by David Beers
“It’s not an asylum,” he’d say. “It’s an institution for people who need help.”
“Whatever, Eddie. Just tell us something crazy.”
Edward didn’t like being called Eddie. He’d never liked it, mainly because the nickname Eddie had been used to torture him when he was younger. Eddie wets his beddy. Eddie Teddy (this was used when one of the older fat kids used to put him in a bear hug and squeeze the hell out of him, making Edward feel like he might actually suffocate).
There were other names.
Endless taunts that could be used with Eddie.
His family still called him by his name’s shortened version, though, and Edward had grown wise enough to stop correcting them. His family was different, and they always would be. Perhaps not so different from a lot of the population across the country, but they were different from Edward. Some of them used to think he was gay until he graduated medical school and started bringing ‘fucking hot’ (to use his Uncle Bill’s terminology) women around. No, Edward had been focused on school, on making something of his life, and that created a separation between him and them. Edward didn’t necessarily want to be remembered, but he didn’t want to be forgotten either. He didn’t want to have to worry about how he’d retire one day. He didn’t want to scramble paycheck to paycheck to make life work.
Edward understood what he didn’t want. His family knew what they wanted. Mainly, to be able to relax on the evenings and weekends, drinking beer and smoking the occasional joint (not so occasional for some, depending on who in the family you were talking about).
At 46 years old, Edward Canonine had gone further in school—and life (monetarily at least)—than anyone else in his family. While he worked in a relatively unknown South Dakota hospital, he had been published numerous times in scholarly journals. He had three papers out right now, actually.
And, Luke Titan had been quite a blessing for him, at least Edward thought so in the beginning. Edward Canonine was no longer unknown. With a single judge’s signature, he had turned into the psychiatrist who presided over Luke Titan.
He wasn’t renowned, but he would be known. And, Edward believed, if he continued to work as hard as he always had, he would grow to be renowned. Titan’s mind would deliver insights that might forever alter the world of psychiatry.
And it was all at Edward’s fingertips.
“Do you believe in God, Dr. Canonine?” Titan asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you pray?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you prayed?”
Edward was careful not to smile, though he wanted to. Titan was … persuasive. Edward found himself sometimes being looped into conversations he hadn’t started, and conversations he didn’t want to happen. This was one of those. He wouldn’t smile, though, because he didn’t want to give Titan any positive reinforcement when it came to this.
“My relationship with God isn’t what I want to discuss. We’ve got a lot of time, though, Luke, and I’ll discuss anything about you that you’d like.”
“Let’s discuss God, then. We can leave your relationship out of the conversation if you prefer.”
It was amazing. The man sat at a table, his ankles and wrists chained together, then hooked to the ground so that he couldn’t leap up if the urge struck him—yet, even so, he acted as if he was the interviewer. As if he wasn’t sitting in a mental institution, but rather back at Harvard, talking with a student.
“Okay,” Edward said. He dismissed the need to say Titan didn’t decide such things. It would be a useless—and petty—demonstration of his power. “Do you pray?”
“By conventional definitions, no.”
“By your own?”
“We pray all the time, Dr. Canonine. It can be found in almost any action. The conventional definition of prayer is to make a list of things one wants, and then to ask the Holy Father for those things. He is Santa Claus. That is not prayer and life is not Christmas. Prayer is a glorification of God, and in our actions we can glorify him. So, yes, I pray daily. I would say almost constantly.”
“You think your actions glorify God?” Edward asked.
“Of course.”
“I mean no disrespect, Luke, but most people would find that hard to believe. Can you explain it to me? How killing so many people can be considered an act of glorification?”
Titan smiled, a disarming thing. It revealed such happiness inside its host, that the person who wore such a smile could never worry, never have a cross thought. The smile said all things were okay, and all things would forever be okay.
“I could, I suppose, but I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to show you one day. It’s so much better to show rather than tell.”
Luke watched the psychiatrist leave. Once he was gone, orderlies came in and began unchaining him. They worked quickly, efficiently. Luke watched every single movement, just as he did whenever they entered and put their hands on him. There were six different orderlies that came in, though not all at once. Two at a time, and it depended on the shift who would be here. The six differed in levels of strength and proficiency, and Luke knew a lot about each.
All from moments like these.
Luke understood he would only have one chance to escape. The orderlies were efficient, but they weren’t worried. They looked at the man sitting in front of them as they did all the patients in this place. He might be famous. He might have killed people. But, in the end, the law had caught him and threw him in here to die. He was beneath them, regardless of who or what he might have been in the outside world.
And that meant they would treat him the exact same as they did everyone else. They would work professionally, but without any special precautions. Not until he did something to make them understand he should be handled differently. In another time, this might not have been possible, but the litigious nature of the United States meant that a lawsuit could be filed for anything. Everyone was treated the same, until reason was given for that not to be the case.
So Luke would have one chance at escape, and then, there would be no more. The iron fist of Earthly justice would close tightly around him, and he would be lost forever in this asylum.
