Mania

by Craig Larsen

  chapter 29

  Nick was aware of the handsome doctor scrutinizing him. It felt as if the man’s eyes were able to penetrate his skull. He was convinced that the psychiatrist was able to see everything that he was seeing. The thought scared him at first, but then began to comfort him. It would be nice to have an ally, someone who understood what he had been going through since his brother’s murder. Nick clung to the edge of the cashmere daybed where he was lying down, one foot on the floor, his head propped up on a comfortable cushion, his eyes wide open. The doctor had begun the session by pulling the blackout shades closed, but Nick had asked him to open them again. He wanted the daylight. He had begun to fear darkness of any kind.

  “You knew my brother,” Nick said. He tried to remember why he had spoken the words, then recalled the doctor’s first question: So what brings you down here to see me, Nicholas? “People call me Nick,” he said, only vaguely aware how scattered his speech sounded.

  “Yes, I did know your brother,” Barnes said. His voice was soft but very firm, and once again Nick found himself comforted by the doctor’s presence. This man would not let him stray.

  “Were you friends?”

  “I wouldn’t say so, no. We knew each other professionally. Your brother was developing a series of drugs based on some genetic coding his company had under patent. It’s groundbreaking, really, the research he was doing. I was working with the company on the psychiatric side. As a consultant. I got to know your brother that way.”

  “He wanted me to come here and see you, too.”

  “Did he?”

  “The night he was murdered, he mentioned your name to me. I don’t remember much from that night. Just images. Visions.”

  “It’s not unusual for a person to suppress the memory of a traumatic event, Nick.”

  “But I do remember Sam mentioning your name to me,” Nick continued, as if the doctor hadn’t spoken. “Telling me that I should come talk to you.”

  The doctor didn’t try to fill the silence. He was sitting in a large leather easy chair, one leg crossed over the other, a pad of paper in his hands. With his long hair and broad, handsome face, he didn’t look like a psychiatrist. He looked more like a movie star, Nick thought. When Nick at last closed his eyes, the image of the doctor reclining in his chair, entirely relaxed, waiting for him to continue, remained with him.

  “And then I saw you. Down at the Hudson Hotel. Do you remember?”

  “Yes, I remember you.”

  “In the bathroom, with those three men. You came in, and they backed off.”

  “I remember.”

  “Did you know Jackson Ferry?”

  “Yes.”

  Nick opened his eyes. The doctor’s demeanor hadn’t changed. His legs were still crossed, and he was holding the pad of paper in front of him on his knee, doodling something that Nick couldn’t see. “You did?”

  “One of the things I do, Nick,” Barnes responded, “is run a clinic for the city of Seattle, in conjunction with the emergency shelters. Basically, we offer counseling and treatment to people who can’t afford psychological help themselves. Jackson was one of my patients. I saw him personally a few times, in fact, before referring him to one of the other residents.”

  When Nick once again closed his eyes, the image of Ferry’s ravaged face emerging from the shadows leapt from the recesses of his mind. The homeless man’s breathing was short, raspy. Determined. He grunted as he reached the two brothers, raising the knife in the air. Nick put himself in front of him, but Ferry wasn’t coming for Nick. He stabbed the knife deliberately at Sam. Nick intercepted him, grabbing the homeless man’s wrist. The stench of the man’s filthy clothes filled Nick’s nostrils. He wanted to vomit. The rags on the man’s hands felt oily and wet, his red, puffy cheek grazed up against Nick’s as Nick fought to stop him. Nick opened his eyes. For a moment the vision continued to blind him, and he twisted abruptly on the daybed, dropping his other foot to the floor.

  “What is it, Nick?”

