(Un) Sound Mind

by Richard Amico

  “A lot of guys choose to spend time with their girlfriends rather than their buddies. Isn’t that the way we’re built?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Sam. I think Dennis loved Franklin more deeply than just as a friend, and although Franklin may not have felt the same, he understood how much he’d hurt Dennis. Then Dennis died trying to save Franklin’s life, and the guilt became more than he could bear. To repress the guilt, his conscious mind shut out the fact that Dennis was dead.”

  “Well, it sounds like he lived with the guilt for over twenty years. What finally set him off?”

  “He looked reasonably normal. He seemed to function in society, but he was a time bomb. As long as he had Myra, he believed there was a greater good that he had accomplished, but when Myra divorced him, that rationalization fell apart.” Ruth pulled her chair closer to the table and leaned forward.

  “Franklin has a very creative mind. He always did. I think that his extreme feelings of guilt caused him to believe that he was the cause of Dennis’s death and that he should be punished. He brought Dennis back to life as an alter ego. The illness is called dissociative identity disorder. It’s what we used to call a split personality. He always spoke of Dennis as his avenging angel, someone who righted the wrongs perpetrated against him. But this time it was Dennis’s death that needed to be avenged.”

  “So Franklin was trying to hurt himself when he killed those women?”

  “Franklin believed that he should go to prison for life or worse to atone for his sins against Dennis. I think Sylvia Radcliffe and Michelle Ackerman just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sylvia was killed because she reminded him of Myra. His alter ego, Dennis, hated Myra. She was the cause of Franklin hurting him.”

  “What about Michelle Ackerman? She cleaned his teeth, for Christ’s sake. Why would he kill her?”

  “Franklin was interested in Michelle. He was planning to ask her out. His illness caused him to believe that he should be denied any happiness, so Dennis took her away from him. These were people in Franklin’s life that he either liked or he had romantic thoughts about. As Dennis, he committed the murders, and as Franklin, he would pay the price for them. Somehow in his twisted psyche, Dennis was getting even with him, and once they were even, once Franklin was convicted and sentenced, he would be absolved of Dennis’s death.”

  Sam shook his head. “I doubt any court would try him for murder. Even I can see that he isn’t competent to stand trial. Will he ever get out of the nuthouse?”

  “Mental hospital,” Ruth corrected. “I don’t know. I’m going to see him this evening; would you like to come?”

  “Um, well, this evening?”

  “It’s all right, Sam. I’m sure you have better things to do. How is Alicia?” Ruth asked, collecting her handbag and her briefcase and sliding back her chair.

  “She’s fine,” Sam said. “She decided to close her father’s practice and find a job in research. It was what she always wanted to do. She was offered a job at Stanford University in California.”

  “Do you think you could be a West Coast cop?” Ruth asked, fidgeting with the check.

  “Nah,” Sam said. “I couldn’t handle bean sprouts and watercress sandwiches. I’m more of a Philly cheesesteak kind of a guy.” He reached over and took the check from her hand. “Why don’t you stay with me for one more cup of coffee?”

  ***

  An orderly opened the door and nodded to Ruth. Several of the paperback books that she had previously brought to Franklin were scattered on the floor below the bookshelf. Ruth picked up the books and arranged them on the shelf before crossing the room to Franklin.

  A large man in a white coat and white trousers stood, arms folded, next to Franklin’s chair. Ruth handed Franklin the new book she had brought. It was a paperback copy of the latest Stephen King novel. Ruth chose not to ask about the scattered books. Franklin was no longer her patient. She had no authority to treat him, but Ruth still felt a responsibility to help him adjust to hospital life if she could. Franklin now spent much of his time reading, that is, when he wasn’t in a therapy session or in physical rehabilitation. His ability to walk without a cane only appeared when his alter ego, Dennis, was in control. As Dennis, he could run and showed no weakness in his limbs. As Franklin, his disabilities were as real to him today as they had been for the last twenty-five years.

  The symptoms of DID were clear to her, but there was still something unique about him. He seemed to possess some special trait, a peculiarity that she needed to better understand. Her visits were as a friend, but she had an ulterior motive for visiting him. There were still questions for which she needed answers. For example: How did he know about the tattoo on Sylvia’s hip before he killed her as Dennis? How could he describe the burglary at Sylvia’s home weeks before the flash drive was stolen? And how did he know that she believed she was being stalked in the forest? He had been a hundred miles away at the time. She wanted to ask these and more questions, but Dr. Thornhill had asked that the topic be avoided for now. She would wait. There was no rush.

  “Franklin, is there anything else I can bring to you on my next visit?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I need a telephone, my cell phone.”

  “I’m sorry, but your doctor doesn’t feel that you’re ready to make calls. You need to rest and avoid any stress.”

  “Well, then will you make a call for me? It’s very important.”

  “I’m not sure that I can, Franklin. Who is it you want me to call?”

  “The airport, the Wilkes-Barre airport,” he said.

  “Franklin, who do you want to talk with at the airport?”

  “Security, Dr. Klein. I need to warn them. In two weeks a plane will explode on takeoff. You have to tell them. I know it. I saw it in my dream.”

  Acknowledgments

  To Officer David Saponieri, one of New York’s finest, for helping me understand how a detective thinks, his choice of weapons, and methods for cleaning powdered sugar from a uniform.

  To Peggy Samson who encouraged me to refine my ramblings into an edited work.

  To Beryl Byman, Nancy Saponieri and Lisa Caviglia for patiently reading early drafts of the manuscript and propping up my ego enough to see it through to completion.

  To my wife Ada, whose support, encouragement, recommendations, and ability to amuse herself during my long writing sessions made this book possible. You are my life, my past, my future, my muse and my wings. Thank you.