Leveque: The Making of The Mastermind Part 1.
Apr 17, 2017 1:21:50 GMT -5
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Post by themastermind on Apr 17, 2017 1:21:50 GMT -5
April 5th 1994
On this day, the world lost a tortured musical genius, though it was not known until 3 days later. Still, it seemed as though the world was some how less rich, less bright, and worse.
The tension on this night sets our scene in a New York City hospital. A handsome man of 30 years stands alone in a sterile artificially lit waiting room. Despite 2 days growth on his face and mussed thick brown hair, Jonathan Leveque still struck the casual observer as a man who should be featured in glossy pages of women's magazines making hearts race and pocketbooks open to gladly spill their contents in exchange for the latest perfume by Dior. Even as he paced, rubbing his neck with his right hand, likely to diffuse the intense tension migraine sure to be coming on, the man struck an image of strength and confidence few could deny.
This man of thirty was more then met the eye. He was a psychologist, but not just your average shrink dispensing advice to the masses. Jonathan Leveque was a pioneer in the field, not seen since the likes of Freud, Jung, and Watson. His ideas and theories were equally heralded and loathed across the psychological community worldwide. His research had led to countless breakthroughs in the understanding of an ever complicating human race. His work extended into the headlines a few times, and he was always in demand when there was a mass shooting or suicide that made the news. He combined good looks with alarming hypothesis, a combination nobody could resist.
But tonight in this waiting room, all of the psychological tricks and coping mechanisms he knew all too well could not assuage his brilliant mind. Tonight was critical in so many ways for so many reasons that his emotions, so long on the back burner of his daily stove of complex cuisine, had taken over his psyche.
Just when Jonathan decided to take a seat, possibly to get some rest, a doctor, dressed in Scrubs, bald with age and wisdom, Caucasian with a friendly face made his way through the single secured door with a buzz.
"Mister Leveque?"
"Yes?"
Jonathan stood right away. It made no sense to hide his apprehension. This doctor had seen it before. The friendly doctor approached, his calming demeanor putting Jonathan at ease for a moment. With a smile, the doctor uttered the words Jonathan had been waiting nearly 2 days to hear.
"Ready to meet your son?"
On this day, the world lost a tortured musical genius, though it was not known until 3 days later. Still, it seemed as though the world was some how less rich, less bright, and worse.
The tension on this night sets our scene in a New York City hospital. A handsome man of 30 years stands alone in a sterile artificially lit waiting room. Despite 2 days growth on his face and mussed thick brown hair, Jonathan Leveque still struck the casual observer as a man who should be featured in glossy pages of women's magazines making hearts race and pocketbooks open to gladly spill their contents in exchange for the latest perfume by Dior. Even as he paced, rubbing his neck with his right hand, likely to diffuse the intense tension migraine sure to be coming on, the man struck an image of strength and confidence few could deny.
This man of thirty was more then met the eye. He was a psychologist, but not just your average shrink dispensing advice to the masses. Jonathan Leveque was a pioneer in the field, not seen since the likes of Freud, Jung, and Watson. His ideas and theories were equally heralded and loathed across the psychological community worldwide. His research had led to countless breakthroughs in the understanding of an ever complicating human race. His work extended into the headlines a few times, and he was always in demand when there was a mass shooting or suicide that made the news. He combined good looks with alarming hypothesis, a combination nobody could resist.
But tonight in this waiting room, all of the psychological tricks and coping mechanisms he knew all too well could not assuage his brilliant mind. Tonight was critical in so many ways for so many reasons that his emotions, so long on the back burner of his daily stove of complex cuisine, had taken over his psyche.
Just when Jonathan decided to take a seat, possibly to get some rest, a doctor, dressed in Scrubs, bald with age and wisdom, Caucasian with a friendly face made his way through the single secured door with a buzz.
"Mister Leveque?"
"Yes?"
Jonathan stood right away. It made no sense to hide his apprehension. This doctor had seen it before. The friendly doctor approached, his calming demeanor putting Jonathan at ease for a moment. With a smile, the doctor uttered the words Jonathan had been waiting nearly 2 days to hear.
"Ready to meet your son?"
