, staring off contemplatively into space. “I’ve been wanting to be done. With all of... this that I’ve been doing. The working with criminals thing, that is. You’ve read my file I assume?”

“Have indeed.”

“So you’ll know that I’ve been in this field for a while now. Started as a prison psychologist back in ’05, did that for a while, then turned to my own clinic. That’s about when I started helping active criminals to move past crime, too. But lately it hasn’t been going as well. The last few years have been the hardest. I’ve been feeling…useless.”

“You wanted to feel like you were making a difference again?”

“Well, yes and no. I suppose I wanted to actually make a difference one last time before I stopped.”

The phone call reached Cornwall while he was brushing his teeth, sometime around midnight the following day.

He lower his toothbrush and pressed “accept.” “Hello?”

“Doctor Brown?” came a distressed voice from the other end.

“This is him. Who’s this?”

“Gabriel. We need your help.”

The doctor’s heart rate quickened. “What happened?”

“Remember that job we were pulling today? Well, we got the cash, but we’re stuck downtown. They have us boxed in, and we dunno where to go. We-we didn’t know who else to call.”

Doctor Brown took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Boxed in, huh?”

“Trust me, Doc, we’ve checked. There ain’t no way we’re getting past these guys.”

He knew immediately where they could go. But if they go there… I would go to prison for that… He ran his hands anxiously through his hair. “Gabriel, I have a plan. But before I tell you what to do, I need to ask you something you’ll think is strange: how much is the haul worth?”

“Uhhh...we dunno exactly. One sec.” On Gabriel’s end there were the sounds of  people talking. When he came back he answered, “Few hunnid, maybe? What, you want a piece? We will, if you can git us outta this shit.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. But if I get you out of this, do you think that’s enough that you can promise me you’ll never do this again?”

Silence on the line. “Whatchu mean by that, doc?”

“I mean if I keep you out of prison till you can slip away on your own, will you swear to me to at least try to give up crime?”

“Doc... I mean, I dunno...”

“I want to hear you say it, and I want to hear the others say it too. Then I’ll get you out of this.”

A brief, illegible argument took place on the other end. Finally, a new voice--Daniel’s--rose from the hubbub. “Doctor Brown? You sure about this?”

“I am, Daniel.”

A pause. “Okay. We’ll do it. No guarantees or anythin’--we’re still criminals, Doctor--but we’ll give ‘er a go.”

Doctor Brown blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Alright. Thank you, Daniel. Here’s the plan: head to Westmond and Brook. The big brick building with the pillars. First three floors are my clinic. You need a key for the front doors, but go around to the back and you can get in with a code. ‘992312.’ I’ll be there first thing tomorrow for work. I’ll bring food with me for you all, and you can lay low in a spare office for as long as it takes for things to clear up.”

“992312, Westmond and Brook, got it.” There was a brief pause from Daniel. “I...thanks, Doctor Brown. Really, I mean it.”

“Good luck, guys.” Click.

Cornwall sighed, collapsing onto the edge of his bathtub, toothbrush still dangling loosely from his hand. Now you’ve really done it, you stupid bastard.

“Well, Doctor, I think that’s all for now. Wait here, I’ll be back in a while.”

The doctor smiled grimly. “As if I have an option to not wait here, my good detective.”

Willhelm left without another word.

As the door thumped closed with an ominous click, Cornwall let his shoulders sag. He slumped back in his seat. Thoughts about his family tangoed with doubts about what he had done, doing laps around his head. What was I thinking, just trusting a group of criminals to give up their livelihoods just like that? What other choice did they have than to make that promise? They could be staging another robbery as we speak for all I know.

His own mind lambasted him like this for hours before the door to the tiny room clicked once more and swung open. In walked two men wearing dark suits--a heavy-set Asian fellow and a tall man with a huge moustache--followed by Detective Willhelm.

“Gentlemen,” the doctor half-rose from his seat to shake their hands.

The men smiled professionally, giving a single firm handshake each.

“Mr. Brown, I believe?” asked Moustache.

“Oh, doctor, if you please, sir.”

“Ah, apologies Doctor. My name is Doug Lafontaine, this is Chu Ho.” He gestured to his companion. “Sorry for the wait, but this is not the sort of decision you make in a split second.”

Doctor Brown tilted his head inquiringly.

“We have a very...particular proposition for you,” began the Asian man, Mr. Ho. “Frankly, Doctor, you aren’t in a particularly good position. We would like to offer a way out for you, and for your family. One in which you can still be with your dear ones, plus you can continue to do what you love to do.

