The Rasner Effect

by Mark Rosendorf

  Now, after seven long years of roaming aimlessly, she gathered her family back together. Derrick had the foresight to remain a liaison for most of them in assigning them to small jobs. Though, none of those small individual jobs added up to what they had done together.

  She genuinely looked forward to seeing her people again, but she also knew her true emotions could not show, not when she needed the respect of the group as their cold-hearted but trustworthy leader.

  Jen entered, still rubbing the pistol handle. The gun rested comfortably, as if it had always been part of her outfit. She walked to the center of the living room and looked back and forth anxious to see which of their former members Derrick had collected.

  Standing at the window was Jorge Alvino, trained by the Colonel himself, to be the team’s main sniper. His aim was close to flawless, a fact the elder Duke realized early in his training. The only thing weaker than his English was his loyalty. Jorge left the group first, right when things fell into disarray seven years ago. When Jen passed the word the Duke Organization was disbanding, Jorge never received the message. He was already gone.

  Sitting in an easy chair to the far right was Jun Sanaga, whom the Colonel nicknamed “Kobayashi,” which translated to “The Butcher.” As Bill Duke trained his young soldiers in a multitude of assassination styles, his racist views were apparent in that he chose to train the one Japanese member in the Asian combat arts. Sanaga was, in his own way, a rebel among the rebels as he rarely spoke and refused to use firearms of any kind. His assassinations involved an up close and personal use of sharp blades. His usage of the blades gained him his nickname. He kept his hair long and thick which also described his arrogance. Sanaga had been the first to challenge the Colonel’s authority.

  Jen continued her examination making sure she wasn’t missing anybody. “This is it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Derrick said. “Over the last few years, everyone else was incarcerated, killed or incarcerated and then killed.”

  “Donnie?”

  “Picked up on a drug run and jailed.”

  “Crystal?”

  “Currently committed to an insane asylum. Remember the incident in that national bank a few years ago? That was Crystal.”

  “Huh. What about Frankie?”

  “They tracked him down after that bridge mess of ours. The bomb we used was one of his specialties, after all,” Derrick explained. “He ended up in jail and got shot trying to escape. Almost everyone else is pretty much dead also.”

  “Okay, this will have to do.” Jen marched to the center of the room with a smug grin on her face. “Gentlemen, we’re about to undertake our first group mission in seven years. It’s been too long, but now I am looking to reestablish the Duke Organization.”

  “Why now?” The question came from Sanaga. His voice was, as usual, very low, yet its power was unmistakable. He smoothed his jeans and multi-pocketed bush shirt then used the back of a muscular hand to push the long black hair back from his shoulders.

  “¿A quién matamos?” Jorge asked, looking tired.

  Jen wondered if he’d be a worthwhile addition to the team after all. Seven years had added a map of lines and wrinkles to his face. There was a touch of gray at the dark temples. She shot him an angry look that made him take a step back. Deep down, she enjoyed the realization that, even after so much time apart, she still commanded the fear and respect of her “troops,” sparse as they might be.

  “This is not an assassination, it’s a search and rescue mission. And when you hear exactly who it is we are rescuing, I’m sure you’ll understand the urgency behind our summons.”

  “Who?” Sanaga asked.

  It was the question she waited for. “Gentlemen, we have reason to believe, despite all the evidence to the contrary…” Jen paused for effect. “Rick Rasner is not dead!”

  Both Jorge Alvino and Jun Sanaga sported confused looks. Sanaga stood up from his seat, staring at Jen as though she might be suffering a modicum of insanity.

  “Yes, we were lied to,” Jen continued. “He is alive. He is out there, and we need to get him.”

  “¿Dónde?” Jorge asked the same time as Sanaga asked, “How do you know?”

  “Derrick, present them with the proof.” Jen pointed to the picture in Derrick’s hands.

  He held the photo up with both index fingers and thumbs. It was the picture from the landlady’s house party. He stabbed a fingertip at the third person on the bottom right.

  “¿Estás seguro?” Jorge asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s him,” Derrick responded.

  “So am I,” Jen added.

  Sanaga seized the picture and put it close to his face. He closed his left eye and used the right to scrutinize the person in the photo. He nodded, then looked at the others, and nodded again.

  “Before you ask, he has made no attempt to contact us. We don’t know why.” Jen placed her fists on her hips and positioned herself in front of the men. “We have tracked him to a small town in Pennsylvania. We’re going to get him, by force if necessary, and find out what the hell’s going on.”

  “When?” Sanaga asked.

  “As soon as possible,” Derrick responded. “We can leave right away and be there in a couple of hours.”

  Jorge walked up to Jen and looked her square in the eye. “No estuve de acuerdo.”

  A smirk popped onto Jen’s lips. She eyed Derrick. “I hope that doesn’t translate to what I think it does.”

  “Oh, it definitely does,” Derrick answered. “In typical Jorge fashion, he’s saying he hasn’t agreed to do anything for us.”

