"Why do you think expectation and perception are vital keys to your problem?" 

     The pyschiatrist was a knockout.  I mean drop dead gorgeous.  I'd been coming in monthly for almost six months before I realized that I was suffering withdrawal symptoms in between sessions and got on her calendar every week.  Thursdays, four to five in the afternoons.  That was her last hour each day.  Although she almost never allowed overtime, occasionally she did and I worked hard to say something that would create that situation.

     It's not easy for a patient to get onto a head doctor's calendar.  You can't just walk in and tell him, or her in this case, that you want more time.  Usually.  I wasn't a usual case.  Trying to get that "extra" time was always harder than the additional hours.  I liked to think that I was "special" to her; but, hey...self delusion is easy - and fun; at least until the bubble bursts and you realize your own fantasy for what it is.  As long as I occasionally won that little bit of extra time, though, my bubble remained full and pliable.

     I wasn't usual because I wasn't the patient, per se.  I'm an NYPD detective.  Dr. Marlys Fürst was an acknowledged expert forensic psychiatrist on the Attorney General's payroll.  The State AG.  We were fortunate that she maintained her offices in the City rather than Albany.  It made her imminently available and I unabashedly took advantage.

     I'd been working on the "Zombie Killer" case for the better part of three years.  It was the second time around for this guy.  Seven years earlier, I worked a couple of years on a task force that was tracking down a mass murderer with identical M.O. as the current Zombie Killer. The task force had not been successful, but the killing stopped.  Two years after the case was put in the dead file, the Zombie Killer started and I had lead of the task force.

    A lot of people thought I was crazy, seeing a shrink like this.  Well, hell don't crazy people go to head docs's in the first place?  Seriously, I didn't give a rat's **** what anyone thought.  I wanted to nail this freak and if talking to a shrink, as if I were the killer, impersonating him, if you will, would help me get some solid clues and answers - I was all for it. 

     Those same people that thought I was crazy had no idea I was also seeing a physicist on a regular basis.  Dr. Willard Benson was an expert in the field of quantum physics and yes, I absolutely believed that physics was a clue and possible solution to getting this mad man I'd been chasing for seven years.  

     Even now, after it's all been said and done people make a large loop around me.  I'm still on the job.  The Department hasn't fired me or certified me incompetent; or worse yet, declared me insane and locked me away in a padded cell.  Most of my colleagues are respectful but distant.  I can't keep a partner, but that doesn't bother me at all.  Not even a little bit.  I don't get invited to anyone's house for cards or a football game anymore.  It's probably a good thing I never married because I'd likely be divorced and in the poor house now, too.  All of that simply doesn't matter because I solved the case.  I got the Zombie Killer off the streets.  I know I've saved the lives of many dozens of New Yorkers and I can live with that - and, only that, if it comes down to it.