They came over to the car and let me out, but only to transfer me to the back of a squad car. I was burning with the desire to tell them what was really going on and how the detective was the real killer, but he’d already primed them to think I was crazy if I started talking about that, so I just kept it inside. I knew from watching cop shows that it doesn’t accomplish anything to protest your innocence to arresting officers anyway. They don’t care. And why should they? It’s not their job to determine guilt or innocence.
That’s left up to the judge and jury. So anything you say to the cops is a waste of time and breath. As it turns out, everything I said to anybody about this case was wasted effort. My court-appointed attorney couldn’t find any reference to any of the things I told him about. He said he couldn’t find Lisa’s question, or my answer. I’m not sure if he even bothered looking. He also said there was no record of a moanalisa86 anywhere online. And he couldn’t find anything in The Wayback Machine.
My prints were on the knife. Lisa’s blood was on and under my fingernails. My saliva was found on her left breast. And hair matching mine was on the carpet near her body. It was not only an open and shut case, but the prosecutor made me sound like the most vile of killers, suggesting that I had sucked on one of her breasts while stabbing the other. If I had been in the jury, I would’ve voted to hang me too.
I guess you could say I got lucky though. Since Ketamine was found in my system, along with alcohol, my public defender argued that I had blacked out and didn’t know what I had done, so he negotiated with the District Attorney and got me a deal for a reduced charge of 2nd Degree Murder, meaning I hadn’t pre-meditated the killing of the poor girl.
Now I’m doing fifteen to life for a crime I didn’t commit. My only crime was offering advice to a stranger on the internet. I posted a single paragraph to help a total stranger. And now, life as I once knew it is over.
My cellmate is petitioning for the inmates to get internet access like they have in some other states. Every prisoner in here is looking forward to the day they can get online.
Except for me.
All I can think about now is my mother’s advice when I was a kid. She always said, “Don’t talk to strangers.”
###
The CEO
The sirens had long since faded out and were never heard again. The only sound on the street came from the rustling of windblown debris, like the page from a newspaper that skittered to a stop against the CEO’s legs. He bent down and picked it up, reading the headline at the top of the page. It was about the plummeting stock market. Old news. He turned a little to the side and spread his fingers, letting the paper fly away. He turned further, looking behind him at the skyline in the distance. New York was his town. It was his playing field. He practically owned it. Dollars ruled, and he had billions. His money was securely stored in banks in multiple countries, but it couldn’t help him now.
Looking at the skyscraper he owned, his mind drifted to thoughts of his empire and the power he wielded. With just a few words, he could change lives – for better, or worse. And he did, depending on how he felt at any given moment. There were times when he fired a person just for the rush he got from knowing that he turned someone’s little world upside down – because he could. It served as a reminder of the power he had. Less frequently, when he was in a good mood, he would surprise someone by giving them a bonus.
He had never lost his taste for the finer things in life, and he enjoyed indulging in luxuries, but he had to admit, it got boring after a while. Being the boss and making decisions wasn’t really work. It was more of a game, with the employees as pawns. Other business owners he dealt with were players on his side, and some were competitors. Most of them were weaker, smaller players, and winning all the time was another thing that got boring. There was something to be said for having a challenge; having to expend some effort to achieve something worthwhile. He’d had everything handed to him his entire life and never had to literally work for anything.
Up ahead, he saw two men standing next to a metal barrel with flames flickering around the top of it. They were roasting something that smelled like some kind of meat he didn’t recognize. The men were filthy and wore shabby clothes that looked like they’d been withdrawn from a landfill. As he got closer, he saw that they were holding sticks over the fire inside the barrel. Definitely cooking something, using the trashcan like a barbecue. It was hard to believe the depths to which people could sink. Filthy and stinking and eating roasted garbage. The sight of it made him sick with disgust, and yet, the closer he got, the more his mouth watered at the smell of flame-broiled meat. What was it they were cooking?
They watched him approach and appraised his clothing. He wore a custom-tailored Armani suit, Italian loafers, and a Rolex worth more than their annual salaries combined. They smiled as he stepped up and cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. Could you possibly spare some food? I haven’t eaten for a few days. I have money.”
“Your money’s no good. You should know that. What have you got to trade?”
The CEO reached into the pockets of his grimy pants and pulled out his keyring with the Jaguar fob. He looked at his keys with sadness, then dropped them on the ground. They were useless. His homes and his cars were gone. He opened his tattered suit coat and reached into the breast pocket. He withdrew his lambskin wallet and thumbed through its contents. Black and platinum credit cards and several crisp hundred dollar bills. Worthless. He shook out the cards and money. The cards scattered around his feet. The wind snatched the bills and carried them down the street. He offered them the empty wallet. They shook their heads.
“I don’t have anything,” he cried out, on the verge of tears, his stomach aching for food.
“Is that watch made of real gold?
The CEO drew back his frayed sleeve, exposing his watch. He slipped it off with his other hand.
