“My sister’s job is bringing her to Florida, to Orlando, for a month. I’m so happy that she’ll be nearby!”
“That’s great.”
“Also, I’m excited about the possibility of hiring a new partner.”
“Really? I thought you made up your specialty and no one else could do that work.”
She assented. “I’ve been interviewing people from both specialties, psychiatry and pain management, and considering hiring one from each.”
“I see! It takes two people to do the job you do alone! But that’s great news. You could finally take vacation and days off!”
“I know. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”
They made it to the police station. Richard guided Joy to a small conference room separate from the offices.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Richard killed some time by stopping at the building’s cafeteria and picking up a couple sandwiches. He’d explained the situation to Chief Marshalls, and he’d offered his cooperation. The chief gave the order to his secretary to prepare a fake police complaint for Joy to sign.
After picking up the documents, he joined Joy in the conference room. Her eyes lit up when she saw him carrying food and beverages.
“Richard, you’re a genius! How did you know I’m starving?”
He handed the papers to her and set the food on the table. “Just logical thinking. You called me around noon from the car shop. Knowing your routine, that means you left the Hospice House before finishing your notes and, so, before having lunch.”
Signing the fake documents without reading them, she smiled. “I need some of that logical thinking. I admit I don’t use it much outside of medicine.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a friend of mine once brought to my attention that I have a homeless recovering alcoholic sleeping next to a pharmacy full of narcotics and driving other people’s cars at the valet parking. Not very logical, now that I think about it.”
Richard laughed. “I know I said that once; but honestly, you’ve proved me wrong since then. You’re a happier, more successful person than I am, so I guess your system of going with your feeling instead of your thinking works.”
After signing the last page, Joy put down the pen and smiled sadly. “Most of the time it does, but not always. When the decision in front of me is extremely important, or when it involves something or someone I deeply care for, I become a mess. I can no longer know either what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling. I invariably freeze and ruin everything.”
Her eyes met his and, as if receiving a telepathic message, he could feel that her comment was in reference to his kiss and his invitation out. His heart skipped a beat. They locked gazes for some time, and then she quickly turned her eyes away. He wondered if he’d imagined it all.
Richard sighed. “Well, enjoy your food. I guess we have a few hours to kill until the people reviewing your cars have something for us.”
They started eating. Starving, she moaned in delight with every bite, and he couldn’t help smiling at her spontaneity. Sharing lunch with her, like in those times past, Richard felt inexplicably happy.
He had an idea. “Hey, Joy, since we’re stuck here, can I ask you a medical question?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Can you think of a way someone can be killed and have a completely negative autopsy?”
Joy pondered. “An intravenous injection of potassium chloride can kill somebody instantly, and it’s difficult to trace, as potassium is naturally present in the cells.”
“I’ve heard of it. How does it work?”
“By affecting the electric conduction of the heart, making it stop.”
“I see. Does that mean that an electric shock can also do that?”
“Yes, the heart can stop immediately in electrocution accidents or when people are struck by lightning. That would be easier to find in an autopsy, though, since such a big amount of electricity would cause a burn at the site of entry, at the site of exit, and the path in between.”
Interested, Richard asked, “Is it possible to stop the heart with an amount of electricity small enough that it wouldn’t leave a burn?”
“I guess it’s possible. The electric shock would need to be close to the heart itself, and it’d probably have to be synchronized to the point of the electrocardiogram when the heart is at the most susceptible, the T wave.”
He considered it and then asked, “Joy, you believe people can heal other people with positive energy, right?”
“Right.”
“Do you think that the opposite is possible, that someone can kill another person by will, using negative energy? For example, giving them the order to die?”
Without hesitation, Joy replied, “No. I don’t believe that.”
Richard didn’t expect that answer. He thought that of all people, Joy would be the one person to buy such an unconventional theory. “Why not?”
“Because prayer, faith healing, the procedures we do at my Center . . . everything works only if the sick person wants to be healed. The healing isn’t coming from the external source. Our prayers and support help lift the patient up to a higher level of power and allow the healing to occur from within.”
Richard assented. She concluded, “I don’t believe that someone could give you an order to get better if you didn’t want it. At the same time, I don’t believe someone could give you an order to get sick or die if you weren’t willing to.”
Fascinated, Richard nodded. He’d deeply missed the challenge of her smart conversation. He wondered how he managed without her for the past two months.
* * *
It was almost six when Richard drove Joy back to her house. They’d spent the afternoon sitting in the conference room, talking about the chapters of Carl’s writings he was having trouble with. Everything seemed simple when she explained it to him.
He had the chief come and tell her not to worry, that the wires they found in the van were most likely a bad job from an audio system upgrade, and that they’d confirm it with a more thorough review over the next few days. As usual, Joy believed the story without questioning it.
Now, as he helped her get down from his SUV and realized it was time to say goodbye, he almost regretted having reassured her that much.
