I fell asleep in Pria’s hair. I buried my face in its silky tendrils and smiled happily, but the dream came again. At first there was only Cassie. I think we were at Circe, but the dream offered me no real marker for place or time. She walked towards me in the fog, naked and lithe. I kissed her everywhere, drowning myself in her scent, but her body collapsed in on me. Black tentacles rolled out of her corpse like fog, leaving me wrapped in the demon’s embrace. I opened my eyes to find Pria already gone. She had left me to find myself on my own.
* * * *
The police came again. They didn’t stay long. There wasn’t much of an investigation. There was an ambulance and a team of janitors to clean up the mess. I hid in the corner again, watching the body being pulled away on the gurney. I could almost see the man’s outline through the sheet. His arms had been cut off. No one spoke of the event. No one seemed to notice. The oddity of the silence bothered me. So I did something out of character: I sought Cassie out. I went to her and sat down beside her.
“What happened today?”
“Mr. Beachman died,” she said, without taking her eyes from her papers.
“How?”
“Suicide.”
“I saw the body. He didn’t kill himself. No one kills themselves that way.”
“Suddenly you care about the patients?”
“I always try to help the patients.”
“But you would have never admitted to it.”
“I’m not some sappy counselor who says he wants to save the world, but when my patients are being carted off in pieces, I do care.”
“Really?” she said sarcastically.
“What happened?”
“I was told suicide.”
“And you don’t care to know what really happened?”
Cassie looked at me with her strange, pale eyes. Her lips parted and she leaned forward a little. She was wearing a skirt and she parted her legs, revealing the soft flesh of her upper thigh. For a moment I let our eyes meet. I let her lips come closer to mine. I could smell her hair and feel her breath on my cheek. Her hand rested on my leg and I felt every cell in my body become tense with the desire to move toward her, but I jerked backwards and pulled away from her. She leaned back and smiled.
“Things like this happen here. After you’ve been here for a while, you get used to it,” she responded.
“No one else notices it?”
“Everyone else has been here for a long time. They know the rules. They’re committed to this place.”
* * * *
I had to leave that weekend. I had to escape thoughts of Cassie, Circe, and the dreams. I felt bewitched, and the only possible way to break the spell would be to run away. It was a cowardly action, but it slowed my heart and stilled the water that moved relentlessly under my skin.
Jeremy was always happy to see me. Brooke ignored me, like she did most things. She sat on the back patio and smoked, watching the waves crash onto the beach. She cradled her beer like a baby and rocked back and forth. The dogs curled up at her feet. The only sign I had that she was really there was her occasional cough.
"Hell,” Jeremy said. "I never thought you'd turn up on my doorstep on a Friday night. Isn't Pria gonna be upset?"
"No. I’ve been almost as shitty a husband as you lately."
Jeremy glanced out the sliding glass door of his apartment at his wife. "There isn't much to work with in this marriage."
"Things haven't been goin' well?" I asked.
"The same. Nothing ever changes, does it?"
I smiled. "Can we go for a walk?"
"Let me grab a beer."
We walked on the white sand and drank. There were a million things to say, but we said nothing. We walked and drank and watched the ocean. Finally, Jeremy sat down in the sand. He lit a cigarette.
"What the hell are you doing here, Eric?"
I shrugged. "Things have been stressful lately. I missed my brother."
"Don't play your stupid fuckin' games with me. I’m not Pria and I ain't one of your patients. I can still kick your ass at just about everything, so why don't you spill it, 'cause I know you wouldn't be here without a reason."
I smiled. Jeremy would always be my older brother. He'd always be the one that stole my toys and beat me at every sport I ever tried. He'd always be the one that kicked the asses of any bully that messed with me. It didn't matter how bad his life had gotten or how far I went up some imaginary ladder of success. He would always be Jeremy.
"My boss at work is giving me some problems."
"And?"
"I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. Nothing has changed. I'm still doing well. She's just toying with me and I can't explain it. It makes me nervous."
"I don't understand."
"She used to ignore me and I think I had become comfortable with that and her insults. You would have to know her, but that’s how she’s always treated her interns. But lately things have changed. She asks me out to dinner and lunch and she just looks at me differently. I've tried to put a distance between us, but you know that my job is my life and if I don't get a good review because I'm snubbing her or offending her or the hundred million other things I'm probably doing wrong, I won't be able to live with myself."
"So why don't you talk to her? Tell her you're married and your wife doesn’t like you goin’ out to dinner with her. Blame it on Pria. Kiss her butt. You’re good at that. And then stop all this shit that’s making you uncomfortable."
It was a sensible answer. Jeremy was a sensible man. He always made sense. "I don't know," I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t think of a reason not to follow his advice.
Jeremy laughed. "As smart as you’re supposed to be, you’re dumb as hell. You wanna fuck your boss. Just come out and say it."
I shook my head. Jeremy just smiled. "Don't shake your head at me. I know how it is. The first time I fell for another woman I couldn't admit it to myself. I kept telling myself I didn't want to hit that sweet ass. But I did."
"I love Pria. She isn't like Brooke."
