Docile

by K. M. Szpara

  “I know what this is.” I hold out my hand and Vazquez meets my gaze. Decides to trust me. “I’ll explain.” I close my hands around the creased leather cover, brush my thumb over the exposed paper edges, flip to the first page. “Exhibit D,” I say. “Elisha Wilder’s notebook, which I made him keep while he lived with me. I gave it to him, initially, to write down the rules I mentioned.”

  There they are, numbered 1 through 7 in his careful print. As I flip through the pages, his handwriting evolves. Letters join together more frequently throughout the hundreds of notes and supplemental rules. The thousands of lines.

  “What kind of rules?” Vasquez asks.

  I trace my finger over the dents his pen made on the paper. “I ordered him not to ask questions, to always answer me aloud, keep himself groomed, not to lie, gave him protocol on how to behave in public situations—sitting on the floor beside my chair, for example. But also to let me know if he ever felt sick or hurt. There were more—Elisha wrote them all down, so he’d remember them, even if I can’t. They were things I’d say on the fly, like not to bite his fingernails or bounce his knee under the table.”

  Vasquez takes the notebook from me and walks it back to the defense table. She turns and faces me square. “What was the intention behind these rules?”

  I feel like my heart is going to explode when I say, “To modify his behavior.”

  Murmurs fill the hall until the judge bangs his gavel and asks for silence. “Continue,” he says.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Bishop, what do you mean by that? Can you explain?”

  I look at her and only her. “I knew I would be humiliated and that the Board would take control away from me if I was unable to guarantee Elisha’s compliance, so I trained him.”

  “Trained him?”

  “Yes, like you would train a dog. I even used similar techniques.” I risk a glimpse at my father. His jaw is set, eyes are trained on me. “He had no reason to trust me—I’m pretty sure he even told me he didn’t like me. I didn’t blame him, but I also didn’t care. I was strict with him, following through on punishments when he broke a rule—no matter how small or accidental.”

  “Is that all?” Vasquez bites her lip. Her excitement emboldens me.

  “No. The level of loyalty I was aiming for wouldn’t be earned only with negative reinforcement.”

  “What else did you do?”

  I shrug. “I made him like me. I showed him that I was willing to reward good behavior with more freedom, fun experiences, a more casual atmosphere, and so on.”

  “Your friends and experts have testified that Elisha changed you, is that true?”

  “Yes,” I say, “but not the way they’d lead you to believe.”

  This time, I look square at Elisha. I haven’t since he entered the room. He sits on the edge of his seat, lips parted. Dressed like I haven’t seen him in a while, in a suit. Brown tweed, well tailored, court appropriate, and yet earthy. He’s clean shaven, but his hair is longer than I ever allowed. A strand hangs, ready to fall in front of his eyes as he watches me.

  “I fell in love with him,” I say to Elisha. A warm blush spreads across his cheeks before he looks down at his clasped hands. Those words don’t mean what they used to. We both know we shouldn’t feel that way, if we even do. But Elisha glances up at me and touches his hand to his heart. Something still remains.

  “At your deposition,” Vasquez continues, “you testified otherwise.”

  “I said that because I had to, in order to please my father and the Board. They’d taken everything away from me, overnight. I was only trying to survive.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Reginald says.

  “He’s your client, counselor,” the judge says, unimpressed.

  Vasquez presses on, seamlessly. “Can you explain how you fell in love with Elisha?”

  “It was my own doing. I bought him clothes I liked, gave him hobbies I enjoyed. Tailored him into the perfect lover. He softened into the role, over time. It was like making a boyfriend in my own image, only he never refused me and did whatever he was told. In that way, he wasn’t a boyfriend at all—he was clearly a Docile—but I loved him like one.”

  “So why did you amend your contract and send Elisha home?”