“Yes. Yes, it is!” he said, holding it out to them.
The man closest to him looked at the other man who nodded.
“Okay. One squirrel for the watch. And half a bottle of water.” He handed over the stick with the charred meat skewered on the end of it and reached down for something by his feet. He came up with a plastic bottle half-filled with cloudy water and handed it over.
The CEO took them both, grateful for the chance to eat and drink, but at the same time, he worried about where his next meal would come from now that he’d traded away the only thing of value that he still owned. He had no practical skills, or anything with which to bargain in this post-nuclear world.
Even though he ate slowly, his meal only lasted a moment. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then drank the last of the water. He was about to toss the empty bottle into the burning trash barrel, but one of the men held up his hand, signaling him to stop. He realized that the bottle was a resource, so he screwed the cap onto it and stuffed it into his coat pocket, smiling. He was learning.
“Do you want to help us look for squirrels? We’ll split whatever we find.”
“Yes. I do. Thank you!”
It was turning out to be a great day. He’d eaten, and acquired a bottle, and he had made two friends who could teach him things. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so happy.
###
Lost Father
When Lisa hadn’t heard from her father in three days – no return calls, no text replies and no email responses - she drove to his house and found the front door open. She cautiously walked in without knocking, fearing what she’d find. She heard her father’s voice and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead. He was alive and talking to someone in his office. She went down the hall and started to enter his office then suddenly stopped.
“I know that’s what it looks like, but you know me better than that, babe.” After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been trying to say. You’re as smart as you are beautiful.” He was alone in the room and was not on the phone.
&n
bsp; Lisa stood watching, confused. He had to be on speakerphone. The room was silent. Maybe the person on the other end was thinking of what to say.
“Oh? That’s what you think,” her father said, laughing and smiling.
Okay, so he’s responding to someone who isn’t on speakerphone. He has to be wearing a Bluetooth headset on his other ear. She tapped gently on the door, not wanting to interrupt him, but also not wanting to stand there eavesdropping.
Her father turned at the sound, seemed to glance right through her as a question passed over his face like a shadow, then he turned his head away without even acknowledging her presence. When he briefly turned to face her, she saw that he was not wearing a headset on his other ear.
“I have been working on that. All my life, it seems.”
Who was he talking to? Lisa felt what she thought of as an irrational fear come over her.
“Dad,” she spoke loudly to get his attention for sure this time.
Her father reclined back in his chair, getting into the groove of a conversation he clearly seemed to be enjoying. But with whom? Lisa wondered. And why was he ignoring her?
“I fear I’ve wasted too much time trying to convince others of each thing that I was learning; not knowing that each of us learns our own lessons in our own time and you can’t really expect to be lucky enough to have someone right beside you on the same path.”
Lisa stepped into the room. She couldn’t take anymore of watching her dad clearly engaged in a conversation with someone but in a way that made no sense, and being ignored was creeping her out. Her dad never ignored her. She was his favorite person. At least she always had been up until three days ago. Now she wasn’t sure any more. Had her dad fallen so in love with someone? He didn’t even care that his daughter was standing in the same room with him.
“Well, it would be nice if we had a little help from time to time. Earth is so very difficult, and going it alone just makes it that much harder to make any progress. Even when you do make progress, you’re never sure, and there’s rarely anyone there to validate you and let you know you’re on the right path. Does everything have to be shrouded in doubt on top of mystery?”
“Dad! Look at me!” Lisa yelled, close to tears.
Her father laughed. “Well, yes, I did. But god damn it wasn’t easy. I went most of my life thinking I was fucking insane.”
The last word he spoke sent chills down Lisa’s body. It was a fear she hadn’t known she was feeling until it was brought to the surface by him speaking the word “insane.” She was afraid her father had lost his mind.
“Dad, speak to me. Right now. I’m serious. You’re scaring me!”
“Thank you. It’s nice to finally be acknowledged. What happens now?”
Lisa could not get over the surreal feeling of her dad saying things that echoed her feelings. She would love to be acknowledged – by him! And she also wondered what to do next. Something was seriously wrong here.
Drugs. He must be on something.
“Dad? Are you on something?”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“Is that it? Are you high on something, Dad? Please answer me.” Lisa started to cry. This situation was scaring her. She knew her dad had used drugs long ago, before she was born, but it was unlikely that he had started again at this age. And he didn’t appear to be on anything. Strangely, he had never looked better. His skin looked healthy. His eyes were bright and alert – except for their apparent inability to see her.
“Okay. In that case, I’m going to lie down and relax. It’s been a long life and I can’t wait for it to be over.”
Lisa thought she was scared before, but now she was terrified. Was her dad suicidal? Had he lost his mind and decided to kill himself? She had to do something, but she didn’t know what.
He got up from his desk chair and walked around the room, heading toward her where she was standing a few feet inside the doorway. He was looking through her again and she felt like she was going to scream if he didn’t see her and talk to her.