"Sometimes I don't know if you look in the mirror. I saw you last time we went to New Orleans, and I can tell you that what you did that night wasn’t the action of a man who loves his wife, if any man really does love his wife."
"What did you see?"
"I saw you go home with the pretty little girl with the peacock on her back. You’re smooth, I gotta give you that."
"That was different. She was just sex."
"Is there a difference? Sometimes I wonder if there was ever anything besides sex between me and Brooke. Now we don't even have that."
"There is a difference. Pria’s a muse. She is otherworldly. I've always been hers."
Jeremy laughed again. "That is some poetic bullshit. You got the right words for everything, don't you?"
"It's all part of being literate."
"Whatever. You tell yourself whatever you want to make it through the day, but you and I both know what's really goin' on, and it isn't you fallin' in love with Pria again."
"What is it then?"
"You want your boss. She's got you on a string, and maybe that has something to do with you and Pria, and maybe it don't. But either way, you're gonna do to her the same thing you did to the pretty little peacock, fuck her and leave her in an alley. And I'll tell you why. Because you’re an asshole, Eric. You've always been a worthless little shit of an asshole. You've always used women up and thrown them away, and the only reason Pria is different is because she’s the only one that ever told you no. You couldn't make her love you without loving her. She saw through all your crap. My marriage may not be perfect and I do want to kill Brooke right now, but since the day this ring was put on my finger I been followin' my vows. I may have wanted other women, but I stood in a church and said I'd be faithful and I'm a man of my word. I guess that’s the difference between you and me. You've cheated on Pria more times than we can both count. I bet you can't even remember all the women you've been with. Can you even rem
ember why Jeff gives you shit every time you see him? Do you know how hard it was to get him to come with me to New Orleans with you? You didn't even notice. You didn't even say thanks or sorry. He’ll never forgive you, and you can't even remember the girl's name."
Jeremy was wrong. How could I forget? Time erodes the sharpness of emotion but it does not fade the brightness of my memories. Not for them. Not for the pretty ones with sweet eyes and soft skin. I could still see the girl. I had known she was Jeff's. I had known how much he liked her. He had even ventured to say that he loved her, although I doubted Jeff's capacity for love. Pria had been with her mother, with her family, as always. It was Easter, and sweet, temperate weather painted the beach in all the hues of spring. Jeff had brought his new love to Brooke and Jeremy's to show her to his family, and the girl had been brilliant. An creature of rare splendor. She had been too good for Jeff. She was a teacher, pretty and blonde. She shook with passion for her life and work. I had taken her on a walk after dinner. Jeff and Jeremy had gone on one of their endless beer runs. I told myself that I didn't want her. I told myself that Pria owned my heart, but the girl's smell had been like cocaine, irresistible and addictive. I couldn't say no.
It hadn't taken much to seduce her, gentle kisses and a few whispers in the dark. She had collapsed into me with all the passion in her body, and we promised we would never tell Jeff or Pria. We both left guilty and covered up our sins. She and Jeff separated a few days later. It had never occurred to me to ask why.
"I didn't know that he even found out. How could I know that? He never said anything." I said.
"Why would he? You’re who you are. You aren't gonna change. Whatever happened between you and mom fucked you up. I guess it fucked us all up, I don't know. He blamed her. He said that if she had loved him she wouldn't have fallen for you. I blamed her too, but someday, Eric, you’re going to have to take stock of your life. I mean, your boss? This one is gonna get you in trouble."
"You’re pretty self-righteous for a man who barely made it through high school."
"I call 'em like I see 'em."
I watched the stars settle into the night sky and tried not to think about what Jeremy was saying. He was drunk. He lay on the beach, with his fat belly peeking out from underneath his T-shirt, smiling foolishly up at me. I looked down on him as I would a patient.
"You don't see very clearly," I responded.
"So you don't think your boss is fine?"
"She is strangely attractive, but there is nothing sexual between us."
"And maybe that’s exactly why you want her? You always wanted the ones you couldn't have. You had a hankering for the ones that said no or that people told you you couldn't have."
I smiled. "You're just jealous."
"Maybe."
"I’m not attracted to Cassie at all. I love Pria and only Pria and that’s all."
"Then why are you here?"
I drank another beer. I didn't know why I was there. I didn't know what I was trying to get away from. What I was afraid of. When I closed my eyes I could see the creature from my dreams taking shape before sleep could even grasp me. I felt her foul, sweet breath on me like rotten milk.
"My boss and this place, Circe, they’re making me question things. That’s all. They’re making me question my values and my professional goals. I don't know if Pria will stay with me forever if I keep working late."
"Coming here isn't gonna help."
"No. She told me to take some time to myself.”
"Why don't you go home? Find Pria. Do the right thing. Tell her what’s goin’ on."
I shrugged.
"And if you really love Pria that much, why don't you stop fuckin' other women while you're at it?"
"I have."
Jeremy laughed. "I'll believe it when I see it."