  “I was misguided for a long time—my whole life, actually. Even though I was raised around Dociles, including some that became my good friends, I never questioned anything. Never questioned myself. One day, though, late in our time together, I went on a date. In the back of my mind, I knew my feelings for Elisha were inappropriate, and I was desperate to prove otherwise. But my date mistreated him. Hurt him, physically, and discounted his role in my life. I woke up so quickly. In that moment, I saw what I had done. I knew that if I genuinely cared about Elisha, the right thing to do was to get him as far away from me as possible.”

  “What happened after that?” Vasquez asks, leading me gently forward.

  “My dad showed up and told me he’d had a judge declare me incompetent—”

  “Your Honor! What he’s alleging—”

  I don’t stop, leaning closer to the microphone. “—put me under a conservatorship, and committed me to Ellicott Hart. I had no hand in this complaint, and would never have forced it on Elisha and his family. As far as I’m concerned, this whole lawsuit is a farce.”

  Reginald jumps to his feet. “This has gone on for far too long.”

  “Alex Bishop is his client, as Your Honor has pointed out. I have not led him on or asked any inappropriate questions. I have a right to—”

  “Your Honor, I move to strike the testimony of my client. As he stated, he’s been declared incompetent. He has no business on the stand.”

  The judge surveys us from his throne. “I’m going to let the jury decide how credible Dr. Bishop is. They have your expert reports and his deposition testimony. He’s one of the plaintiffs. He is allowed to speak on the record if he wants.”

  Reginald sits with such fervor, the chair skids backwards with a loud screech.

  “You may continue, Ms. Vasquez.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” She returns to me. “Alex, before I dismiss you, I wanted to revisit your opinions on Dociline.”

  “Okay.”

  She picks up the transcript from her table. “During your deposition, you testified that Dociline is, quote, ‘a wonderful invention that I’m honored to have participated in developing. It’s changed a lot of lives. Helped a lot of people.’ When asked about the new formula you said, ‘We were making good progress, when I last worked on it,’ despite your notes reflecting otherwise. You also said you ‘still think there’s a good version of Dociline.’ Do you still believe that?”

  I glance at Elisha again. “Yes and no. I think Dociline perpetuates a harmful debt system, rather than helping it, though I am sure that individuals have been relieved by the existence of Dociline. And, honestly, I’m not sure what our current debt resolution system would look like without Dociline. Is it more or less humane to ask that people pay their debts off, fully aware of the drudgery or horror they’re experiencing? Our society is broken, and I don’t know how to fix it. But I do know that Dociline can hurt people.”

  “You know as in you have a specific example?”

  “Yes. Abigail Bishop.”

  “You testified during your deposition that even though you observed her at her home, you were unable to say for certain that Dociline had caused her disability.”

  “Since then, I’ve had a chance to meet with and further evaluate her.”

  “You have?” Vasquez looks pleasantly surprised, though I assume she’s faking it. After all, Abigail Wilder is sitting with the other defendants, more aware and alert than she’s been in over a decade. Surely he told his family rather than letting them believe she miraculously came out of it.

  Harsh whispers draw my gaze to the plaintiffs’ table. To my father’s scowl. After this, they’ll probably lock me in my room. Might as well spill everything while I’m sti
ll able.

  “Yes,” I say. “When I met Abigail at her home, she exhibited several characteristics that on-med Dociles do: a willingness to obey, memory loss. Well, not memory loss, more like memory difficulties? And her eyes looked glossy, dazed. Like she wasn’t fully there. On-meds can look ‘off’ like that, but not to the same extent. Abigail acted more like a broken doll than an on-med. I offered to examine her medically, but her husband refused my help.”

  “So, when did you…”

  Forget locking me in my room; the second I reveal this, I’m fired. My time at Bishop Labs? Over. I’ll be surprised if they let me back in to pick up my things. All I can do is omit Jess’ and Dylan’s names so they won’t face the same or worse. Dutch has already been fired. I omit his name to spare him the “or worse.”