  The doctor’s voice yanked Nick back into the present. A thin shaft of sunlight was streaming through the sheer curtains, reaching weakly across the parquet floor. Barnes must have been aware of Nick’s distress, but he remained at ease. Nick relaxed. The doctor’s calm radiated from him with palpable warmth. Nick stretched his neck and tried to loosen his shoulders. He balled and then unclasped his hands. “I don’t know, Dr. Barnes,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “You’re fighting it,” the doctor said to him.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Stop fighting it.” The doctor spoke without inflection. “Whatever it is that’s happening, it’s something your mind wants. Something your mind needs. It’s like jumping into a cold pool of water. If you fight it, it only gets worse. Once you relax and accept the cold, you’ll get used to it. You’ll be able to swim. You’ll be able to see what it is that your subconscious mind is trying to tell you.”

  Nick became aware of his hands digging into the soft cashmere upholstery of the daybed.

  “Relax, Nick. Relax your hands.”

  Once again Nick was struck with the impression that the doctor was able to see inside him.

  “Why don’t you start by trying to remember what happened to you that night? The night your brother was killed. Tell me what you see. Tell me what it is that’s haunting you.”

  Nick had Jackson Ferry by the wrist. He was squeezing so hard it felt as if he would crush the homeless man’s bones. Nick’s eyes were fastened on the steel knife. The light from the street lamp overhead was glistening on the blade, giving it an oily sheen. Nick had caught Ferry’s other arm with his free hand, but the man twisted free. He was larger than Nick, at least a few inches taller. Ferry made a strange noise in his throat. An animal sound, like a baboon’s vicious growl. Everything was happening so fast. Ferry had come at them out of nowhere. Nick was losing his grip. “Get him, Sam,” Nick managed to say. “Help me.” A second later, the homeless man overpowered him. Nick was on the ground underneath him, and the taller, stronger man was kicking him in the ribs. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but Ferry’s feet felt as sharp and heavy as clumps of steel. It felt to Nick as if the man was breaking his rib cage. There was a blur of motion above him, and he raised his hands to protect his face.

  “Jackson!” Sam was shouting. “Stop it, Jackson. Stop it. You’ll kill him.”

  How was it that Sam knew the man’s name?

  Ferry turned, and the blade of the knife scintillated like a jewel as it arced through the black air. Nick heard it slice into his brother’s stomach. Blood splattered into Nick’s eyes. Sam stumbled, then fell. Nick clambered to his knees. Turning on him once again, Ferry’s foot seemed frozen for a split second in front of his face. Nick had the feeling he should be able to avoid the kick. Then the foot was connecting with his forehead, splintering his skull. And Nick lost consciousness.

  When he awoke, he was facedown on the asphalt of the parking lot, a few chunks of gravel stuck to his cheek. Something was caught between his lip and his teeth, and when he tried to move his mouth to speak, sharp needles of pain shot through his jaw. He became aware of a rustling sound behind him, and then the sensation of movement at his feet. When he began to turn around, the homeless man plunged an iron foot into the small of his back, shoving him down into the asphalt again, grinding his cheek against the gritty pavement. You and I are brothers. Nick tried one more time to twist around. He had to know whether the man was actually speaking these words to him or whether he was imagining them. You don’t know what’s real and what isn’t, the voice said, and Nick became convinced that it was just a hallucination. How else would the man have known what he was thinking? The man’s foot was still resting on the small of his back, and he shoved him forward again, even more violently. Nick felt the skin peel from his face.

  He turned over when the man let him go, but he didn’t try to stand. His ribs were bruised, and he was having difficulty breathing. He raised hi
s head off the ground and watched the man sit down on the asphalt between Sam and him and strap on the Nikes he had yanked from Nick’s feet.

  Nick closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was hunched over his brother’s body. Ferry was gone. The knife was lying on the ground beside him. Sam was bleeding profusely, his head twisted to one side, a trickle of blood leaking from his mouth. Nick’s hands were shaking as he reached down toward his brother’s battered face, thinking to caress him, perhaps to look for a pulse. His fingers were just above his cheek. He was about to touch Sam’s face when the cell phone in Sam’s jacket began to ring.

  And Sam opened his eyes.

  “Sam was still alive,” Nick said. “Ferry didn’t kill him.”

  “Are you sure?” Barnes asked him.

