Free Rank by D. R. Graham

thank you. I’m not an invalid. What’s going on?”
    “Did Cole stay here last night?”
    “He was here when I went to bed.” Her irritation at me transitioned into concern.
    I rattled the bathroom doorknob and knocked again. Mom disappeared into her room and returned with a hairpin. She wiggled it in the hole of the doorknob. Eventually the lock clicked and she pushed the door open. It only opened about four inches then stopped as if it hit something. She poked her head in.
    “Oh, Jesus. He’s passed out on the floor.” She stepped back and let me push the door with my shoulder. I was able to open it wide enough for her to slip through. She crouched down and moved his legs so I could open the door all the way. “Oh, Billy, he doesn’t look right. You better call the ambulance.”

Chapter 6
    At the hospital, I wheeled my mom’s chair up to a table, then sat down across from a psychiatrist, two doctors, and a social worker. The social worker folded her hands on the table and smiled at us in a pleasant way that made me uncomfortable. The bald doctor helped himself to a cookie from the plate on the table. The other doctor watched Cole come into the room with a nurse and sit beside me. Cole looked like shit. His hair was messy, his face was pale, and the smell of beer was still noticeable on his breath. The psychiatrist was reviewing the file and tapping her pen on a pad of paper as she read. Eventually, she looked up and smiled at us. “So, Cole. How are you feeling?”
    “Fine.”
    “You gave your mom and brother quite a scare.”
    He looked down at the table and licked his lips.
    “According to them, you were doing well until this incident occurred.”
    “This wasn’t an incident. I just had a couple drinks.”
    “Yes, but you know that the medication you’re on can not be taken with alcohol.”
    “So, give me a different medication.” He sat back and crossed his arms in defiance. “All my friends and my brother drink, and I can’t. It’s affecting my quality of life.”
    “I’ll quit,” I mumbled so only he could hear me.
    “Why?” He turned towards me. “So we both can’t have any fun?” He looked back at the professionals across the table. “Just give me a different medication.”
    “But this one has been working so well,” Mom said.
    “Not really. I still feel like shit half the time. Billy has to drag me out of bed most days because I can’t sleep at night. My stomach is always upset, and I get headaches that I never used to.”
    “Have you had any suicidal ideation? Intrusive thoughts? Unusual worries or obsessions?”
    “Yeah.”
    They all looked up, intrigued more than concerned. “Which ones?”
    “All of them,” he said to mess with them.
    “Can you be a little more specific, please?” the psychiatrist asked.
    “Well.” He stretched his legs out under the table and crossed his ankles as if he was getting comfortable, but his arms were still crossed. “I worry that I left the stove on even if I haven’t used it, or sometimes I think I left the bath running even though I had a shower.” He sat forward abruptly and rested his elbows on the table. “Is wanting to stab someone in the eyeball an intrusive thought? I get that sometimes. Oh, and I have to dress in exactly the same order every time or I think that something bad is going to happen to my mom.”
    “Did you dress in a particular order before your dad was killed?”
    He smiled, amused by how gullible they were. “No. I put my left sock on first instead of the right. Damn. Do you think that’s why he died? I never thought about that until you mentioned it. Way to go. Now I’m going to obsess about that until I get around to acting on the suicidal ideation.”
    I shook my head, tired of his antics, and Mom wrung her hands together.
    The psychiatrist smiled at Cole in an unimpressed way once she figured out he was bullshitting. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, we won’t be able to help you