Lydia's thumb hovered over the tablet screen as she read it. The file started feeling more like a bad report card, than a patient file.
Date: Apr, 6th 2024
Logan Delos
Age: 34
The name itself gave her a headache Logan Delos. Not just some random rich kid spiraling out, but
the Logan Delos. The man William left broken at the edge of the park, the son James Delos in all but name discarded like a failed investment. She pressed her fingers against her temples, willing herself to wake up in her cramped apartment with its water-stained ceiling and temperamental heating. But the polished chrome and glass of this office remained stubbornly real.
The diagnostic info that followed started out like a variety dealers grocery list:
Primary Diagnosis: Polysubstance Use Disorder (severe)
- Cocaine (primary substance)
- Methylenedioxymethamphetamine (MDMA/"Ecstasy")
- Dextroamphetamine
- Ketamine
- Gamma-Hydroxybutyrate (GHB)
- Prescription opioids (Oxycodone, Hydromorphone)
- Benzodiazepines (Alprazolam, Diazepam)
- Alcohol
Secondary Diagnoses:
- Major Depressive Disorder, recurrent
- Psychotic Disorder NOS with paranoid features
- Impulse Control Disorder NOS
Current Substance Use Pattern:
- Daily cocaine use (intranasal)
- MDMA use 4-10x monthly
- Ketamine use (frequency variable unclear)
- Regular benzodiazepine use (non-prescribed)
- Daily alcohol consumption
- Other substances used intermittently
Current Presentation:
- Persistent paranoid ideation
- Auditory/visual hallucinations (drug-induced vs. primary unclear)
- Erratic behavior
- High-risk decision making
- Treatment resistance
Previous Treatment:
- Multiple incomplete rehabilitation attempts
- Non-adherence to prescribed medications
- Poor engagement in therapy
Not a particularly unusual conclusion when it came to diagnoses especially when all the illicit drug usage was involved. Though something about the personal notes from others who've treated Logan, were questionable to her.
Dr. Sarah Chen, MD, Psychiatrist - Mount Sinai (3/9/24) Patient continues to display hostile and uncooperative behavior. Claims of surveillance and family interference persist without evidence. Prognosis poor without significant behavioral changes. Recommend continued medication management. [REDACTED] raises concerns about treatment efficacy.
Dr. Muhammad Al-Rashid, PhD, Clinical Psychologist (2/1/24) Patient resistant to therapeutic intervention. Deflects with sarcasm and aggression. History suggests [REDACTED], though patient refuses to discuss. Multiple missed appointments. Treatment unlikely to progress.
Dr. Anjali Patel, MD, Addiction Specialist (12/10/23) Subject left 30-day program after 12 days. Displayed manipulative behavior. Claims of being forcibly admitted require investigation but appear unfounded. Not recommended for readmission.
Dr. James Wilson, PsyD - Delos Consulting (9/5/23) Patient exhibits grandiose ideas about corporate position. [REDACTED - Incident Report #2847] suggests deeper issues than substance abuse alone. Family concerns about public behavior appear justified. Recommend increased supervision.
Dr. Min-ji Park, MD, Psychiatrist (7/12/23) Third session disrupted by patient's erratic behavior. Claims of [REDACTED] and childhood trauma appear defensive rather than genuine. Substance use continues despite interventions. Poor candidate for ongoing treatment.
Dr. Raj Kumar, MD, Addiction Medicine (5/20/23) Patient left against medical advice. Shows no genuine interest in recovery. [REDACTED - See Security Report]. History suggests the pattern will continue without external intervention.
Note from Facility Director (4/2/23) Previous incidents necessitate careful documentation. All sessions to be monitored. Persistent insistence on delusions regarding [REDACTED] requires immediate reporting to corporate oversight.
Despite how brief the notes she had access to were, still much of them were redacted. She assumed some of it concerned Logan's father, and William, maybe even westworld. But she still felt it was bad practice, cause anyone who didn't happen to know about the inner workings of the Delos family would have little idea what they were about until they had multiple sessions with Logan assuming he was in a sharing mode. Which from the notes it didn't seem he was, the clinical detachment barely masks their dismissal of him. Each note reading more like a justification for giving up than actual treatment documentation.
Sure, reading between the lines of these notes and knowing what she knew, she didn't doubt Logan Delos was often a grade-A ass—the entitled rich kid who'd never heard the word "no" until it was too late. But that's what struck her as odd. The Delos family had the kind of money that could buy entire pharmaceutical companies and hospital chains, let alone the best treatment money could possibly buy. She'd seen enough wealthy families to know there were specialists out there who made careers out of dealing with the most difficult, aggressive, resistant patients imaginable.
Hell, she thought of the Whitmores not even a drop in the bucket compared to Delos money, but comfortable enough. Their teenage son had been spiraling hard while she worked with their mostly non verbal young daughter Astrid. His hobbies involved stolen cars, pills and cocaine, not just weed, beer and attitude like most teenagers. But they'd found him a counselor who specialized in high-risk teens from privileged backgrounds, someone who knew how to crack that particular shell of entitlement and anger. A year later, even after months of him telling everyone to go to hell, he was actually making progress at least when she last was working with the family.
