by Brian Kirk
Eli’s instinct was to smile, but his training told him to shield his emotions. Silence is the breeding ground for sharing.
“I teased her growing up,” she said, and her face grew somber; her eyes began searching the distance for something unseen. “I was ashamed of her looks, that we were related. Like it was a reflection on me. That her ugliness was a blight on our bloodline. Something I needed to distance myself from.
“And then she was always so shy. So insecure. Like she couldn’t stand up for herself. And she didn’t have any friends, while I was always real popular. It embarrassed me, so I teased her. So people wouldn’t associate me with her. It protected me. Or my image, rather.
“But at home, when we were alone together, we would sometimes talk, or play a game, or do each other’s hair or makeup, and it seemed to make her so happy I felt like I was doing something good. Like I was doing her a favor. Like I was compensating for the times when I teased her. That maybe it all balanced out.
“But then the next day at school I would ignore her or call her names if we crossed paths in the hall, and it would start all over again. It was a cycle that I finally grew out of when I went to college. Just sibling rivalry, I figured. All a part of growing up.
“We’re friends now, but there’s still this bit of distance between us. I always thought it was because she’s so shy. And insecure. She still doesn’t do well with boys. But I’ve come to realize that I’m the reason she’s so insecure and shy. That, by teasing her, I made her that way. If I had accepted her, so would have everyone else at school. But when I rejected her, she never had a chance. She never had anyone to turn to, no one to validate her, to lift her up, to boost her confidence. I was the one person she should have been able to rely on, and I let her down the most.
“She has every reason in the world to hate me, but she doesn’t. She loves me. Maybe more than anyone else in the world. And it gets me thinking about how I used to define beauty, and I realize I had it all wrong.”
Eli wanted to take her hand and hold it, but he busied himself with his notebook instead. “So you used to fixate more on outer appearances, and now you see the value in one’s inner character.”
Miranda rubbed the back of her neck; she said it was tender from the convulsions induced by the electric shocks. “Now I see how I’ve been a shitty sister, and that I’m responsible for my sister’s struggles in life, and I just want to get out of here and be with her and see if we can start over. See if I can help undo the damage I’ve already done.”
Eli wanted to sign her release forms and help facilitate the reconciliation with her sister. Instead, he crossed his arms and scowled. “The best thing you can do for your sister is get yourself well.”
Miranda pulled her long, tangled hair into a ponytail. There were red blotches, on the undersides of her arms, that weren’t there a week ago. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I’m not sick.”
Eli didn’t think she was. “That’s for Dr. Francis to decide.”
When her husband visited the following week, Miranda attacked him, raking her claws across his cheeks and pummeling the back of his head with her fists. He had presented her with divorce papers, citing insanity as grounds. He was smiling when they pulled Miranda off of him, even though his lips were bleeding and his teeth were etched in red. Her display was apt to save him a lot of money in alimony. He still made a point to personally admonish Dr. Francis for the poor prognosis.
“She’s worse off than when I brought her in,” he said. “Surely she’s in no condition to be released.”
“We’ll make the necessary corrections,” Dr. Francis assured him. He immediately prescribed the maximum-strength antipsychotic and switched her treatment from electrotherapy to the submersion tanks.
Eli escorted her back to her room after the first session. He held her lightly by the arm as she shuffled her slippered feet across the linoleum floor. Her hair was still damp and it clung to her pallid face. Water pattered down the back of her gown, dripping to the floor. She was shivering as she laced her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“It’s not so bad,” Miranda said.
She had gone calmly into the tub. It wasn’t until they strapped her into the seat and the water began to rise that she had begun to struggle. But she had settled down again once she became submerged. Her eyes had remained open the whole time; tiny bubbles had percolated from her right nostril as she stared up at Dr. Francis, her hair fanned out like a halo of seaweed. She had smiled right before her breath ran out. Then she’d begun to strain, holding on for as long as possible, rocking against the straps, mouth pursed tight until she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. And then her mouth had burst open in an explosion of bubbles. Her chest had heaved three times before she became still and the orderlies rushed in to release her.
“Dying, I mean,” she said.
Eli felt conspicuous with Miranda’s head resting against his shoulder. He shrugged it off and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady. He had started to question the purpose of Dr. Francis’s treatment programs, but remained silent and let Miranda speak.
“I mean that’s all that life is, isn’t it? Dying. One day at a time. And if there’s such a thing as reincarnation, it’s not just one day of death that our soul must endure, but an eternity of it. So, in a way, this has prepared me for the rest of my eternal life, which I plan to spend dying.” She inhaled, and water rattled in her lungs. “Fortunately, it’s not so bad.”
She tried to pull him onto her bed when he lowered her down, and pouted when he resisted. “Please? I don’t want to be alone right now,” she said. Her blue eyes were bloodshot. Her lips were pale and speckled with white flakes of chapped skin. “Just hold me.”
Eli closed the door and sat on the bed beside her. He raised his arm and held it in the air, hesitating.
Then Miranda leaned against his body and he lowered his arm onto her shoulders. She nuzzled up against his chest and pulled his other arm around her and burrowed close. She continued to shiver. When she spoke her teeth clattered.
