Joey Gellar and CLOCK STRIKES THREE by John Bradford Branney

The main premise of my latest book entitled Clock Strikes Three centers around the theme of  “Patient versus Doctor". I might add that Clock Strikes Three ties in well with the tried and true “Man versus Beast”.  I will let the readers decide whether the beast is the patient or the doctor, in this case the doctor is a well-known psychiatrist. 


In Clock Strikes Three, a young man, with a very checkered past, by the name of Joseph Gellar tries to match wits and intellect with a court-appointed psychiatrist named Dr. Holbrook Devon. Needless to say, Joey Gellar has his work cut out for him, facing the brilliant and manipulative Dr. Devon Holbrook. By the end of the book, each reader will have their own impression and judgement of the relationship between this psychiatrist and patient. I expect a diverse opinion about the ending since each of us bring our own experiences and paradigms into the book with us. Each of us should see characters from a book under our own light from life.

In this blog posting, let me first introduce you to the patient in this "Patient versus Psychiatrist" drama. Here is a passage from Chapter One of the book where readers get to meet Joey Gellar:  

Joseph or Joey Gellar was all of five foot seven inches tall and weighed one hundred thirty pounds soaking wet. He strutted down the sidewalk in front of the bar as if he owned the city. What Joey lacked in size, he made up in cockiness. When he reached the front door to the Muleskinner’s Ice House, he flung the door open, wanting to make a grand entrance. He sauntered across the stained wooden planks of the floor, looking like a puffed up cat in the midst of a pack of hungry dogs. His eyes burned from the thick cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke that hung in the air. His squinty eyes scanned the floor of the massive barroom. He was looking for someone he knew. Most of the bikers were crowded around a line of pool tables against the far wall. Posters of mostly-naked woman were plastered on the wall behind the pool tables. A few of the bikers looked up when Joey came in, but then never gave him a second thought. That was one of Joey’s problems; no one ever gave Joey Gellar a second thought.

Joey’s eyes prowled the barroom, checking out the groups of bikers in booths and standing around. It did not take him too long to find who he was looking for. How could he miss Big Bill standing at the bar, all six foot six and two hundred fifty pounds of him? Big Bill was conversing with another biker while puffing on a massive cigar. Joey could not just saunter over to Big Bill. He needed to know who was talking to Big Bill. Joey had to be careful. He owed money to more than a few people in the city and he sure did not want to walk up to one of his creditors, especially with his light wallet. In this lawless establishment, he could be risking life and limb. Joey tried to blend in with the wooden support column in the center of the barroom floor. He peeked out from behind it and spied on the two men. The unidentified man was facing away from Joey. All Joey could see was a baldpate on top of the man’s head and the thin strands of gray-colored hair coming together in a pitifully sparse ponytail running halfway down the man’s back. Through the thin veil of the ponytail, Joey could see that the man wore the same motorcycle club colors that Big Bill wore. Joey peered around. The last thing he wanted was another patron to catch him spying. He could end up in a dumpster somewhere. For an instant, Joey thought about making a run for it, a hasty retreat out of the bar, perhaps coming back at a different time or day. However, Joey stayed put. He did not run. His business with Big Bill was urgent. Finally, the man with the skimpy ponytail turned and headed towards the john at the other side of the barroom floor. Joey knew the man. 

Joey Gellar was twenty-six years old when Clock Strikes Three took place. His twenty-six years had

been pretty rough. He grew up in a single parent family. His father had abandoned the family early on, so Joey really did not even know his father. Growing up, he had no male role models to look up to. And his mother? Well, she was pretty much missing in action, as well. It was only Joey and his siblings attempting to survive. Since Joey was the eldest child, he pretty much had responsibility for his siblings. The Gellars never had any money and their home life was a disaster. Joey quit high school and in one of his smarter moves, he went back later for his GED.


Even though Joey took full responsibility for raising his siblings, his own life was an unmitigated mess. Joey’s feet never seemed to be grounded on any positive influences, besides his job. Bad people continued to manipulate and influence Joey Gellar’s actions, drawing him down the wrong path, time after time. Finally, his life bottomed out and a hard-nosed judge showed sympathy for Joey. The judge’s sentence of probation and the assignment of court-appointed psychiatrist Dr. Holbrook Devon to help Joey, just might finally be the ticket for turning Joey’s life around. This was Joey’s second...maybe third...probably sixth chance of turning his life around. Perhaps, all will end well for Joey Gellar in Clock Strikes Three. I am not telling! ;).    

In Clock Strikes Three, I hope that Joey is a character that readers will empathize with, a character who readers can root for.  The readers of Clock Strikes Three will face the same questions I did when I originally wrote the story. Will Joey finally be able to turn his tumultuous life around or was it too late? Will renowned psychiatrist Dr. Holbrook Devon help Joey? When I wrote Clock Strikes Three I did not know the answers to these questions until the characters took over the story and wrote the book for me. I, like you, discovered the answers to these questions, page by page. You will be surprised at how the characters ended this drama.  

Clock Strikes Three is available at all major booksellers, including Black Rose Writing, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble. CLICK BELOW for Ordering Information.  

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August 14, 2016 | Colorado, USA

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What happens to a patient when a well-respected psychiatrist believes he is above the law? Can anyone stop him?



John Bradford Branney just released his seventh novel entitled Clock Strike Three. Branney will once again use the canvas of his readers’ minds to paint vibrant characters into a fast-paced story. Author Branney has previously taken us to Prehistoric America, Purgatory, and 17^th Century New Mexico. He has also shown us hope in the aftermath of global economic Armageddon. His latest effort, Clock Strikes Three, takes readers to yet another entertaining locale.   