Her fingers tapped the image of Logan on the screen absentmindedly. The Whitmores often made millions per year well she would barely make 40k if that. The Delos family? They were in a whole different stratosphere of wealth. The kind of money that could hire a team of the world's best addiction specialists, trauma experts, whatever Logan needed. Instead, what she saw in these notes was a parade of half-hearted attempts at treatment.
It nagged at her. Maybe the uber-wealthy really did play by different rules, a strange thought that the gap of income between her and the Whitmore's was considerably closer than the gap between the Whitmores and the Delos family.—billionaires versus millionaires even the upper echelon of the latter was probably a whole other ballgame she couldn't even imagine. But still something felt off. Was Logan truly so incomprehensibly difficult even the best care in the world couldn't help?
The reminder that Logan was waiting echoed in her, she supposed only she could find out she already took too much time.
Lydia stood outside the door, gripping the tablet tightly against her chest. Her heart raced as she tried to steel herself. She couldn't afford to let her nerves show—not with Logan, not with anyone else who might be watching.
With a deep breath, she pushed the door open.
Logan was slouched in a chair, his arms draped over the sides, his head tilted back, and legs spread out far more than they needed to be. He wore a suit jacket that looked like it was tailored just for him, probably
cost more than my last two cars combined, it hung open just enough to show a glimpse of a crisp white shirt pulled taut to his chest.
Despite the clear signs of hard living, bloodshot eyes and a tremor making itself known in his left hand, he had a certain magnetic quality. His stance, the way his dark hair fell in just the right way despite its current disheveled state. Even the smirk forming across his face as he looked up at her. It all spoke of the man she knew from the screen, the one she detested, for the longest time. Arrogant, and chaotic. Even now, worn down by whatever demons drove him here, he carried himself with an edge
"Well," he drawled sarcastically. "Look who finally decided to show up."
Lydia closed the door softly behind her, forcing herself to smile. "Mr. Delos," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "I'm Dr. Moore. It's nice to meet you."
"Dr. Moore, huh?" Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gave her an exaggerated once-over. "Well," he drawled, "looks like daddy's upgrading his taste in shrinks." "What's your angle? Let me guess, fix me up, ship me out, make it all nice and tidy for the family PR team?"
She felt a bit hurt by the insinuation but she kept her expression neutral. "I'm just here to help," she said, taking a seat across from him.
He snorted, leaning back again. "Help. Right. That's what the last guy said. And the one before him. And the one before that." His grin widened. "They didn't last long."
Lydia held his gaze, even as her pulse sped, uncertain if he was threatening or testing her.
"I read your file," she said, careful to keep her tone calm.
"Good," Logan said, his grin fading slightly. "Then you know I'm a lost cause. Saves us both some time."
"The file tells me what other people think. I'd rather hear your version." Lydia said firmly.
For a moment, there was silence. Logan stared at her, then he laughed bitterly. "You sound just like them. You know that? Always so eager at first. So sure of yourself."
She stayed quiet, letting him speak, communication was always important when it came to therapy even if it was vitriolic.
"You don't get it," Logan continued, his tone sharper now. "You think I'm in here because of the drugs? The parties? No. I'm in here because it's convenient." He leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers. "They don't want me better. My dad, that fucker who stole my sister—they'd rather keep me here, out of the way, where I can't cause problems."
Lydia's throat tightened. She thought of what she knew, the redacted notes, the allegations of interference, the cold, clinical dismissal in the file. It wasn't paranoia—not entirely, possibly not at all. But she couldn't say that. Not now.
Instead, she kept her tone neutral. "That sounds like a lot to deal with."
Logan's eyes narrowed, his grin returning. "Oh, you're good," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Careful. Noncommittal. You've got the shrink thing down."
She forced herself to smile faintly. "I'm just trying to understand."
"Sure you are," Logan said, leaning back again. "But it doesn't matter. You'll leave, just like the rest."
"Why do you think they did that?"
Logan's grin widened, but it was more bitter than amused. "Because they don't want me talking. And you don't either."
"Your file mentions substance abuse, Mr. Delos." Lydia kept her voice neutral, professional.
Logan's laugh was all expensive whiskey and sharp edges. "Really? That's what you're leading with?" He shifted in his chair, giving her another inappropriate once-over. "Let me guess you drew the short straw? Got stuck with the rich junkie?"
"I'm just trying to establish some background."
"Background? Well I prefer that to a baseline" He smirked, running his finger along his his chair. "Sweetheart, Harvard was a snowstorm in the 2000's. Hell, half the board probably still does it." His eyes reflected something darker than amusement. "Not that anyone talks about that, of course. Bad for shareholder confidence."