  Nick closed his eyes, trying to remember. “The knife was lying on the ground next to him.”

  “Ferry is a strong man. Maybe Sam didn’t die right away. But if Ferry stabbed him, the wound was probably enough to kill your brother.”

  “No.” Nick shook his head. “When the police arrived, the knife was in my brother’s chest.” Nick opened his eyes. “With my fingerprints on it.”

  “I’m not sure how much faith you should place in your own memory, Nick. It’s possible that your mind is inventing the images you think you’re remembering. Like when you dream.”

  The rush of images that had washed over Nick had released him from the daze he had been in, at least temporarily. “What’s happening to me?”

  The doctor looked down at the pad of paper in front of him, propped still on his knee. “Honestly, Nick?”

  Nick waited.

  “There’s no way to sugarcoat this. What you have described to me sounds like the onset of schizophrenia.”

  Nick let the import of Barnes’s words sink in. “But I’m twenty-nine years old, Dr. Barnes.”

  “It’s not uncommon for schizophrenia to manifest itself in males in their late twenties. Normally, there are some warning signs, but not always.” The doctor narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me that you’ve had no forewarning? A traumatic episode in your childhood, perhaps? Some indication that you might be predisposed to a change like this in your psyche?”

  For a split second Nick was standing on the frozen lake in his skates, his hockey stick in his hand. The man in black was sinking beneath the surface of the icy water. Then Sam was fishing his hockey stick from the hole and prodding the corpse, forcing the lifeless body under the slab of ice.

  “I’m not saying it is schizophrenia,” Barnes said. “Listen to me carefully. I’m saying that it sounds like the early onset of the illness, that’s all. There are a series of tests and evaluations we have to do. And then, if it is schizophrenia, you’ll receive treatment. In the meantime, what you need more than anything else is rest. You’ve been through incredible stress. You’re exhausted. It’s evident in your face. In your eyes.” The doctor stood up and walked to his desk, where he picked up a small brown bottle with a white cap. He wrote a few words onto its label in a difficult-to-read scrawl. “These are pretty powerful tranquillizers. Take one at night before you get into bed.” He smiled. “You’ll be asleep in a few minutes, and you’ll sleep the entire night.”

  Nick looked at the clock on the wall. He couldn’t quite believe that two full hours had passed. “Sara will be waiting for me,” he said, straightening up. He took the small bottle from the doctor’s hand.

  “You’re lucky to have her. She’s been through quite a bit herself. So she knows what it feels like to be you, Nick. Don’t be afraid to trust her with your feelings. She’ll take care of you.”

  Nick turned to leave the room.

  “Millicent will make another appointment for you on your way out. I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have medical insurance.”

  “Forget about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Doctor,” Nick said. Barnes had already sat back down at his desk, though, and was shuffling through a few papers, and he didn’t seem to have heard him.

  Nick felt a wave of gratitude course through his body when he opened the door to the outer office and found Sara still seated there where he had left her. She could so easily have moved on. She could so easily have had anyone else she wanted. Nick knelt down in front of her and took her cool, smooth hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You make me want to be a man you can be proud of,” he said.

  “I am proud of you, darling,” she said. Then she pulled him up off his knees and locked her arms around his neck. “I need you, too. Just as much as you need me.”

  chapter 30

  “Pack a weekend bag,” Sara said. It was ten-thirty in the morning, and she had already been out for coffee. She sat down on the side of the bed with an expectant smile on her face, waiting for Nick to open his eyes. Ever since seeing Barnes a few days before, Nick had not only been sleeping through the night, he had been waking up later and later. He was taking the tranquillizers Barnes had given him, and the doctor had put him on a couple of other medications as well. Nick was looking rested again. The insurance money had come through on Sam’s life insurance policy, and Nick was feeling safer, more comfortable in his skin.

  He rolled over in bed. Sara’s weight on the mattress had disturbed him, and her voice was slowly penetrating his consciousness. He woke with a bewildered smile on his face, shielding his eyes from the soft sunlight streaming into the room.