  “Several weeks later. I was able to visit Elisha for the first time after my dad committed me to Ellicott Hart, and offered the same help to him. He agreed and we secured a neutral meeting place, where I could run some tests.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Honestly, the results were shoddy at best. You have to understand that, at Bishop Labs, we normally utilize control off-meds, a fully stocked and staffed lab, and so on. Elisha and I did this in an empty apartment building with scrounged supplies. The most I learned is that there was still Dociline running through her veins. Commercial Dociline is manufactured to maintain efficacy for two weeks before leaving the body. I have every reason to believe the Dociline in her blood contributed to her disability.”

  “Well, she looks better.”

  “She does.” I breathe deep, sit tall, puff up my chest in preparation for what I’m about to say. I’ve already crossed a line, but that doesn’t mean I can’t cross another one. “Because I developed a treatment to counteract the effects Dociline has wrought on Abigail Wilder’s body, over the last fourteen years.”

  Half the courtroom gasps, including Eugenia, who immediately stands up and dashes for the door, notes in hand. Her heels click down the aisle as those around her murmur, the volume rising. Even the jury—even my lawyers. Only Elisha’s family and my father do not react. His, because they already knew. Mine, because the words are so blasphemous he cannot process them. How much anger and disappointment can one man contain?

  The judge bangs his gavel and shouts, “Silence!” until the room simmers down.

  Dad looks straight ahead, the whole time, as if I’m not there. I don’t dare try to get his attention. Not now, anyway.

  “Your Honor.” Reginald stands. “Given this … new information, plaintiffs request to adjourn for the day.”

  “Defense, do you consent or oppose?” the judge asks.

  Vasquez confers with Elisha and his parents, then says, “We consent.”

  “Good.” The judge smacks his gavel down. “Then this court is adjourned until tomorrow at nine a.m. in this same courtroom. Dismissed. Dr. Bishop, you can go.”

  “Sorry,” I whisper, before standing up and making my way clumsily out of the witness stand and back toward my seat. I keep my eyes on the empty wooden chair as if it’ll disappear if I look away. My heart pounds in my chest, suit feels increasingly hot, as I join my father and attorneys. I busy myself with my jacket, while I wait, putting it on slowly, patting my pockets—not that I have anything.

  I follow Dad and my attorneys from the courtroom, down the hall and the winding staircase. Still, no one speaks to me, nor do they speak to one another. Outside, a mob of press awaits, shoving microphones in our faces. I don’t speak to any of them; I follow Dad to the car. He gets in the back, meets my eyes, and says, “Find your own way home.” The door slams in my face.

  73

  ELISHA

  Verónica and I are going over my expected testimony, that evening, when we see the news recap. Alex’s face fills the television at Empower Maryland. I straighten up, abandoning our notes for the remote control. Several groups of people look between me and the television as I stand and the volume rises.

  “Dr. Bishop!” Microphones thrust into Alex’s space like weapons. He stands alone at the edge of the sidewalk, as his father’s car pulls away. I watch, waiting for another to pull up, but it doesn’t happen.

  Below the image, a headline scrolls past: Alex Bishop—“I quit.”

  Verónica gives up trying to reclaim our attention and looks over her shoulder.

  “Haven’t we seen enough of him?” Dad asks.

  “David,” Nora and Mom say, both scowling at him.

  Abby joins me as I walk closer to the television. “What’s he doing?” she asks.

  “I think…” On-screen, Alex beckons to a reporter I recognize. Chadwick Bell. “He’s with the—”

  “City Paper,” the reporter says.

  “Alex hates this guy,” I say. “He always hounded us.”

  “Doesn’t seem to hate him, now,” Abby says.

  “Dr. Bishop, what did your father say?”

  “He said to find my own way home.” Alex looks past the camera, as if it’s not even there.

  “Why would he say that?”

  “Because I just testified that—” Alex focuses, now. I watch him compose himself for the cameras like he’s done thousands of times. Smoothing his hair back, straightening the cuffs of his jacket, fondling his tie clip. “Most of you don’t know that I just testified that it’s likely Dociline had an adverse effect on Abigail Wilder’s health and that, when he was my Docile, I intentionally modified Elisha Wilder’s behavior so he’d be easier to control.”

