A note: Alrighty then guys...Reworked this just a bit and am posting it. Hope it works out this time…I like it a lot better now that I know where I'm going with it!
Sequel to Links In The Chain
A psychiatrist and his patient, one hour and nine minutes from his time to be released back into the real world. Things are being set in motion. Please see my profile.
Blanket Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, or anything thereby affiliated, nor do I own any product, show, book, or other item, idea, place, or persons mentioned in this fan-fiction, unless they are created by myself as a way to move the story forward. Thank you, that is all.
Chapter One: The Prince
"Neither love nor evil conquer all, but evil cheats more." -Anita Blake
A prince must have no other objective, no other thought, nor take up any profession but that of war.
Excerpts from 'The Prince'
One hour and nine minutes.
"Let me tell you, this has been one of the most restful times of my life."
One hour and eight minutes.
"In all honesty, I never viewed anything I've done as wrong, morally or otherwise. I do see, however, your point in all of this."
Pause and consider.
"That perhaps my obsessive nature needed to be calmed somehow, and quite honestly it has been. Never did I have anything but my best wishes and his best interest in mind, for I do care for the boy in a strange, fatherly way."
Another pause and the noisy scratching of pen against paper as notes are taken, ideas jotted down.
"And that means?"
One hour and one minute.
"I care for him as a son. There is no other way to put it, though I do find him a bit wayward in his duty towards one who sees him as a child."
Another flurry of writing and then another pause.
"We've been over this a number of times you know."
"Yes, and I've always been quite aware that he is in no way my child. There was no need to reinforce this idea."
"You have been quite the interesting case…"
More writing for one and only the internal tick, tick, tick for the other to focus on.
"You've never displayed any signs of any disorder, except of course at normal levels and the extreme duress of when you first arrived under my care."
"I was under…some amount of stress then, yes."
"You're duress was understandable of course. Any normal person would have reacted in some way or another. You recovered amazingly fast though."
One hour exactly.
"I have always prided myself for my mental capacity and skills, sir."
"One can understand your pride."
"Come doctor, there is something on your mind. Let me for once play the listener for you in return for your….kindness."
The pen stops its movement, a pause and then, a heavy sigh from a tired, confused man.
Fifty seven minutes.
"My good sir, from the instant I began my sessions with you I've found no sign of any disorder, no sign of any questionable behavior and that worried me beyond words. In fact, the more time I spend with you, the more this feels off, as though you have been suppressing those qualities that would be seen as…troublesome."
"And you still feel that way, even today with my release imminent?"
And the writing begins again.
The pen moves furiously, as though the movement alone can halt the impending events.
"Doctor, it behooves you to answer. A man of my position does not take kindly to waiting for anyone, no matter their supposed status."
The pen stops…it is hopeless.
"And that is another thing that worries me."
Fifty minutes and dead silence to accompany a portion of it.
"Doctor, may I come in?"
"Come in Cindy."
"I've brought the patient's belongings and clothes. It's nearly time for his departure and we thought he'd appreciate going off in his own clothes."
"Thank you Cindy, lay them there and go back to the front desk please."
The door swings shut once more, the silence returns and the seconds keep ticking by, if only silently.
"May I change?"
"Yes, the bathroom is just through that door."
Writing and sighs fill up the time for one, as dressing fills the time for another. Appearance is everything for both, though only one truly holds the power.
The door opens.
"Feeling more comfortable now?"
A cell phone comes out of one of the pockets and the doctor looks on wonderingly.
"We have but half an hour until we part. One last session might do you some good as you once again journey into the stress of the world."
"I think not. This time, let us finish our earlier conversation. It worries you that I am so polished and refined, I believe?"
"Not exactly that."
"It worries me that you care so deeply for a child that is not your own and yet have only expressed that through careful, seemingly calculated, words. Nothing is wrong with you, but to be blunt, I feel as though there is something severely amiss about you. "
"Many of my…enemies, if you will, feel that I am a bit insane, even when I am perfectly normal."
The writing starts again slowly.
"Corporately speaking of course, my good doctor. In the world of sharks, one must learn to survive and know who the enemies are in order to keep them close."
"Would you mind if I browse your extensive library?"
"Not at all."
Observing and being observed, it is cat and mouse game, but only one is sure in the truth of the role they play.
Ten minutes and thirty seconds. A book is reverently pulled from the shelf and gently dusted.
"You've found a book you like?"
"Oh yes, one of my favorites."
"If I may inquire…?"
"Oh no, good doctor, you'll just have to wait. Just like the rest of us. Just for nine more minutes…"
Pages are turned gently, eyes skim and take in the eloquence of a time long past, and eyes watch, confused and trying to figure out the man in front of him. Eight minutes pass and then…
"My good doctor," he stands, regally, "I thank you for your time, your wisdom, and all your wasted work. I am of the same mind now as when I came and Daniel is in for quite the upset I should imagine."
"Mr. Masters! I can have you held here for as long as I see fit, and at this time I revoke my statement of release. Your behavior is erratic and clearly demonstrates that…"
"And you think that you could actually stop me?"
"I have every authority to…"
"Of course you couldn't. It is ridiculous to think that it was your word alone that held me here thus long. I needed time to recuperate doctor, and that was gained here. My money is the deal breaker on this one and I shall be leaving whenever I feel ready to do so."
"How dare you, sir, make a mockery of my practice!" He stands, pen and pad falling from his lap to the plush carpet below.
"I dare…like this."
The number is dialed, a ring, an answering voice, "Yes, this is Vlad Masters. Yes, good to hear from you as well, I'm sure. The papers are ready, yes? Good. Sign the deal and buy the mental institution that I have been staying at. Ah, good. Yes? Alright."
"You see, sir," Masters sneered out, "I have the money, and as such I have the power, and that is what is needed to get what you want, or rather what I want."
One minute and it will take exactly that long to make it to the doors.
"Oh and doctor?"
A book lands in his hands as the man walks out, 'Machiavelli? Oh God…'
"Freedom in only fifteen more seconds," the voice fades out as the doctor looks on horrified, "what could be more sweet?"