  “You opened the curtains,” he said to her.

  “It’s time to get up,” she said. Sara looked around the bedroom they had been sharing for the past weeks. The sunlight revealed a huge mess. “It’s time for a little change of scenery.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Pack a weekend bag,” she repeated, “and you’ll see.”

  In Sara’s car half an hour later, Nick twisted around to make certain he had tossed his heavy black wool sweater onto the backseat. Sara had told him they were heading up to her parents’ cabin on San Juan Island in the Puget Sound. Two weeks before Christmas, it was going to be cold. Sara slowed the huge car down. They were heading south on Highway 5 toward the private airport at Renton, the tall buildings of downtown Seattle whizzing by on either side of them. “My parents are going to be there,” Sara said solemnly.

  “What?”

  Sara took his hand. “I want this relationship to mean something,” she said, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go.

  Nick was thunderstruck. The thought of seeing Jason Hamlin sent a small frisson of panic shooting through his chest, and once again he twisted around, this time to double-check that he had packed his pills. An image of the brown plastic bottle with the handwritten label filled his mind. He told himself that he had definitely packed the various medicines. It would be silly to check. Reaching backward over the seat anyway, he pulled his small suitcase from beneath his heavy wool sweater and unzipped the center pocket.

  “Nick?”

  He ignored her. His heart was racing. He couldn’t find the black toiletry bag where he had stowed his medicines. He had been certain that he had packed it into the center pocket, on top of his running shoes.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” Sara said. “I thought maybe it would help if you got to know my parents better. To stabilize everything, I mean. And I’m sure they want to get to know you, too.”

  Nick tried to slow himself down as he searched his suitcase. He didn’t want to alarm Sara any more than he already had. “I—don’t worry,” he said. “I am glad.” He unzipped the side pocket, then pulled out a few of the T-shirts he had packed, at last unearthing the small black toiletry bag. Taking a deep breath, he twisted back around. Closing and then opening his eyes, he concentrated on his heart rate the way Barnes had counseled when he felt a panic attack approaching. “I am glad, Sara,” he repeated, measuring his words. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you trust me with this—and that you want me to spend time with your family.”<
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  When Nick closed his eyes, an unbidden image filled his head. The knife that had killed his brother, protruding from Sam’s chest, his own fingers clamped around its handle. Blood was seeping from the wound around the entry point of the long, shiny blade.

  Startled, he opened his eyes. This was the first hallucination he had experienced in the last couple of days. He turned toward Sara to replace the vision with her face. Concern flashed in her eyes, but her gentle confidence reassured him. “I just don’t want to make a mistake with them,” he said. You murdered your own brother. Nick paused, gritting his teeth, trying to erase the voice echoing inside his head. The knife was still on the ground when Ferry left. “This is a big step, and I haven’t been well. You know that. I don’t know whether I’m ready.”

  “You’ve been doing so much better,” Sara said. “You can do this, Nick. I know you can.”

  He smiled at her, watching her profile as she drove. To some extent Nick knew she was right. If this relationship was going to go anywhere, it was now or never. He took a deep breath and turned to face the windshield again, watching the road as Sara pulled off the highway into Renton. His head was clear. Sara was absolutely correct, he would be fine.

  A few minutes later, they were pulling up to the small airport on the south side of Lake Washington, where a small fleet of seaplanes was berthed along wide wooden piers, bobbing like toys in the calm waters of the bay. Nick stepped out of the car. The air was crisp and cool and salty, and he made a pledge to himself to remain calm and focused, grounded in the present.

  Hamlin gripped Nick’s sweaty hand in his own larger, dry hand so tightly it was uncomfortable. Nick understood that he hadn’t been expecting anyone with Sara. “Nice to see you again,” the silver-haired man said. Nick sensed his disdain. “We met at the gala, didn’t we? Nicholas Wilder, isn’t it?” Hamlin locked eyes with Nick, daring him to mention the meeting in his office.