I had just seated myself across the table from the women when Sue said, “I know who Dr. Jerome Caufield is. I should have said something last week, but I never thought his name would come up.”
“A professional rival?” I asked, voicing a suspicion that had come to mind.
“No, a marriage counselor.”
“Really,” I said slowly. “How does he fit in?”
“When I was prepping for our first meeting, I did a little checking on Worthington. I found the standard credentials and a few press releases, but I got a few other hits too. About three months ago, in May, he and his wife of six years, Elizabeth Scott-Worthington, filed for divorce. It got nasty enough that she moved out and dropped Worthington from her last name. According to the papers, Dr. Worthington claimed that his wife had conspired to steal his research…which is weird, because her family has money. Anyway, her co-conspirator and partner in crime was their marriage counselor….”
“Dr. Jerome Caufield,” Nicole and I said in unison.
“Yeah,” said Sue. “They must have reached some type of agreement, because the story disappeared soon after. But with the display in his office this morning? Well, he hasn’t forgotten.”
“Thanks, Sue. At least that’s one mystery solved,” I said.
I had made up my mind about what needed to be done over lunch, but as someone who thought of himself as persistent and who very much wanted to make this project an early career success, I was having trouble finding the words. I made a fist and tapped it against my chin. Finally, I said, “I think we should bring in reinforcements.”
“The VA?” asked Nicole.
“Yeah. Worthington must have seen the contract, but it’s like he doesn’t remember, or doesn’t believe it. But whatever, we can’t get caught in the crossfire. Either the VA explains it to him and we get the information we need or….”
“Or they realize he’s batshit crazy and end the project,” said Sue.
I nodded. Her term wouldn’t be found in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but she had finished my thought perfectly.
“I think that’s the right call, Doc.”
“I agree,” said Nicole.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a wave of relief now that it was out in the open. “OK, let’s focus on the scenario where the VA doesn’t terminate the project. Even under the best possible circumstances, there’ll be a delay between our request for the VA’s help and getting the data back. So, Sue, you want to get an early start on the final report? You dug up a lot of background material that needs to be turned into eloquent prose.”
“I feel the force of my inner muse already,” she replied. “I could also knock out that section you two came up with during your drinking game last night.”
“Sue! We had one beer,” protested Nicole. She shook her head slowly, a show of mock irritation mixed with amusement on her face.
“I assume you’re talking about the same section you mentioned?” I said, looking at Sue. “Document the functions that the Blocker might strengthen in the left hemisphere.”
“That would be the one,” she said. “Personally, I think we should all work on developing the list. Then, we’ll all know what to look for in A.T.’s behavior. I can write it up for the report...unless you want to, Nicole?”
“Sure, I’ll do it,” said Nicole. “I’ll probably have the time before you do.” Then, she smiled. “That one chart on negative plasticity alone will probably take a week to turn into text.”
“It’s a plan,” I said. “And it’s still early. Shall we hit the list of left hemisphere functions now?”
Sue and Nicole gave each other a knowing look.
“What is it, ladies?”
Sue laughed. “I guess we can’t pass this off as a spontaneous remark. We were wondering if you were overlooking the elephant in the room?”
“You mean Worthington’s behavior?” I asked.
“And the possibility that he used the device on himself,” added Nicole.
I took a moment to massage my forehead – preventative, I thought for the headache that was trying to form there. “Yeah, I know. If we don’t mention his behavior and the analysis and conclusions from the study check out, Worthington could end up with more money from the VA. Then, if he goes off the rails…well, technically, we’re not liable, but that wouldn’t help my conscience.”
“Or the other side,” said Nicole. “We bring these allegations to the VA, casting doubt on his character when it’s only a temporary break by an otherwise brilliant and caring person. Yeah, we could hear Laverne whispering to you,” she said, answering my questioning look.
I rubbed the back of my neck with a hand. “I’ve been replaying that last few minutes in my mind. Did it seem to you that Worthington was talking about using the Blocker on himself?”
Nicole glanced at Sue, then turned to me. “At the time, we had the same thought – it was a firsthand account. But thinking back, it isn’t clear. He could have been repeating something A.T. said. Even his anger can be interpreted two ways. Maybe he was angry because he got caught. Or maybe he was upset because we had accused him when he was innocent.”
I put an elbow on the arm of my chair, scratching my chin with a hand. Their concerns were well reasoned; I was obviously not the only one letting this project ruin their lunch.
“I was planning to draft something on our meetings,” I said after a moment. “Something more than a typical summary. More detail on who said what and when, but without speculating about causes. Seem reasonable?”
“Yeah,” said Sue, shrugging. “Probably the best we can do. Nicole and I could also write up our own notes, give you something to check against…if you want.”
“Definitely,” I replied. “Then, I’ll give the consolidated report to Ken, who can send it up the management chain and to the VA. Everything that’s got our alarms going off will be spelled out in detail, so hopefully, they won’t ignore it. Agreed?”