Joy said, “Richard, I could never thank you enough for your help today.”
“No need to thank me. It was truly my pleasure. Have a good night.”
“Good night.”
She walked toward the door but then turned around. “Richard, are you absolutely sure that it’s safe that I go back to my normal routine tomorrow?”
He hesitated. He wanted so much to stay with her at least one more day.
“Well, if you want my honest opinion . . .”
“Yes?”
“They haven’t finished checking out your car. It may not be a bad idea to take extra precautions.”
She looked at him attentively, and he threw it out there. “So, how about you keep your work day light tomorrow, and I’ll go with you to make sure you’re safe—you know, kind of like being your bodyguard.”
“It makes sense.”
Surprised at how easily she agreed to his plan, he pushed further. “I think I should escort you for the rest of the week, until they give us the final report.”
Joy nodded.
He looked in her eyes. She didn’t look scared; she looked happy. Was he imagining it? Was this her way of telling him she was also longing to be with him?
He asked, “Should I pick you up tomorrow morning at seven thirty?”
She gave him a beautiful smile. “That would be wonderful.”
Still smiling, she went into the house. He smiled too. Maybe he should feel guilty for prolonging the lie, but he didn’t. He felt happier than he’d felt in a long time.
Chapter 22
Richard and Joy waited in his car for security clearance to enter the Psychiatric Hospital’
s gateway. Shaking her head and holding in laughter, Joy faked exasperation.
“You’re impossible today, Richard! Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to make me scream at you?”
He turned to look at her with a flirty smile. His voice was silky. “Trust me. I’d love to make you scream with me.”
Joy choked on her own words, and he laughed.
It was Friday. Richard’s week had been wonderful. Even with spending most of the day “escorting Joy,” he was making more progress than ever at work, working evenings. His inspiration was back, his energy was better than ever, and his migraines were gone. Whatever that addictive energy that Joy transmitted to him was, he wanted more of it.
He’d stopped fighting his fascination with her days ago. Every day, he’d pushed his flirting a step forward, and he’d gotten glimpses of evidence that she wasn’t indifferent to him. Yes! No woman in the world “friend-zoned” Richard Fields.
Joy’s car was scheduled to be returned later that day. It was the last day of his excuse to be with her. He had little to lose, and it was the day to push his limits.
He’d spent the whole morning contradicting every theory she talked about. Not only did he enjoy the brain duel, he also found indefinable pleasure in seeing a side of her that could be passionate and out of control. For the last half hour, the topic had been the subconscious mind.
“Richard, all I’m saying is that our conscious thoughts are minuscule compared to the iceberg which lies beneath the surface, our unconscious mind.”
“And I refuse to believe that we live on automatic pilot, driven by a bunch of forgotten memories.”
“But it’s true. You’d be surprised how much of what we do every day is influenced by things we can’t remember. The way we bond with other people, our reactions and overreactions to what others do. It’s all rooted far back, in our childhoods.”
Sighing, Richard rolled his eyes. They’d been granted clearance, and he drove toward the building. He stopped for a turtle crossing the street. Used to the routine, all the traffic behind him stopped too.
“You remind me of someone I know, always insisting on me looking into my childhood, searching for unfinished business. How many times will I need to tell both of you that I don’t have any?”
“Are you saying you have absolutely no unfinished business?” Joy was smiling softly. The look in her eyes was skeptical. “I bet you fifty cents you do.”
“I don’t. My childhood sucked, and I’ve always known it. There’s nothing ‘buried in my unconscious’ about it. My father was an alcoholic who abandoned us, and my mother was miserable and made me and my brothers pay for it. An ordinary story.”
The compassion in her gaze unsettled him. He hated being pitied.
“Richard, keep in mind that often we remember the facts but not the feelings. We block them out of our memory precisely because they’re too painful to bear.”
He chuckled. “And wanting to remember painful feelings is masochistic. Why would I want to do that?”
Joy hesitated. “Because feeling is the way to heal. Some people say that it’s not necessary, that we can go through life bulldozing our fears, our anguish, without trying to find out where they come from. But I’ve done it both ways and can speak from my own experience. When we finally let go of the pain trapped inside, life’s so much better. It’s like getting in touch again with that joyful little child we once were, before being wounded.”
They’d arrived at their destination, and Richard parked. She got out of the car, and he followed her down the lush garden.
“Richard, I imagine that visiting a psychiatric hospital is not your idea of fun, but this will take twenty minutes. If I can charm Dr. Patel into becoming my business partner, I’ll be one step closer to my freedom!”
She skipped in joy, like a little girl, humming a song. Walking behind her and seeing her so happy, Richard was saddened by the awareness that these were their last hours together. He needed to find an excuse to see her again.
Catching up with her, he held her arm to make her stop. “So, you bet me fifty cents that I do have unconscious, unresolved issues. Would you be willing to raise the bet?”
“What do you mean?” she asked with caution.
