Carl Evans speaks on lifelong career as head consulting psychologist at Falville University Hospital.
Trusted inside source reveals possible dates for the Holt and Ellis wedding!
Noah paced down the hospital's halls, a nervous habit he had never had before.
Chloe followed on his heels like a little puppy concerned for his wellbeing. "Why're you so nervous?" she asked for at least the twentieth time. "It's just a psych eval. Why don't you go home? I can send you the results if you really want, but I'll make sure they're in his chart, so you can just look tomorrow when you come in."
Noah stopped outside of Camille's room, the only place he would stop before resuming his pacing. "I want to be the one who hears the report. I'm his doctor. I should know what's going on."
Chloe shook her head. "You're paranoid."
"No, I'm not," Noah shot back.
"Yes, you are. No other doctor would be doing this right now. This is your day off. Go home."
Noah gritted his teeth. "Chloe," he warned.
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Just admit you have a crush on him, Noah."
Noah stared at her, eyes wide and a hot flush climbing up his neck. "A crush? On him?" he asked, trying to make it sound like he thought Chloe was crazy. "You're nuts."
Chloe smirked. "Anyone could see it, Noah. You're just in denial that you're probably gay. Or bi. Or whatever the hell your gender identity is. No matter how you identify, you are 100 percent not straight. You like him." She said the last three words in a singsong voice that got on Noah's nerves.
"Shut up," he ground out.
"Denial is a river in Egypt," she replied coolly. "And that river does not look good running through you." With that, she turned and left him alone.
Stunned, Noah watched her leave, her words having awoken a full-on identity crisis, which was the last thing he needed right now. Gay? Bi? What the– He stopped himself before he cursed in his head. That was something his therapist had told him he had to work on. He had to cut back on his swearing so that he was not burning the ears off of young children and so his coworkers took him more seriously. But when his therapist had said cut back, Noah had cut it out completely, even though it made thinking hard sometimes. He had to consciously stop his train of thought before a bad word came to mind and redirect his mind, and it sucked. But he did not feel as crappy as before, so he guessed it was working at some level.
The psychologist came out of Camille's room, locking eyes with Noah immediately.
"Dr. Evans," Noah addressed the older man, "what are your thoughts?"
Dr. Carl Evans frowned slightly. "You were definitely right to ask me to come talk with him. There's something haywire in his brain, but I would hesitate to jump to a psychopathy diagnosis. Besides what you mentioned to me, there are no other signs of it."
Noah breathed a sigh of relief. This was good. Camille was fixable.
"Right now, I would say he's depressed, anxious, and very traumatized." Dr. Evans ticked off each item by unfolding another finger and tapping it with his thumb. "I would like to keep him under observation and talk with him a few more times. I have a suspicion about what might have caused that psychotic spell yesterday."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "And that suspicion is?"
"Bear in mind that it's just a suspicion. This is not an official diagnosis by any means. I don't want you to act as if it's true, but you should keep an eye open for the signs." Dr. Evans cleared his throat. "My suspicion is that he is bipolar."
Noa's mind stopped for a brief moment and worked again only after he forced a restart. "Bipolar?" he asked, his brain picking apart every interaction he had had with Camille for indicators of that mental condition.
"Yes," Dr. Evans affirmed. "If it's true, then yesterday was manic. And today he seems as close to normal as someone in his situation could be, but I can tell he's slipping toward depression. The cycle would make sense."
Manic. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe Camille's erratic behavior yesterday. And if it was a cycle, then… "He asked me if he had hurt me this morning when I came in. And his reaction to me telling him about how he almost killed Max told me that stuff like this had happened before." Noah sucked in a breath as the next piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "If he is bipolar, I think his brother knew it and knew how to manipulate his moods. He was saying how he thought his brother had incited him to set the house on fire. If he really is bipolar, there wouldn't be any cause to arrest him, right?"
Dr. Evans conceded with a tilt of his head. "Perhaps. But if he is bipolar, and to the point where medication won't help, he'd need to be placed in an institution. For his own safety and the safety of others. But before we go there, I need to determine if he is bipolar and, if so, what combination of medications works best for him. Only if we can't figure that out would he need to be locked up."
Noah eased out another sigh. Okay. This was fine. He could work with this. "Alright. Thank you for the information, Dr. Evans."
"I'll update his chart," Dr. Evans said. "Chloe told me this is your day off. You can go home, Dr. Callahan. Thank you for your dedication and hard work."
Noah had to smile at getting a compliment from the world-renowned psychologist. "Thank you, Dr. Evans. I'll say goodbye to my patient and then head out." Once Dr. Evans had walked away, Noah tapped on Camille's door and then pushed into the room. "Hey."
Camille's gray eyes were tired. "He asked me so many questions," he said wearily.
Noah smiled slightly. "He's a psychologist. It's his job to ask lots of questions."
Camille closed his eyes and rested his head against the pillow.
"I just wanted to let you know that I'm heading out. I'll be back tomorrow morning, so if you need to talk to me about anything, wait until then, okay?"
Camille nodded faintly, his eyes staying closed. He really was exhausted.
"Great. Okay, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, okay?" He did not wait for a reply before heading out and shutting the door behind himself. He did not know why he felt so lonely when he got into his car to drive back home. Maybe it was just the fault of the solitary protein drink carton sitting empty in the cupholder.