“I no longer know who I am,” she said. “I mean, I don’t remember who I was before I came here. I can’t remember how I used to feel or what I used to think about. I feel like I’ve become someone else. I feel like a stranger trapped inside myself.”
“Dissociative thinking is common among certain disorders,” Eli said. “That’s perfectly normal.”
A bubble of snot burst from Miranda’s nose when she laughed. “Perfectly normal, huh?” she said and wiped her face against his chest. “So, is that how you feel?”
“No, I don’t feel that way.”
“Well, then it seems like we should switch places. If it’s such a sign of normality, maybe you’re the one who needs help.”
“I just mean that in the case of certain mental states, such thinking is to be expected. It’s treatable, though. Our goal is to get you well again.”
Her breathing, still rattling with water, became deep and even, her words sluggish. “But what if I was well before I came in here, and it’s this place that’s making me sick?” She started sliding down his chest.
He stood, placed her head against the pillow and stretched her legs to the foot of the bed.
She smacked her mouth a couple of times and yawned. “I don’t want to die again,” she whispered before falling asleep.
Eli pulled the blanket up to her neck and ran a hand along her arm. “Don’t worry. You won’t.”
He kissed her cheek before leaving; by then she was asleep. It was an act that could have gotten him barred from practicing psychiatry. But it seemed to be what she wanted. And it satisfied a desire that had been building within him as well.
He decided he could fight his conscience no longer. He filled out a Recommendation of Release form that night. He would help Miranda find a place to get back on her feet, even if
it was in the guest room of his small apartment.
But he never got the chance to present the forms to Dr. Francis. She was found hanging in her room the next day. A note had been written, addressed to him.
Today I die so that I may live again.
I am afraid, but only a little.
Please be as kind to others as you were to me.
Love them so hard it drives you insane.
It was a request that he feared was becoming prophecy.
“As everything is destined to die, I shall enjoy my time with it today.” Rajamadja’s childlike voice pierced through the painful memory, banishing it back to the past where it belonged.
Eli grabbed on to that voice like a life raft, and the raging waters of his mind began to calm. His heartbeat slowed, his hyperventilating settled, he stopped shaking. He pulled aside the blanket and sighed.
“All you have is the present moment,” his guru’s calming voice spoke from beyond. “Just breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe.”
“But,” another voice broke through, “you are still a product of your past. Your soul carries yesterday’s ghosts. And they stay with you forever.”
A bolt of electric fire burned up from Eli’s bowels and he went running for the bathroom.
Chapter Nineteen
While Eli had seemed uneasy at dinner, he appeared downright disheveled the next day. Alex had known something was up when he saw the email from Eli calling for an urgent staff meeting that same morning. It had been sent at 1:55 a.m. This can’t be good, Alex had thought. He had been both right and wrong.
Eli arrived to the meeting looking tired and confused, like he had gotten little, if any, sleep the night before. He swayed at the front of the room on unsteady feet and spoke with a raspy voice, coughing hoarsely into his hand.
The apparent purpose of the meeting was for Eli to reiterate his stance regarding the humane treatment of patients. It was a lecture the senior staff had heard many times before, and there didn’t seem to be a purpose for it now.
Whether it was due to repetition or Eli’s weakened condition, Alex wasn’t sure, but the room turned on Eli, voicing complaints that he was unprepared to address. Several of the nurses spoke out in favor of modern therapeutics and criticized what many considered to be outmoded practices on the hospital’s behalf. Devon stood up and questioned Eli’s safety protocols, citing the near altercation with Crosby. It was the first time Alex had seen people say to Eli’s face what they had been whispering behind his back. And Eli was caught off guard.
As more people began voicing their grievances, the backlash grew so severe Alex felt obligated to intervene. He stood up and hushed the room. And, with just a few placating lines, rescued Eli from the outcry while simultaneously appeasing the senior staff members’ valid concerns. He then called the meeting to a timely close.
Yes, the meeting had been both bad and good. Bad for Eli, good for Alex. Looks like this succession plan may be enacted even earlier than expected, he thought as he pushed open his office door, floating on a cloud of euphoria.
The message light was flashing on his phone. He checked his voice mail and found two messages waiting for him. One was from Rachel, the other from Mac Childress, his financial advisor. They both sounded equally distressed.
Who to call? Who to call? he thought, still basking in the afterglow from his impromptu performance. He leaned against his desk as he dialed the first number, smiling as the line picked up on the first ring. Mac was always quick to answer.
“Yo, MC. Just got your message. What’s up, my man?” Alex always felt compelled to present a cooler, more carefree persona for Mac. Like he was some streetballer with stacks of cash.
“Alex, I’ve got some bad news.” The fictitious image had become harder to hold up as of late. Alex circled his desk and sat down.
“Ah shit, Mac. You got any good news we can start with?”
“Good news.” Mac pondered. “Well, you’ve got your health. Not to mention a smoking-hot wife who I can only imagine is a savage in bed.”
Rachel could pass for a saint, given her devotion to the missionary position, but Alex did nothing to discourage Mac’s perception. “Can’t argue that,” he said.