“Doctor Brown, we would like to officially offer you a position,” cut in Mr. Lafontaine

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m...sorry?”

“Doctor, we have reviewed your files. When you worked with the prison system, your work with convicts was of the highest calibre. Report after report of successful rehabilitation, almost no repeat offenders who worked with you before release... We believe you can help these people, just not in the way that got you in that seat. So. You work with us--doing what you used to do and working with the criminal justice system--going home every day to your family. No prison or fines, you get a living wage, all you have to do is wear an ankle bracelet that will trace your whereabouts, as a precaution. No strings attached.”

The two men looked at the Doctor expectantly

Doctor Brown sat back in relative shock; this is not how he had expected this conversation to go.

“So, Doctor,” asked Mr. Lafontaine, “what do you think?”

“Not to decide for you,” piped Mr. Ho with a tight smile, “but the alternative is jail, Doctor Brown.”

“Do we have a deal?” Mr. Lafontaine held out his hand.

Doctor Brown slowly, hesitantly, brought his hand up. They shook.

Forty years later

“You...don’t happen to know them, do you?” Sandra asked her brother, wide eyes glued to the grizzled, middle aged men and women peeling themselves from their tiny car and making their way towards the graveside ceremony.

“Nope, afraid not. I’d hoped you might know,” responded Jeffery in equal confusion.

“Not that I can remember...”

“I think you’d remember people meeting a dozen people that looked like that....” Jeffery prodded his chin at a man whose face was so covered with tattoos the skin beneath could have been naturally bright green for all he could tell.

“What the hell, there are more!” Two more cars were squeezing through the narrow dirt roads crisscrossing the cemetery.

“They’re even worse, look at that woman’s piercings!”

Within the next ten minutes--before the ceremony was set to begin--dozens more cars showed up toting a similarly rough crowd, all over the age of fifty, all dressed for the occasion.

The minister shifted uncomfortably as it began, looking like he was expecting one of them to stand suddenly and rush him with a baseball bat. Thankfully--much to Sandra and Jeffery’s relief—that didn’t happen. In fact, many of the old ruffians wept through the whole ceremony, patting each other's backs and shaking their heads in remorse.

Strange... thought Sandra to herself.

Finally the event came to a close and people began milling about, whispering softly to each other or making tearfully beelines for their vehicles. A number of people approached Jeffery and Sandra to give condolences or share tears for their father.

“...a good man...”

“...practically saved my life by himself...”

“...no one meant more to me...”

The voices blended together in the heads of Jeffery and Sandra. Eventually the line of grieving, middle-aged thugs slowed to a trickle, then died.

“Patients,” Sandra finally decided, “they must have been Dad’s patients he helped. I mean, he worked at a prison for a while, right?”

“I guess... yeah, that makes sense.”

They stood together in silence, thinking about the odd crowd and about their father. Eventually they were broken out of their thoughts by a man the size of a redwood weeping softly, shaved head hung low, lumbering towards them. When he was directly before them, without stopping or looking up, he brought them into a massive bear hug.

“Oh!” cried Sandra.

The man drew back. “I’m sorry, I’m just... I just- your father...” he burst into tears and brought them back into his gargantuan arms.

“I’m not sure we’ve met, who are you?” asked Jeffery gently extricating himself from the embrace.

“Oh, I’m Daniel.”

“How’d you know him?” inquired Sandra, following Jeffery’s lead.

“He...it’s complicated. But your dad- well, he made all the difference in the world. I’m saved cuz of him.” He sniffled, looking down again, and repeated softly, “I’m saved cuz of him... I’m sorry.”

“Well, thank you, and you as well.”

“I...” Daniel made to continue, but before he could, someone yelled from afar off, “Daniel, git yer ass over here or we’re leavin’ without you!”

All three of the group looked to the road, where only two cars remained. Someone was leaning out the driver side window of the one closest them, waving Daniel towards him.

“Coming, Gabe!” Daniel turned back to Sandra and Jeffery. “That’s my ride. I- good luck. Both uh you.”

Daniel jogged away.

The oppressive, contemplative silence resettled over Jeffery and Sandra.

“What an odd fellow,” Jeffery finally noted.

“They all were.”

“Were they really all just convicts who liked Dad that much?”

“Guess so...” Another moment of silence. “I don’t get how he liked it so much, helping people like that.”

“I guess someone’s got to.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

The two headed to their car, leaving behind a fresh grave, wondering why the man inside it would ever care so much about those people.