"My need to prove myself sexually with other women was all part of the faulty values that our father taught us when we were children. You know how it was when we were kids. I just had some problems dealing with things. That’s all." I paused. Something rose into the back of my throat. I swallowed the lump and pushed it down. I smothered the tiny piece of emotion and moved on. "I've been able to recognize this and resolve these issues and I am . . . will never be disloyal to Pria again."
"You’re a piece of work. Ya know that?"
"I have to go now,” I said as I dusted the sand off of my shorts.
"Yeah."
"See ya."
I thought about Cassie all the way home.
* * * *
"Do you want to help me with an interview for a new 3rd floor patient?" Cassie asked out of the blue.
"Of course," I said, putting down the file I had been working on. "I have a lot of paperwork to do, though."
"You could stay late."
Cassie hadn't talked to me since I had cancelled our last meeting. Everything had melted back into the same shape it had been before. Her offer was immediately everything I wanted and everything I knew I shouldn't do. Pria would be furious at me for staying late again, but I missed Cassie's attention. I missed our strange talks and I longed to feel special in her eyes again.
"Sure," I responded slowly. "Do you have their intake?"
Cassie handed me a thick intake summary and psychological evaluation. There didn't seem to be much to add to the extensive work that had been done on the acute ward. The boy whose name was scrawled along the top of the file in cheap black ink had a violent and deplorable history. A few years ago, he had taken the back of an axe and bashed his parents’ brains in. He had attempted to kill his 12, 10, 8, and 2 year-old sisters, but their bodies had been more resilient than their parents'. The girls had survived the massacre by a fluke of fate. Each of them had been struck as many times as the parents. The blood bath had ended in a nasty court case, in which the defense had claimed that too much Ritalin had driven the boy insane. Despite the improbability of the claim, after a year of appeals and psychiatric evaluations, the boy had been sent to us. He had been seventeen when the crimes had been committed. He was now just shy of nineteen.
Cassie smiled glibly at me over the stack of paperwork that came with the boy. There were at least thirty different psychological evaluations and test after test stacked up in his file, all sent from different therapists and professionals dating back to when the boy was twelve. It would have taken me a day to read his entire file. It read like War and Peace and looked like the unabridged version of Webster's Dictionary.
"I've been waiting for this one," she said with pure joy.
"Seems like an interesting case," I responded over my stack of information.
I followed her to the third floor sullenly. I wasn’t sure where I stood with her. I wasn’t sure what I felt for her. As I contemplated my own confusion, Cassie led me into a stark room that once had white walls. The walls were slightly yellowed now and the boy that sat on the bed looked more like someone carrying a diagnosis of major depressive disorder than paranoid schizophrenia. He was curled up in the fetal position on his bed sobbing deeply into the dirty sheets. I barely had time to stop the chaos in my own mind when Cassie began the interview.
"You don't look like you're doing so well today, Roy,” she said with a sympathetic lilt. "My name is Dr. Allen, and this is Dr. Black. We’re here to help you as best we can. Can you tell me what’s going on with you?"
"I'm sure you know," he muttered.
"What does that mean?" Cassie responded.
"You can read. Don't you have a file?"
"Those are other people's opinions of you. Only you can tell me why you’re crying."
"Why don't you just give me a drug or something and get out."
"I'm not a psychiatrist. Why are you crying?"
“I’m crazy.”
“Not all crazy people cry.”
“You’re the shrink, you figure it out.” He wiped his eyes and sat up. His face transformed itself from sorrow to anger in less than a second.
“I guess I’m not that good of a shri
nk, because I need you to tell me.”
“I hate it here.”
“It isn’t meant to be pleasant.”
“I hate you people.”
“You don’t even know us. Why do you hate us?”
“Because you don’t care.”
“I do care. I just told you I care. I care and I want to know why you were crying. I want to know why you’re so sad. You’ve been through a lot. I can see that in your file. This place has to be better than jail. So why don’t you explain things to me?”
“What do you want me to explain?”
“Tell me why you were crying.”
"Because of everything. I'm an evil shit, aren't I, and I'll never see my family again and I'm alone here and I killed my family. I killed them and everyone thinks I'm crazy and I'm not, but I didn't mean to kill them. Maybe I hated my parents. Maybe I didn't like their rules. But I never meant to hurt them and I loved those girls."
"What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm tired of talking about it with you people. I'm tired of thinking about it. Why don't you just give me a lobotomy or some strong drugs and put me out of my misery."
"Why do you think you’re here, Roy?"
"Didn’t you hear me? Because I killed my family."
"Do you know where you are, Roy?"
"The Looney Bin."
"Why aren't you in jail?"
"Because they think my story is crazy. Because they don't hear anything that they can't fuckin' explain. I don't know. Maybe because my lawyer didn't want them to gas me."
"Do you know what year it is, Roy?"
"Another mental status exam. Every time I move to another hospital or another floor, or another lawyer wants me evaluated, I get one of these. I don't know; maybe it’s 1862 and I'm Napoleon. Maybe tomorrow I get to go to Cyprus or maybe you’re my long lost love. Maybe your pencil is a monster and the clock is a compass. And I can fly and I hate you and I hate this and there is no reason to care about this place or my treatment or you!"
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