The Door to December by Dean Koontz

Makes my blood boil.'
     'I know what you mean,' she said.
     'Yeah, I guess you do.'
    12
    Dr. Rafael Ybarra, chief of pediatrics at Valley Medical, met with Laura in a small room near the nurses' station, where the staff took their coffee breaks. Two vending machines stood against one wall. An icemaker chugged, clinked, and clattered. Behind Laura a refrigerator hummed softly. She sat across from Ybarra at a long table on which were dog-eared magazines and two ashtrays full of cold cigarette butts.
     The pediatrician — dark, slim, with aquiline features — was prim, even prissy. His perfectly combed hair seemed like a laquered wig. His shirt collar was crisp and stiff, tie perfectly knotted, lab coat tailored. He walked as though afraid of getting his shoes dirty, and he sat with his shoulders back and his head up, stiff and formal. He surveyed the crumbs and the cigarette ashes on the table, wrinkled his nose, and kept his hands in his lap.
     Laura decided she didn't like the man.
     Dr. Ybarra spoke with brisk authority, biting the words off: 'Physically, your daughter's in good condition, surprisingly good considering the circumstances. She is somewhat underweight, but not seriously so. Her right arm is bruised from repeated insertion of an IV needle by someone who wasn't very skilled at it. Her urethra is mildly inflamed, perhaps from catheterization. I have prescribed medication for that condition. And that's the extent of her physical problems.'
     Laura nodded. 'I know. I've come to take her home.'
     'No, no. I wouldn't advise that,' Ybarra said. 'For one thing, she'll be too difficult to care for at home.'
     'She's not actually ill?'
     'No, but—'
     'She's not incontinent?'
     'No. She uses the bathroom.'
     'She can feed herself?'
     'In a fashion. You have to start feeding her, then she'll take over. And you've got to keep watching her as she eats because after a few bites she seems to forget what she's doing, loses interest. You have to continue urging her to eat. She needs help to dress herself too.'
     'I can handle all that.'
     'I'm still reluctant to discharge her,' Ybarra said.
     'But last night Doctor Pantangello said—'
     At the mention of Pantangello, Ybarra wrinkled his nose. His distaste was evident in his voice. 'Doctor Pantangello only finished his residency last autumn and was accredited to this hospital last month. I am the head of pediatrics, and it is my opinion that your daughter should stay here.'
     'How long?'
     'Her behaviour is symptomatic of severe inhibited catatonia — not unusual in cases of prolonged confinement and mistreatment. She should remain here for a complete psychiatric evaluation. A week ... ten days.'
     'No.'
     'It's the best thing for the child.' His voice was so cold and measured that it was hard to believe he ever gave a thought to what was best for anyone other than Rafael Ybarra.
     She wondered how kids could possibly relate to a stuffy doctor like this.
     'I'm a psychiatrist,' Laura said. 'I can evaluate her condition and give her the proper care at home.'
     'Be your own daughter's therapist?' He raised his eyebrows. 'I don't think that's wise.'
     'I disagree.' She wasn't going to explain herself to this man.
     'Here, once an evaluation is completed and a course of treatment recommended, we have the proper facilities to provide that treatment. You simply don't have the right equipment at home.'
     Laura frowned. 'Equipment? What equipment? Exactly what kind of treatment are you talking about?'
     'That would be a decision for Doctor Gehagen in psychiatry. But if Melanie should continue in this severe catatonic state or if she should sink deeper into it, well... barbiturates and electroconvulsive therapy—'
     'Like hell,' Laura said sharply, pushing