“But,” Mac said.
“Yeah, she’s got a fine ass as well, not that it’s any of your business.”
Mac offered a commiserate snicker. “Alex, I don’t have a whole lot of time.”
“Right, sorry. Go ahead.”
“Well, look. Remember how we talked about getting more aggressive with your portfolio given this influx of new money you have coming in? Well, as I was quick to caution, the more aggressive we get, the more risk we assume.”
If Mac had issued a word of caution, Alex hadn’t heard it. In fact, it was Mac who had encouraged Alex to invest in higher-risk ventures, prattling off a list of can’t-miss investments while they sipped top-shelf scotch at his country club’s bar. Alex had already consumed six beers on the golf course, causing him to double-bogey the back nine. “The market’s depleted, buddy,” Mac had said. “Prices can’t go any lower. It’s a gold mine for people like you with a large stream of capital to invest. You’ll make a killing.”
It seemed as if Mac always preferred to meet in person when discussing spending money, but preferred to speak over the phone when discussing losing it.
“Okay?” Alex prompted.
“Well, I hate to say it, but we took a hit, friend. We got run through the wash with a couple of overseas tech firms. It’s nothing we can’t rebound from, but I’m going to need for you to settle up on what you owe.”
While on the golf course, just about the time he had cracked open his sixth beer, Alex had begun to blab about the money he expected to start pulling in from a pharmaceutical sale. He had exaggerated a bit, suggesting that it was already a done deal and revealing figures that were well beyond what he could even expect should the deal have gone through.
Listening, Mac’s expanding smile could have housed a family of four. He had pulled the hidden latch on his golf cart humidor and cut two Cuban cigars, handing one to Alex and lighting it with a butane torch. “Congratulations, buddy. Let’s post up at the bar and talk about putting that money to work.”
Alex had explained that the money wasn’t currently available, but Mac had offered to cover him. Had said the firm did it all the time for high-net-worth clients, at a nominal fee. Alex had resisted for the duration of the first scotch. But after the second one, he’d agreed. They’d celebrated with a third, and that was the last thing Alex could remember.
“Sure,” Alex said, stalling. “But here’s the deal. I’m still waiting on it to come through. There’re some…” he began shuffling papers for no reason, “…legal technicalities that we’re working out. But it shouldn’t take long. I’ll have to get back to you.”
The silence on the other end resembled the center of a black hole. Finally, Mac spoke, “Don’t fuck with me here, Alex. The firm won’t hold out for long. Shit, I shouldn’t have even covered you in the first place. We’re talking about a lot of money. They’ll look to put a lien against your assets until their losses are recovered. I can buy a little time, but not much. The sooner we clear this up, the better. Then we can work out a plan to get you out of this hole.”
Alex closed his eyes and saw Popeye’s blood-matted body lying in the ditch that he had dug. “Right. I know. I’ll be in touch,” he said, and hung up the phone.
It rang before he could pull his hand away. He brought the receiver back up to his ear.
“Dr. Drexler,” he said.
“Hey, honey. Jesus, where have you been? Look, I think you need to get over here.” It was Rachel and she sounded even more frantic than she had on her message. “It’s Jerry. He’s acting…strange.”
Alex felt an electrical current shoot up his spine, causing him to straighten in his chair. “St
range how?”
“Like, you know, bad. Like he’s having an episode, only worse. He’s acting extremely paranoid. Aggressive even. He’s…he’s scaring me.”
“Be specific. What’s he doing?”
There was a rustle on the other end of the line. When Rachel spoke again, her voice sounded muffled and muted, like she was cupping her mouth with her hand. “Shit, he just walked into the room.”
“So what? Honey, what’s the problem?” Alex’s voice took on a panicked edge.
Rachel pulled away from the receiver. Her voice sounded remote. Alex heard her say, “Jerry, what are you doing with that?” More rustling. “Please put that away.”
Alex shifted the receiver to his other ear and pressed it hard against his head. His eyes turned to slits as he strained to hear. “Rachel, what’s he doing?”
She whispered into the receiver, her voice wavering, “Honey, he’s scaring me. He’s holding a knife, and he’s looking at me really strangely. It’s like he doesn’t recognize me.” She apparently turned her head away from the phone. Her voice was distant. “Jerry, what’s wrong, honey? I’m talking to your brother. Please tell me if anything’s wrong so we can help you.” Alex heard a mumbled, indecipherable voice in the background. Then Rachel responded, “Who are you talking about? I don’t know who that is. Jerry, nobody is going to hurt you.”
Alex gripped the phone in both hands and squeezed. “Rachel,” he said. She didn’t respond. He spoke louder, “Rachel, honey, head for the bedroom. I’m going to call the facility and have them send help.”
Rachel’s voice was high-pitched and trembling, like she was struggling to choke back tears. “Okay. I…I… Okay, yeah. I think I can…”
Alex heard shuffling and heavy breathing, rustling as the phone brushed against her clothes. Then he heard the sound of a door closing and ragged breaths.
“Rachel? What’s happening?”
“Honey, I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what to do?”