“Dad, I love you!” she yelled at him from just two feet away.
“How much? Please don’t tell me we have to start at the beginning.”
He bumped into her as if she wasn’t there at all as he went to walk through the doorway. Lisa stepped to the side and screamed in a terrified panic.
Lisa was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of her father’s house when the ambulance arrived. She was smoking one of her father’s cigarettes and coughing. She hadn’t smoked since she was in high school several years before. When the paramedics approached her, she tossed her half-smoked cigarette into the neatly cut lawn.
“You’ve got to help him,” she said as one of them approached her. The other one went to the back of the ambulance, opened the door and retrieved a bag.
“Is he inside?”
“Yes. He was laying on his bed, still talking to himself when I called you. I don’t know what’s wrong. My dad has always been the sanest person I’ve ever known, but now I think he’s lost his mind.” The fear that she’d been holding inside of her finally came out in a gush of tears as she spoke it aloud to another person.
“It’s okay, we’ll take care of him. Just show us where he is,” the paramedic said.
She led them inside and walked to the hallway, then pointed.
“The second room on the left,” she said, then her father laughed loudly and she shuddered. Was that the sound of a happy person, or a maniac? She hugged herself and cried as she watched the paramedics walk down the hall and into her father’s room. She feared that she’d somehow lost her father and might never see him again the way she’d always known him. She wanted to just wake up and have this be another normal, boring day.
“Thank you for coming, Lisa. I’m Dr. Hobbins. I’m pleased to meet you, but I’m sorry about the circumstances.” He extended his hand and she shook it with a weak grasp. “Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the two cloth-covered chairs in front of his desk. She glanced at the top of his desk and two words jumped out at her from the spine of a thick book titled: DSM-IV-TR Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
Mental Disorders
She tried to swallow a lump that suddenly formed in her throat. She sat down and began biting one of her nails, occasionally spitting out bits of fingernail and chips of polish without even thinking of about what she was doing.
“After your father’s seventy-two hour hold at County General, he was brought here and placed in my care.” Lisa withdrew her fingertip from mouth and started to speak. The doctor raised his hand and she stopped. “I’ll probably cover most of what you want to ask, but if I don’t, then you can let me know, but it will probably be faster and less painful if you let me finish first.”
Lisa nodded and looked at the light reflecting off of his bald head. She was breathing rapidly and feeling claustrophobic although the doctor’s office was fairly large and had windows with a view to wide expanse of green lawn with a busy street beyond it.
“Your father’s condition hasn’t changed at all. He hasn’t spoken directly to anyone since he was admitted to County General. He also hasn’t stopped conversing with someone that only he can see and hear. He appears completely oblivious to his physical surroundings and so naturally, he hasn’t eaten. We’re having to feed him intravenously for the time being.”
Lisa’s eyes became watery and threatened to drip tears. She went from biting on her fingernail to biting her fingertip, pressing down on the center of the nail with her teeth as much as she could stand the pain. She felt like she her mind was going to spin out of control and she’d be given her own room in the mental hospital. The pain from biting her finger helped to keep her grounded and focused.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but your father’s case is a bit remarkable. I’ve never seen anyone suffering from such a deep delusion engaged in what seems to be such a rational conversation – at least the half of it we can hear. It�
��s no different than listening to one side of a perfectly sane person having a conversation.”
Lisa squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at them with her knuckles which came away damp. She didn’t want to hear about how fascinating her father’s psychosis was.
“Nevertheless, he is quite delusional despite the unusual display of rational thought and intelligence. Your father may be a experiencing nothing more than a temporary psychotic break from which he could return to his normal healthy state of mind. If he does, he may have no memory of what has happened, or he may recall it as one would a dream. That’s the best case we can hope for. It’s also possible that he’s suffering from a sudden onset of schizophrenia, in which case, there is treatment, medication, and therapy that can assist him with managing his illness.”
Despite being in a daze of unreality, because there was no way this could be happening to her or to her father, Lisa understood that she really didn’t know anything more now than she knew before she had come here. They didn’t know what was wrong with her father, and that meant they couldn’t help him. Not really.
“Is there any history of mental illness in your father’s side of the family?”
“No. None at all.” She removed her fingertip from her mouth and began biting the first layer of skin in the center of her upper lip.
“Does your father use, or has he ever used hallucinogenic drugs?”
“Um, I know he smoked pot before and I think he used cocaine a long time ago.” With every question she answered, the doctor wrote something in a chart. She hated the sound of the pencil lead moving across the paper. She wished he would use a pen.
“Has he been under considerable strain or experienced any unusually stressful events lately?”
“No. Not that I know of. My father has always been perfectly sane – saner than most people, in fact. He doesn’t even allow people with “drama issues” as he calls it, into his life. He’s a very calm, peaceful and happy man.” Lisa was aware that she was speaking in a present tense way that didn’t describe her father in present time.
Undermind: Nine Stories Page 9