Our parents conditioned us from an early age to trust doctors. What happens when a well-respected psychiatrist misuses this trust and uses his patients to implement his own vigilante justice?

Joey Gellar grew up in a broken home. During his young life, Joey became a magnet for trouble. After the police arrest Joey for grand theft auto, a sympathetic judge sentences Joey to probation and psychiatric counseling.

Enter Dr. Holbrook Devon, Joey’s court appointed psychiatrist. Hidden beneath Dr. Devon’s polished exterior and wall full of awards and diplomas, a dark secret dwelled. Dr. Devon only shared this secret with a handful of patients.

As Joey’s treatment progressed, Dr. Devon entrapped Joey into a sticky web of deceit, leaving Joey no alternative other than to escape the tightening clutches of Dr. Devon. How would Joey do this?

“I have explored a broad range of stories in my books. Clock Strikes Three is no exception. In Clock Strikes Three, I explore the bizarre relationship between doctor and trusting patient. The story’s many twists and turns will keep my readers on their toes,” John Bradford Branney stated.     

John Bradford Branney attended the University of Wyoming where he received a B.S. degree in geology. After graduating, Branney spent his entire career in the energy industry. During his career, he also obtained a MBA degree from the University of Colorado. He lives in the Colorado Mountains with his family.    

Clock Strikes Three is available at all major booksellers, including Black Rose Writing, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.

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Inspiration - CLOCK STRIKES THREE by John Bradford Branney

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I am unsure how it works for other authors, but all of my books were based on an event in my life that triggered a memory or seed of a thought. Ultimately, I take that memory and build a fictional story around it. My newest novel entitled CLOCK STRIKES THREE is another example of that.

CLOCK STRIKES THREE is about the twisted relationship between a psychiatrist and a patient, in this case, a young man leading a rudderless life. Most of us have grown up in an environment where our parents trust our doctors and they assume that these doctors have our best interest at heart. In ninety-nine point nine percent of the cases, this is probably true, but what happens with that one in a thousand exception? After all, doctors are only human. They suffer from the same physical and mental maladies the rest of us suffer from.

The seed for CLOCK STRIKES THREE originated in my brain from an incident that  happened to me in high school. My mother is part of the "greatest generation" that believes that everything doctors tell us is fact and true. She is from a time when people placed doctors on pedestals. She grew up in a time before modern medicine and treatments, when doctors were the be-all, cure-all for any sickness. She grew up in a time when diseases like cancer were death sentences and when diseases like polio struck the young without warning or prejudice.  

My mother believed the sun and moon rose and set with our hometown doctor. To my mother, our Dr. X was the closest thing to a miracle worker that the world had seen for around nineteen hundred and some years. My mother could never believe that our doctor had any frailties or weaknesses. The truth was that while Dr. X was a highly intelligent man, demons had taken up refuge in his soul.

I had a dangerously high fever in high school along with swollen throat and coughing. My mother tried the entire gamet of over-the-counter drugs available at the time, but nothing seemed to relieve my pain. I continued to get worse. It had become serious. Finally, my mother took me to the emergency room at the hospital where she knew the doctor was working that afternoon.

The doctor met us in the emergency room and examined me. He agreed that I was very ill and that we

needed to break the fever. My mother later admitted to me that the doctor was out of his usual sorts when he examined me. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I noticed nothing different about Dr. X, but then again, the fever had taken me to another planet. The doctor decided to give me an injection of something. I do not remember what he told us the medicine was, perhaps an antibiotic or something to break the fever and fight the virus. He left to go retrieve the medicine while my mother and I waited.  

I remember sitting there on the examining table, weaving back and forth, my equilibrium was off and the fever had me in its relentless grasp. I remember my mother asking me repeatedly, if I was all right. Of course, I was not all right! Her voice rang in my ears as if she were yelling into a water well. 

The doctor returned and gave me the injection. I specifically remember looking down and watching the medicine entering my arm.  The next thing I remember I was lying on the ice-cold floor of the emergency room. I had no idea where I was. The doctor was kneeling over me, pounding and pushing on my chest like a drum. He must have saw my eyes fluttering and stopped giving me CPR. I looked over at my mother. She was crying, a look of absolute horror on her face. Who died? I wondered. I tried to sit up, but the doctor held me down on the floor. I heard him tell my mother that he wanted to keep me in the hospital for observation.

Later that day, they released me to go home. I went home and eventually the fever broke and I recovered. Once, I was feeling better, I asked my mother what happened in the emergency room.

“The doctor killed you,” I remember her saying.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He gave you the wrong medication and stopped your heart,” she replied. Then, after a long pause, she added, “You were dead…I am never taking you to him, again.”

For a long time, I did not ask her what she meant by you were dead. Finally, she told me. The medication stopped my heart. The doctor had to do CPR to save me. She never took us to that doctor, again. Now, that was a good idea. She occasionally reminded me how Dr. X tried to kill me. If we needed a doctor after that incident, we drove fifty miles to the next town. My parents never sued Dr. X. The incident happened at a time that litigation and suing were the exception, not the rule.

A few months later, law enforcement arrested Dr. X for drug abuse and soon after, he lost his license to practice medicine. It appeared he was writing fake prescriptions and using the medication on himself. A small town scandal erupted. It became clear to me why he had made a mistake with my medication. By what my mother later told me, Dr. X was a full-fledged drug addict at the time of the incident. About a year later, Dr. X crashed his plane and died. Toxicology report was positive, of course. The small town scandal reached a crescendo.

Doctors are human. They have strengths and weaknesses, like all of us. My novel CLOCK STRIKES  THREE explores the relationship between a different Dr. X and a vulnerable and naïve patient.


Read CLOCK STRIKES THREE for the rest of my story.







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