“Yeah,” Sue said, as Nicole nodded. “How about we take a short break, then hit the left side functions?”
We all agreed and the women left to see something at Sue’s desk.
✽ ✽ ✽
When I returned, Sue was sitting at the computer, a blank page with the title ‘Left Hemisphere Dominant Functions’ projected at the front of the conference room. She was completing the first entry, ‘Processing stimuli in the right visual field.’ Nicole was at the table with several of Sue’s textbooks open in front of her. The word, ‘Candidates’ was written on a whiteboard behind her. I had brought a few more texts and dumped them on the table across from Nicole.
“Looks like you two have a process going already,” I said.
“We do,” said Nicole. “You and I will jot the possible left side functions on the board. Since different researchers may call the same thing by different names, we’ll decide on one term. Then, if it’s a consistent finding, rather than something one lab claimed that no one else could duplicate, Sue will record it on her list.”
“And so far,” said Sue, “I’m just recording the fact that the left side of the brain serves the right side of the body. No controversy there.”
I nodded. “Great plan.”
Over the next 45 minutes, the list grew. When we stepped back and looked at our work, it was clear why the left hemisphere was usually called the ‘analytic and logical’ one.
Left Hemisphere Dominant Functions
Processing stimuli in the right visual field
Controlling muscle responses on the right side of the body
Perceiving stimuli on the right side of the body, e.g., touch
Language (reading, speaking, writing)
Math
Science
Analytic and logical reasoning
Mental manipulation
Semantic priming
Image generation
Processing pleasurable experiences
Decision-making
Routine or well-rehearse
d processes
“That’s some useful mental abilities,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
“You’d say that,” replied Sue, “because they’re all yours.”
I chuckled, readily seeing my love of all things scientific and data-driven. “There’s no one in this room low on this set.”
“Yeah, I’m all over the ‘processing pleasurable experiences’ one,” replied Sue.
“If this technology is perfected someday,” said Nicole, “do you think people will be dropping by the local brain rewiring shop and saying, I’d like to be a little higher in math ability? Sign me up for a week of training.”
“Possibly, if we’re right about how the Blocker works.”
I ran a hand through my hair. If our findings continued in the current direction, then identifying the faculties bolstered by the Blocker would be pivotal. Nicole would be drafting that section of our report. But even with our short association, I was comfortable with the assignment. She had good instincts and explained complex issues in a way that was easy to understand. I could undoubtedly take a lesson, as much of my writing involved statements that were so highly qualified, the gist was ‘maybe, maybe not’.
“I’m good with this,” I said. “Anything to add before we move on?”
Everyone was quiet, so I turned to the last issue on my mind. “We need to take self-protective measures,” I said more bluntly than I intended.
Nicole frowned. Sue looked startled, then asked, “Are you serious?”
I released a long breath. “I am. The look of hatred in Worthington’s eyes, his clenched fists convinced me. I’m not saying he’s planning something, but under the right conditions? Yeah, I think he would lash out at any of us.”
“To protect his research?” asked Nicole, her forehead wrinkled. Her eyes went from mine to Sue’s and back.
I held my open hands out in front of me. “Yeah, you heard him. Right now, he thinks we’re the middlemen. But even if he finds out that Dr. Caufield isn’t involved, he’ll just find another villain. Or we’ll become the bad guys.”
Both women were quiet for a moment, frowns on their faces as they looked off at the wall or down at the tabletop. “OK,” Sue finally said. “I don’t want to second guess when being wrong means I get hurt. Al will be home by the time I get there, and besides, I’m armed.”
Missouri had legalized concealed weapons, so anyone you met on the street could be armed, but I never would have guessed that Sue was. Perhaps seeing some surprise in my expression, she added, “Al got it for me. He wanted me to have some protection when he was out of town. At first, I objected, but he also paid for safety training and practice. I have a gun and I know how to use it.”
“OK, but don’t shoot Al when he comes home tonight,” I said.
“How long do you think we need to keep our defenses up?” asked Nicole.
I rubbed the back of my neck, believing the answer to that was measured in months, not days. “Worthington was obviously furious this morning. If our request for the study files is pursued by the VA – and I think it will be – then it’ll get worse. His anger will be focused on us. How long does that last? I don’t know, but he can obviously hold a grudge. What’s it been since the Caufield incident – three months?”
“Yeah, May. You really think this could go on for three months?” Sue asked. She straightened her shirt like she was trying to smooth wrinkles that weren’t there.
I hung my head in thought for a moment, then looked up at the women. “Unfortunately, we might be talking about six months or more of watching our backs, although the next couple of weeks are probably the worst. In six months, our work is done and the VA will be closing the loop with Worthington, for better or for worse. If any threats become public before then, we can probably get some additional police presence.”
I gave them a moment to think about the situation, see if they had other questions or comments. When they didn’t, I said, “We’re obviously well outside standard operating procedure here. I’d like for both of you to seriously consider leaving the project for your own safety. If you do, we’ll make that fact known, hopefully insulating you from Worthington.”