Lydia noticed how he deflected the personal angle, keeping it about others. "So it was social?"
"Please." He rolled his eyes. "Don't try to psychoanalyze my party habits. I'm not one of your charity cases." He pulled out a silver flask—likely for show, she realized as the characteristic slosh of liquid was absent despite how wildly he handled it. "Though I'm sure that's what my file says. 'Poor little rich boy, spiraling out of control.'"
"Is that how you think I see you?"
"Oh, we're doing the mirror thing now?" His smile was all teeth. "Tell me, Dr. Moore, how many addicts have you actually treated? Or did they just throw you in here with a fancy title and hope for the best?"
He clearly was just trying to dig at her, but it was a bit unsettling how close he hit the mark, Still she tried her best to calm herself. "You seem pretty interested in my qualifications."
"Just trying to figure out what daddy dearest is paying for this time." He pocketed the flask without removing its lid. "Though you're definitely not the usual type. Too..." his eyes swept over her again, "...green. They usually send in the hardened types. The ones who think they've seen it all."
Despite logan being a few years her senior and his behavior reminded her a bit of the kids she worked who dealt with more traumatic familial situations, she remembered the Valquez boys, they would push buttons, looking for weak spots—Logan just had more sophisticated ammunition.
"And what happened to them?" she asked carefully.
His expression shifted, just for a moment, into something harder. "They moved on to easier patients. Less complicated cases." The threat in his voice clear. "I'm sure you will too, eventually."
Lydia didn't take the bait, instead meeting his eyes which were like uncreated night, they weren't quite black but about the darkest shade of brown they could be before reaching the abyss but still she looked on with the same steady patience she used with her most defensive kids. "Maybe," she said simply. "But I'm still here now."
Logan leaned back, studying her like an interesting specimen in a lab. The silence stretched, broken only by that faint mechanical hum. Finally, he shrugged
"Sure," he mocked. "We'll see how long that lasts." He pushed himself up with relative grace, though she caught the slight tremor in his hands come again. "Good talk, doc. Real breakthrough material." He straightened his already-perfect tie, a nervous tell?. "Let's do this again sometime assuming you're still around."
Lydia remained seated, watching him in a way that would've probably unnerved most. His hand paused on the door handle, shoulders tensing like he wanted to say something else. Then, he was gone.
The door clicked shut and then came quiet, leaving her alone with the faintest sense of relief it was over.
After the session, Logan's comments about previous doctors kept nagging at her. His dismissive attitude made sense given the notes that may as well been chicken scratch. Still, something about Dr. Muhammad Al-Rashid's observations caught her attention he'd at least tried to dig deeper, even noting what she suspected was childhood abuse in those redacted sections.
Maybe she could reach out, get another perspective on Logan's case. Her search pulled up an article from March 24th, 2024: "Renowned Psychiatrist Dies in Single-Vehicle Accident."
What?
Less than two months after his last notes on Logan. A discomfort began to weigh in her stomach.
Okay, don't jump to conclusions, people get in accidents everyday, it doesn't matter where you are, tragedy sometimes just strikes. Dr. James Wilson next—he'd seemed to actually document something substantial, even if half of it was redacted and the start read as more rooted in corporate politics than anything actually beneficial. Relief flooded her when his name brought up results. He was alive, just... no longer with Delos. No explanation why. But she can't imagine people typically sharing such things with the papers no doubt he had to sign at least a few NDAs before he left.
Now she looked to Dr. Anjali Patel's name. The addiction specialist might have useful insights... except the only recent result was a missing persons report from January 12th. The same cold feeling crept back.
Dr. Sarah Chen at least had good news there she was, featured in some glossy PR piece about helping some pharmaceutical CEO through grief counseling dated just yesterday April 5th. Two didn't make a pattern, she reminded herself. The kind of rational thing she'd tell some of the more imaginative kids when they saw monsters in coincidences.
She closed the browser, her left hand shaking slightly. Part of her wanted to keep digging, follow the thread to whatever dark place it led. But she remembered what logan said near the start of their session.
"Because they don't want me talking. And you don't either."
So focused on Logan's case and her precarious situatuions he forget where she was, when she was. This was not just any wealthy family, it was Delos.
Her eyes looked over the room again, scrutinizing section she'd overlooked before. The small camera lens in the corner. The way sound carried in this sterile space. Even the tablet in her hands was probably logging her every search, scroll and tap. Nothing in this borrowed life was truly private, probably not even her own personal property given how many "resources" Delos had their strings sewed into.
The urge to run hit her hard—just drop everything and bolt until she found her way back to her cramped apartment, her kids at the center, her normal life. Instead, she forced herself to keep scrolling through Logan's file, playing the part while her mind broke. How many specialists had Logan gone through? A long line of professionals who'd either quit or... something worse.
She had to find a way to help without asking the wrong questions too directly or preferably find some means of dimensional travel and get the hell out of dodge. In this world that wasn't so impossible right?