He paused for effect. “If you win, if you prove to me I do, I’ll babysit your children at your house one night so you can have a girls’ night out with your friends.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And if you prove that you don’t?”
Richard gave her the piercing look he used to hypnotize suspects he was interrogating. “You and I are going out for dinner together.”
Looking away, Joy fidgeted. “Richard, I told you before that it would be against my professional rules.”
Richard smiled. So she did remember that night; she just pretended she didn’t. “Okay, fine. Then if I win, you have to wash my car.”
Puzzled, she stared at him. “Wash your car?”
“But I don’t mean taking it to the drive-thru car wash,” he clarified. “I mean you come to my driveway, my house, hose, soap, and bucket in hand and wash my car the old-fashioned way.”
Hesitant, Joy appeared to be running a set of calculations in her mind about whether that could be considered a date or not. “So, if I win, you come to my house to babysit; if you win, I go to your house to wash your car?”
Richard thought to add wearing shorts and a bikini top, but he decided not to push his luck and simply nodded.
“And how are we going to find out about those buried memories?”
Richard looked at her with a serious expression. “I want you to hypnotize me.”
Joy was stunned. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m serious.”
Chuckling, she walked away.
He followed her. “What? What’s the big deal? Hypnotize me and make me remember something I’ve forgotten about, and I’ll never tease you again!”
Joy stopped. “Richard, making someone remember through hypnosis is delicate. It can be dangerous. Forget about it.”
“What’s the matter, Dr. Clayton, are you scared? You don’t think you can win this bet, do you?”
Joy froze for one second with the doorknob in her hand and turned to him, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Richard; this time I’m going to pass.”
She entered the building, and he stayed outside.
A familiar voice sounded at his back. “I can do it.”
He turned around. It was Laura Bonas.
“How are you, Mr. Fields? What is it with you? Your aura is glowing! Your alignment is amazing! Should we thank the pretty lady I saw enter the building? The one who refused to hypnotize you?”
Richard smiled, but he didn’t answer.
“By the way, if you’re interested, I can do it. I’m not only a psychic, but I’m a great hypnotist.”
Richard looked at the woman in front of him wearing the inmates’ uniform—her messy hair, her twitching face, her lost eyes. Trying not to laugh, he looked at his watch.
What the heck.
“Okay. I have twenty minutes and nothing better to do. Should I lie down on the grass or on one of the benches?”
“The bench will be fine.”
Richard lay down and closed his eyes, trying to control his laughter.
She began. “Now I want you to take one deep, cleansing breath.”
* * *
Richard must have fallen asleep and been dreaming, because he was inside of a train. He looked around him, surprised. It was the number 2 train traveling uptown from Manhattan to the Bronx. It felt very real. The vibration, the rumbling noise, the unmistakable smell of the subway.
The subway had changed to an elevated train by the time they approached the East Tremont Station. He stood up, and the crowd getting off the car pushed him out with them. The cold air of late fall hit his face, along with a few raindrops. From what he could see of the sky, it was a gray, cloudy afternoon and it was near dusk. Confused, he found the way
out and took the stairs down to the street level.
As he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he looked around him. The first thing that caught his attention was that the taxis and cars seemed outdated. Turning his head, he could see the people waiting at the bus stop wearing fashion trends he didn’t remember existing. He slowly realized that what he was seeing was the Bronx nearly three decades ago.
He walked aimlessly. He could see the McDonalds in the distance, the dollar store, the convenience store—it all looked exactly as it did when he was a child.
He suddenly realized where he was going. He’d made it to Wyatt Street and was walking toward the apartment building he used to live in as a child. He stood in front of his old brick building, six floors high, and hesitated before climbing the short set of steps that led to the entrance.
The intercom had broken long ago and was never fixed, so he knew that the thick wooden door would be unlocked. He went in and walked across the checker-tiled lobby to the narrow red elevator.
He rode the elevator to the sixth floor. Getting out, he walked down the hallway to the old apartment at the end of it. He opened the door.
What he saw inside made his heart sink. It was his childhood home, including details he’d completely forgotten about—the loud colors of the sofa, the stains in the carpet, the cracks in the plaster walls he used to look at and imagine were taking the shape of objects and animals.
His mother was in the kitchen. She moved around fast, cooking dinner. She was younger and prettier than in his memories. Somehow she looked very tall.
Alan, his younger brother, sat at the dining room table, doing homework. He must have been eight years old. His mother was reprimanding him about something. As usual, he could see the depression in her eyes, the anger and frustration in her face.
He looked around, searching for his father, but he wasn’t there. He couldn’t see him in the living room, dining room, or kitchen; so he looked in the bathroom and the bedrooms. He was nowhere. All he found was his older brother, Simon, lying on the bed, watching TV and smoking.
He was getting ready to leave the room when he caught a glimpse of the dresser mirror and gasped.
Beyond Physical Page 17