Before I had even finished, both women were shaking their heads. “He’s not running me off,” said Nicole.
“Please sleep on it,” I said. “You can let me or Ken know anytime if you change your mind.”
The thought of offering Nicole refuge at my apartment flitted into my mind – you know, do the chivalrous thing. But immediately I felt my face warm at the connotations, as well as the absurdity. I knew how to handle a gun, having grown up on a farm where squirrel, duck, and quail hunting were among some of my favorite past-times. But I had not owned or touched one in years. Chivalrous becomes foolhardy, when the only protection I could offer was the Louisville slugger in my closet.
Fortunately, Nicole already had an option in mind. “I’ve been meaning to visit my aunt, who lives across the river in St. Charles. I can spend a couple of nights there and work out something more permanent.”
“OK,” I said. “I have a meeting with Ken tomorrow at 9:00. We should have general guidance from him by afternoon. Can we meet at 1:00? I’ll let you know how Ken reacted and we can review progress on our writing.”
Sue and Nicole concurred and we adjourned. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but I walked them out to their cars, then returned to my office. I wanted the report about Worthington’s behavior drafted before my meeting with Ken, so I had some writing to do. And because one of Ruger-Phillips’ primary lines of business was with the government, there was hardly any place in St. Louis that was safer. Worthington would have to be insane to try to pass our armed guards.
Unfortunately, perhaps he was.
Tuesday, August 11, 8:13 PM
I was getting tired, glad that my report on our meetings with Worthington was nearly complete. Even without checking, I knew everyone else had left for the day; the motion-controlled lighting in my wing of the building had gone dark, leaving only the aisles and my office in pools of illumination. My only companion was the soft whisper of automation – the slight whir of my computer, the quiet hum of the building’s air conditioning.
The still of the building made the ring of my phone seem louder than normal, and my head jerked up when it sounded. My heart started pounding. Was Sue in trouble? Did Nicole get hurt? I couldn’t live with myself if either of them came to harm because of this project.
“Hello,” I said, deviating from the standard office welcome due to the hour.
“Dr. Price?” The voice on the other end of the line was male, thick, and sluggish. I didn’t recognize him.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “This is Sam Price.”
“This is Dr. Worthington.”
I pulled the receiver from my face and stared at it. That couldn’t be right. I put it back to my ear. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat your name?”
“Dr. Ned Worthington…from WHT.”
Now prepared, I had listened closely. Stripped of the adrenaline-fueled fury of this afternoon, the voice on the line was indeed Worthington’s. I sat staring out my office window, seeing nothing.
Would he call me if he had harmed Sue or Nicole?
My hand ached. I looked at it, realizing I had been gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles were turning white. I took a deep breath, trying to relax.
“What can I do for you, Dr. Worthington?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at the office in the evening, but this is the only number I had. We need to talk.”
Something in his tone said this wasn’t a ransom negotiation or a threat. It sounded like…regret. But for what? Were his next words going to be, ‘I only meant to scare her?’ The wave of anxiety that had flooded my body changed to anger at the thought.
I found it impossible to sit. I got up and paced the two steps it took to reach the end of the phone cord. I took another breath to steady myself, to try to lessen the pounding in my chest. “OK,” I said slowly. “What’s t
he problem.”
“Things have gotten out of hand,” Worthington said. “I don’t know how I could have become so…,” he hesitated several seconds, perhaps searching for a word. “So dominated by my work.”
My emotions morphed again, settling on confusion this time. I walked the two paces back to my desk. “What is it you want from me?”
“There’s no one else I can turn to,” he said. His speech was still slow, cautious, as if he was picking his way through a minefield of thoughts. “People don’t understand and it takes so long to explain. Some never see it, but I can tell. You’re starting to. My world is about to collapse and I fear for my life. But even more, I fear for the lives of those around me. You’ve got to help me.”
Could this really be a cry for help? I wasn’t sure, and I now regretted not taking at least one class in abnormal or counseling psychology during all my years of education. But then, that might not have helped either. There was a good chance – better than 50-50 in my mind – that Worthington suffered from a self-inflicted, electronic manipulation of his nervous system, the likes of which no one had ever seen. If so, there would be no standard diagnoses or prescribed treatment plans in any text.
But what line should I take? I didn’t want to ignore him, if there was even a remote possibility he was seeking help. I also wanted to avoid anything that might nudge him back into a blind rage. I started hesitantly, “I’m not a clinical psychologist, as I believe you know. But you’re right – my background and work on this project have given me some insight into what you’re doing. Maybe, you and I, working with someone with an appropriate professional background, could get things under control.”
The thought of a team of people to treat him, several standing by with syringes loaded with powerful sedatives, if necessary, was a comforting image right now.
Worthington hesitated. Finally, he said, “Yes, I suppose that would work. I want to avoid making this a circus. I’ve hurt enough people already. Is it possible that you could come by my home this evening, and we can discuss where this might occur? And who might be involved?”
Of Half a Mind Page 9