  Chadwick’s face lights up like a kid who just got a pony for his birthday. “How do you think these revelations will influence your work at Bishop Labs?”

  Alex snorts. Snorts, on live television. At least, it was live, this morning. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me his father kicked him out. I feel oddly proud.

  “I don’t work for Bishop Labs, anymore.” He crosses his arms, confidently.

  “You don’t?” Chadwick asks.

  “I’m pretty sure I was just fired, but if I wasn’t, let me be clear: I quit. I can no longer work for Bishop Labs. I cannot unknow everything I’ve learned, this year, and I cannot continue on the same trajectory, given that knowledge.”

  “So, what are you going to do, now?”

  “When he was with me, I told Elisha Wilder that we all change every day. I’m sorry I had to change him for the worse in order to change myself for the better. I’ll never make everything up to him, and his mother, and the City of Baltimore, but I’m going to try. I have no idea how; ask me again in a month—or a year. Right now, I just need to figure out where I’m going to sleep.” The horde of microphones shove forward, again, as Alex turns away from them, looks both ways, and crosses the street.

  I press my hand over the pocket where my phone rests, resisting the urge to call Alex. What would I tell him? That I’m proud of him? It feels strange, but I am. He testified against his own family. He quit the job that consumed his life. Struck out on his own.

  “Come on.” Mom waves Abby and me back to the table. “Let’s focus, so Verónica can finish preparing for tomorrow.”

  Before we can sit down, the news anchors pull back from Alex’s footage and turn to a video of—“Wait, that’s Mariah. Alex’s friend Mariah VanBuren. She’s a trillionaire. And she’s awful.” I turn the volume up.

  “—I am dismayed to report that, tonight, during an emergency Board meeting, Bishop Laboratories voted to relieve Alexander Bishop of his duties as CEO. Though he was already operating on a provisional status, today’s display, both on the witness stand and the steps of the courthouse, showed how unstable Dr. Bishop has become over the past year.”

  “Unstable?” Abby says, shocked. She’s not used to the way Mariah twists words. Abuses her power. “I might not like Alex, but he seems more stable now than when—”

  “Shh!” Verónica quiets Abby. “I want to hear what else she says.”

  On-screen, the interviewer asks, “Are you worried about this alle
ged treatment?”

  “Not at all,” Mariah says. “Bishop Labs maintains the stance that Dociline played no part in harming Abigail Wilder, assuming anything was ever wrong with her to begin with. Additionally, we would not consider any drug Dr. Bishop alleges to have created safe or viable. Only a few weeks ago, he was declared incompetent by a city judge, placed under a conservatorship, and involuntarily committed to a private mental health facility. Nothing Dr. Bishop says about Dociline or Abigail Wilder should be trusted.” She turns to face the camera. “Alex, if you’re listening.”

  “Dear god, she’s good,” Verónica mutters.

  “Please seek help. Know that if you contact Ellicott Hart, there’s still a room waiting for you. We only want the best for you and are sorry that meant ties needed to be severed—”

  “I have an idea,” Verónica says, pressing the mute button. She grabs a binder labeled “Medical Records” off the table. “I think Empower Maryland should release these to the public. I’m friendly with Chadwick Bell at City Paper—the one who interviewed Alex. I bet if we hand these off to him, today, he could give us a damn good write-up. Push it tomorrow morning. Really throw plaintiffs’ counsel off their game.

  “Obviously, they’d need Abigail’s consent,” Verónica continues. “What do you think?” She’s already getting out her phone when she looks to Mom for her answer.

  Mom turns to me, as if I know better. I don’t; Verónica’s the expert. “It’s up to you,” I say. “This could be our only chance to prove to the world how unsafe Dociline is. Right now, people care. If they listen, we could help other debtors.”

  Dad takes her hand. “I’m not usually into this media stuff, but what Verónica and Elisha said make sense.”

  Mom nods to herself, then says, “Yes. Let’s do it. I’ll sign whatever you need.”

  74

  ELISHA