Naturally, he wasn’t very worried about that happening.
The orderlies finished their work, leaving him free to move around his cell. The two men stepped out and locked the door behind him.
Luke was alone.
He wouldn’t see Dr. Canonine for another few days, though Luke understood he saw him more than other patients. Dr. Canonine hadn’t been enthused with Luke’s offer to show, as opposed to tell, but Luke wasn’t joking with the man. He had wanted Christian to come to him, but Luke wasn’t sure if that would happen. Luke was not planning on sitting in this room forever, regardless of what the justice system wanted for him. He would get out, and if Christian wouldn’t come to him, then he would go to his old partner.
What concerned Luke—worried might have been too strong a word—was Christian’s plans, since they clearly didn’t include coming to see him. His mind was deteriorating rapidly, and Christian must be thinking of ending his life, of taking himself completely out of the equation. Killing himself would end the madness surrounding him.
Luke had to get to him before that happened. Christian, in the beginning, had been a curious creature that Luke toyed with. Then, he grew more and more important over the years, morphing into something that Luke saw as necessary to his overall plan. Luke had hoped that what happened with Tommy would change Christian completely, but still, some piece of him remained that refused to allow him the peace he deserved. It refused to allow Luke to have full reign.
He had to make sure Christian didn’t kill himself, and then—paradoxically—he had to kill the piece of the old Christian which still lived.
Luke didn’t think it was a large piece … but he knew its strength.
Only one thing would work, and Luke realized it now. Luke
could kill, or have Christian kill, everyone around him. Tommy, Veronica, all of them, and in the end Christian’s mind would just rip further apart. It wouldn’t destroy that piece which made Christian, Christian.
No, the person that had to die was his mother.
Mrs. Patricia Windsor.
Edward was not happy with how Titan’s last session went.
“Is that a threat, Luke?” he’d asked the man.
“Of course not. How can I threaten you?” Titan had lifted up his wrists, showing his inability to even move.
They had talked more, but Edward’s head hadn’t been focused.
Because I’m going to show you one day. It’s so much better to show rather than tell.
Edward ate dinner alone, sitting in his living room with the television on mute. The news was on but Edward didn’t even look up to see it. He stared at his food, not hungry.
It was a threat, he thought. But what can he do? What is he ever going to be able to do?
Nothing. He was chained or locked up 24 hours a day, and there were always two orderlies around him.
“He was just mouthing off. Just trying to assert some authority over the situation,” he mumbled, and maybe that was true. “He was just mouthing off.”
Edward finished his dinner and washed his single dish, placing it back in the cabinet. He went to the living room and lay down on his couch. He turned up the volume on the television, though he didn’t really listen to it. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the ceiling.
Edward needed to figure out a way to use this—the threat. He’d overseen the man for a few months now, and still wasn’t completely sure what he wanted his first paper to focus on, but if he didn’t start writing soon, there might be talk among other psychiatrists.
Canonine was blessed with a gift, but doesn’t have the necessary talent to make anything of it.
Canonine’s wasting Titan’s genius.
Edward could almost hear them talking, and he needed to ensure the voices stayed where they were: in his head.
Edward had done his best to move the conversation away from the threat today, and then ended the session a bit prematurely. He wasn’t supposed to see Titan again until the end of the week, but why wait? Why not visit with him tomorrow, and dig further into this threat? Perhaps a paper waited there.
“There was a message left late last evening. It’s a bit unique. I think you might want to listen to it.”
Edward looked up from his computer. He had a blank document on the screen and had been looking at it for a few minutes, trying to gather his thoughts on how to proceed with Titan.
His secretary stood at the door, holding mail that he would need to look over. The hospital was small enough that he could still stay involved with a lot of the details, and Karen brought him the mail each day.
But a message left at night was odd in itself, and then for her to say he needed to hear it?
“Okay,” Edward said. “What’s the extension again?”
“Seven.”
Edward picked the phone up from his desk and dialed the number.
“Hi. My name is Christian Windsor. I’m unsure what kind of visitation options your hospital provides to its patients, but I’ll be coming into town in two days, and I’d like to see Luke Titan. Please give me a call back at your earliest convenience.”
The man recited a number, but Edward had stopped listening.
Christian Windsor? Edward knew the name. Everyone in the country knew the name.
“Is it him?” Karen asked.
“How do I replay the message?” Edward asked.
“Press two.”
Edward pressed the number and listened to Windsor’s voice. Or, the man saying he was Christian Windsor—Edward couldn’t be sure one way or the other.
“I wrote it down.” Karen handed him a sticky-note with the number on it, just as he was reaching for his pen.
Edward hung up the phone and finally looked over to his secretary. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s him.”
“Are you going to call him?”
“I have to, I guess.”
