I'm a therapist, and my patient is going to be the next school shooter [Part 2]

[Part 1]
What would you do if someone told you about 9/11 the day before it happened? Or Newtown? Or Vegas?
How would you stop it, without sounding like a raving lunatic?
Some of you suggested contacting Alex's mom. I tried, and she told me to back off or she'd get a restraining order.
Some of you suggested I'm terrible at my job, and that I should refer him to someone else. I don't blame you. Just wait until you hear about my other patients.
Some of you suggested a 5150 (involuntary hospitalization). Probably the best idea, but I'm a control freak, and I think I know more about Alex than anyone could learn in 72 hours. Involuntary anything would only worsen his state.
Some of you suggested I kill him. I'll be honest, it crossed my mind. Not my proudest moment.
Some of you suggested I stay home today, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be the next therapist or neighbor or friend in the news, reminiscing about all the warning signs, and how the tragedy could have been prevented.
Not when kids were in danger.
To the school's credit, they hired two armed resource officers, and both of them stood outside my office while Alex and I sat down for our session.
Given the circumstances, I actually couldn't feel more relaxed. They already patted him down and took his bag. Plus, every second that Alex spent in here meant he wasn't out there.
"Alex," I began. "We need to talk about what happened last week."
His head was down and he didn't speak.
"You didn't cancel our session," I said. " Your mom didn't even want you here, but you still came. I have to assume that means you're having second thoughts?"
Alex looked up, but didn't make eye contact. "I'm not saying anything about last week," he said. "I know you probably set up cameras."
My stomach turned. He wasn't wrong.
"Okay," I said. "What if we talk about something else then?"
"Like what?"
I bit my lip and decided to go for it. "Your dad."
Finally, his eyes met mine. They were bloodshot, wide, and exhausted.
"What about him?"
"He left a long time ago, Alex," I said. "But I think the pain still lives inside you."
"I don't have any pain," he spat. "I'm glad the *******'s gone."
"What about Emma?" I asked. "When she rejected you, it caused you so much pain. I saw it all month. You were hurting, Alex."
"I don't have pain!" he gripped his chair. "She's just some dumb bitch. I don't give a **** what she thinks."
"Anger is a totally normal reaction to pain," I said. "Especially recurring pain."
"Would you shut the **** up about pain!" He stood up. "I'm a million times better than Emma and my dad -- and ****ing you."
I took a deep breath and remained seated. "What about the emptiness? The boredom? The loneliness?"
"What?" He was still standing, but he looked like a caged animal. "What are you talking about?"
"Every day, you feel empty," I said. "Disconnected from the world and people around you. Like there's no point to it all. What if we could change that?"
His face went pink and he finally lowered his voice a bit. "We can't."
"Of course we can," I said. "Countless people before you have suffered from these wounds, and countless people have healed them."
"Hallmark bull****."
I bit my lip again. ****, why did I do that? Therapists shouldn't have nervous tics.
"Even if this whole world was pointless and fake, how would harming others help?"
"They deserve it," he said. "They're bullies. They treat me like I'm nobody."
"Sometimes, when we're carrying around abandonment and rejection, we just keep finding more of it," I said. "But Emma isn't a bully for not wanting a relationship. So what could you gain from hurting her and her friends?"
He thought for a moment and said, "I'd be their God for a day."
"But that's no way to gain power and fame," I said. "I mean, no one even remembers the names of the shooters after Parkland. We're numb to it by this point."
He frowned and moved his mouth slightly. I could tell he was trying to prove me wrong, but he couldn't.
"All I'm asking is that you give my way a chance." I leaned forward. "We can turn that emptiness into wholeness. The disconnection into connection. What do you have to lose?"
He paced around the room without speaking for what felt like an eternity.
Finally he came to a stop, and I heard him mumble, "Okay."
My heart flooded with relief. I had just shoe-horned his year-long treatment plan into a 5-minute session, but at least we were getting somewhere.
Then he added, "But--"
No buts. Please. "Alex, I'm fully committed to helping you get to that point," I interrupted before he could change his mind. "But a quick session like this isn't enough to resolve lifelong damage. Maybe you're feeling hopeful now, but that could change tonight, or tomorrow, or next week."
"What are you saying?"
I looked him in the eyes. "I need you under 24x7 supervision," I said. "Would you be willing to agree to voluntary hospitalization? I'll take time away from school to spend every second with you. To help you feel good again."
He glanced at the ground, and then the door. "It won't make any difference."
"Of course it will," I said. "We'll--"
"No, I mean... I'm not the one you need to lock up anymore."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Obviously I wasn't going to get guns inside the school with the guards tailing me," he said. "So we changed the plan after you found the calculator."
"What?" I shook my head. "Alex, who's 'we'? What plan?"
"I'm just supposed to distract you and keep all the guards on this side of the building."
"Distract?" I repeated, heart pounding. "From what?"
"Until he gets to the library."
Before the words came out of his mouth, I bolted up and ran for the fire alarm.
But the sirens were already singing.
Patient #107 - File 2 of 3


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