He wiped his hand over his brow, clearing the sheen of sweat that had accumulated. He held his hands tightly together to not show his anxiety, but his legs wouldn't stop moving.
He grabbed his cup of water and gulped down the last bit. He refilled it eagerly and continued to drink. He didn't look up, couldn't look up. He couldn't meet the eyes of the people in the room, all judging him. He looked to the paper in front of him that had his name: Dr. Lloyd Lowery. They could drop the Dr. now. He lost his license about six months back.
He used to be so proud of that title. He really had a knack for diagnosing problems and getting to the root of issues. But his damn gambling addiction got in the way.
It started out harmless enough. He would go in, throw quarters in the slot machines, then leave. But it wasn't challenging enough. Soon he went on to baccarat, but again, it wasn't enough. He moved from Craps to Poker before he found his real addiction: Blackjack.
There was nothing like the feel of winning a hand. And that's what he did. He counted cards and won. And when you win, you spend money, and casinos' love that.
Soon he was being comped stays or upgraded to the finest rooms. Drinks at his disposal, limo transportation whenever he needed it. He even had someone get him tickets to the best shows.
It was everything...he was everything...for a time.
Then the casinos caught onto his scheme, banned him from the blackjack tables, so he found underground poker games. But he didn't win, and his debt just kept accumulating. FIrst it was his savings, then maxing out his credit cards, then he moved to his mother's credit cards. When she cut him off, he about lost it.
He couldn't lose that high he got from being adored, treated like royalty. That's when he saw the eagerness in his students' faces: their need for drugs. He couldn't hold out anymore.
He wrote those prescriptions, charging a nice fee for each one. And the college kids were happy to hand over their parents' money.
Lloyd had tried to justify it by saying their parents were rich and they were spoiled kids, but he couldn't let the feeling of guilt subside-so he drowned it out with more gambling, trying anything to make him feel normal again.
When he got the call from his mother about the 18-year old who had died of an overdose and he was being charged in her death because he had given her a prescription, he couldn't think. For once he didn't know what to do, so he did what he did best: he ran. He ran from all his problems.
But, he couldn't fight the addiction long enough to stay away. He found his way back into a casino and that's where Ray and the other Marshall's found him. Everything led to here. To this moment where he sat in this courtroom, waiting to here the verdict.
As the foreman stood and read the charges, the only word Lloyd heard was guilty. Everything else was meaningless. Guilty. He didn't move, even as his lawyers said that they would appeal. He kept his head down. He heard cries of the family as they got justice for their daughter. He turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who was on his side-but there was no one, only looks of disdain that sent chills through him. He wished his mother would have come, but then, he thought it best she didn't. Her look of disappointment would have hurt the worst.
He was asked to stand and he did. The bailiff came over and asked him to come along. He obliged, thankful they didn't cuff him right there. As he was led away and taken to his holding cell, everything hit him. The fact that his life would never be the same again