He could tell Karen thought this was just about the most exciting thing to ever happen at The Steven P. Cowan Hospital. Well, besides when Titan himself was brought in. That had been a dream for Karen. She’d worked here for 30 years, Edward being the fourth hospital director she served under. Now, she would have Titan and Windsor both here at the same time. She could barely contain her excitement.
“Thanks, Karen,” he said. “Let me call him.”
She zipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.
Edward didn’t feel nearly as excited as his secretary. He looked at the blank page on his computer monitor and knew that he wouldn’t get back to it right now. State law pretty much gave Edward whatever authority he wanted when it came to patient visitation rights. These weren’t ‘normal’ hospital patients, and the state congressmen didn’t really think too much about them; they were happy to let local hospitals deal with local issues, as long as it didn’t affect their reelections.
Edward knew why he felt so exasperated by the voicemail. He was beginning to feel that the Titan situation could potentially grow beyond his control. It hadn't, not yet, but he thought it could, if he didn’t exert some control pretty quickly. First, there was yesterday’s threat, and now the famous ex-FBI partner was planning to visit.
No, Edward couldn’t allow that to happen. Not right now. Windsor would simply have to come at a later time.
He picked up the phone on his desk again and put it to his ear, dialing the number on the sticky note.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Christian Windsor?”
“Who’s calling?”
“This is Dr. Edward Canonine with The Steven P. Cowan Memorial Hospital. Mr. Windsor left me a message last evening saying that he was coming to see a patient of ours. I’d like to speak to him about it.”
“Ah, hi, Dr. Canonine. Christian told me he called you. I’m his mother, Patricia Windsor. We’re actually on our way right now. He told you we’d be there in two days?”
“Yes. He mentioned that,” Edward said. “Is he there now? I’d like to speak with him personally.”
“Actually, he’s asleep in the back. I’m driving. We decided to drive so that we could spend more time together. I’ll be happy to give him a message when he wakes up.”
Edward’s eyes glanced to his door as he paused for a second. Did he want to tell this woman they wouldn’t be allowed to see Titan, or did he want to actually speak to the former FBI agent?
But when he put it like that, the answer was readily apparent. This lady would be easier to deal with than the man arrested for beating the hell out of Luke Titan.
“Okay, sure,” Edward said. “Please tell him that Luke Titan is unable to see visitors for the foreseeable future. Given that he hasn’t been here very long—”
“Yes, well, that’s not going to work, Dr. Canonine,” the woman interrupted. “We’re coming and we’re going to need to sit down with Titan.”
“I—I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” Edward said, his voice completely lacking any conviction. The words had simply come out on their own, as his mind was still digesting this lady telling him how he would run his hospital.
“You’ll have to make it possible, Dr. Canonine.” Her voice lowered some. “Let me be perfectly clear with you. My son needs to see Titan. I don’t care what way he sees him. That’s completely up to you. It can be at a distance or through glass. It really doesn’t matter. But he will see him. It’s more important than you know.”
Edward swallowed, hating this more with each passing second. “Why?”
There was a pause on the other side, and then the woman sighed. “It’s not my place to say, and so I won’t. If Christian wants to tell you, he can. Either way, we’re coming, and we’re going to see Titan. You can call back and talk to Christian if you want. I’m cert
ainly not one to try and run my son’s business, but it won’t make any difference as to whether or not we show up.”
“Ma’am, I’m telling you right now, you’re not going to be able to see him.”
“That’s fine. You can keep telling me whatever you need to, but we’re coming, and we’re going to see him,” Patricia Windsor said. “I’ll pass the message to my son, and if he wants to call back, he will. We’ll see you in two days, Dr. Canonine.”
The woman ended the call, leaving Edward sitting with the phone to his ear.
This was getting to be too much.
And what could he do? Call the police? Jesus, no. Any sort of police involvement with Luke Titan, and now Christian Windsor, would create a media explosion … and if the broader psychiatry community saw that? Edward would be a laughing stock.
So, the police were out of the damned question.
He would just have to wait until they arrived, and then he’d tell Christian Windsor—and his pushy mother—that they weren’t allowed to see Titan. Period. Full stop. End of discussion.
Why were they coming, though?
Did Titan ask them to?
The question seemed preposterous at first; Edward was well versed on Titan’s history—had begun reading the moment he understood he’d be housing him as a patient. Titan might have written Windsor, but Windsor wouldn’t come even so. Plus, there all of the patients’ mail was read before being being sent. If something had been out of the ordinary, he would have been notified. Edward thought there might be some mutual attraction between the two, probably something tied to their high intellects, but he also thought Windsor’s hate for Titan perhaps eclipsed any other hate ever known.
Edward opened his office door, then walked to Karen’s office. He stepped inside.
“Can you get me Teddy?”
“Sure,” Karen said. “Right now?”
“Yes, please.”
Edward walked back to his office. Teddy was in charge of the mail. All mail that was sent by a patient was read first. The hospital wasn’t big enough to support a whole mail staff, so Teddy worked as both head of mail and an orderly, receiving a few extra bucks an hour for the double duty.