  “The man saved your life more than once, Jorge,” Jen reminded him. “If that’s not reason enough, then what is?”

  Jen’s stare was intense, but Jorge remained unflustered. “Money,” he answered, this time in English.

  “Derrick, take care of this! Open your wallet if you have to.” Jen turned her back on them and stomped to the steps leading to Derrick’s basement. All at once, she stopped and faced Sanaga. “What about you, Kobayashi?”

  “I am a man of my bonds,” he responded with no noticeable emotion. “I am in.”

  “Then come with me and let’s load the van,” Jen said and continued down the steps. “I have a hunch we’ll need supplies and artillery on this. One way or another, Rick Rasner will be joining us on the ride back.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  With his eyes closed, Rick remained in a relaxed state. He felt no movement in his arms or legs and all he heard was the sound of Doctor Obenchain’s voice. “I will now count backward from five. You will open your eyes and remember all we spoke about. Five… Four… Three… Two… One… You may now open your eyes.”

  At first, his vision was blurry, but then he was able to make out the brown oak ceiling of Obenchain’s office. He could feel the black leather couch underneath his body, as well as the comfortable pillow his head rested against. Rick struggled to sit up and slid his feet to the floor. There was stiffness in his back, a feeling he usually had after one of the sessions.

  “So, what do you remember?” Obenchain asked.

  His memories were always fuzzy at this point. “I saw something, but I’m not sure what.”

  “Try.”

  What thoughts had passed through his head while he was under Dr. Obenchain’s hypnosis? As he had done many times in the past, he scoured the back of his mind. It never got easier. “I remember a schoolyard. I’m not entirely sure what it looked like, but I am sure it was a schoolyard.” Rick closed his eyes and attempted to extract the images from his memory. “There were a lot of other kids.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I’m not sure, but I was young.”

  “What happened?”

  Rick placed his head in his cupped hands, his elbows rested on his knees. It was difficult to concentrate, but he wanted to remember. “I can’t picture their faces, but there were four boys. And they were chasing me.”

  “What for?”
r />   “They wanted to beat me up. I couldn’t defend myself. I don’t know how to…I mean, I didn’t know how to.”

  Rick brought his head up. He blinked rapidly, as though that might help clear the disorder in his brain.

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran. Out of the schoolyard and into the arms of…” Rick looked up at the doctor, confused. “I think it was that woman again.”

  “You still don’t remember who she was?”

  “No.” Rick clenched his fists in frustration. “She was older, an adult. I can’t see her now, just like before, but I know her.”

  “It could have been your mother.”

  “I’m not entirely sure who it was, I don’t sense her to be my mother, though. In fact, I’m almost sure it wasn’t.”

  “Then who might it have been?”

  “I believe she was a peer, a close friend, but I kept sensing her at different ages. Sometimes she was an adult, sometimes she wasn’t. I don’t understand it, Doctor.”

  “Let’s talk about your emotions at that point. You said you were running from some boys in the schoolyard. How did you feel at that moment?”

  “Helpless. I hate confrontation. I guess I did back when I was a child as well.”

  “And that’s why you ran, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about it right now.”

  Obenchain nodded and placed his clipboard on the coffee table next to his easy chair. “Very well, let’s talk about recent memories instead. You mentioned having another headache?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the first time you experienced these headaches since we last spoke of them?”

  “I would have told you otherwise.”

  “Do you know what might have triggered it?”

  “I have a suspicion.” Rick swiped the hair on his forehead off to the side.

  “Tell me about it?”

  “I don’t know if I should.”

  “I don’t see why not. You know this is a safe haven for your thoughts and feelings.”

  “It’s just…” Rick was ready to open up, but then shook his head. “No, I’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Is it the job? Problems at the facility?”

  “I wouldn’t say problems. It’s just…I just find the place confusing.” Rick fell back on the couch. “Particularly at the top. That director…” Rick shook his head and let out a deep breath.

  “Katherine Miller. You wish to elaborate?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Everything is confidential,” Obenchain assured him. “All off the record.”

  “Well, it’s been a few weeks, and I’m sure I don’t know how to relate to her. She’s quite rough.”

  “I’m sure she is. That’s a rough population you work with in that facility, yet she manages to keep order.”

  “Yes, but she seems so harsh, almost spiteful. I realize I’m new and don’t have a handle on the entire situation, but I question her methods and philosophies in handling those kids.”

  “In what way?”

  “She terrorizes them. She’s basically a bully.”

  “Katherine Miller has been working in that Residence for over twenty-five years. She’s been the head director for almost twelve. For a long time, she fought tooth and nail to become the director of that place. She’s ‘earned her stripes’ so to speak.”

  “I do not doubt her credentials, it’s just…” Rick tried to put words to his emotions. “We’re working with troubled kids. They need direction, not oppression.”

  “You don’t feel they receive that direction within those walls?”

  “Miss Miller just doesn’t strike me as the type who really likes kids, or people of any kind, for that matter.”

  “I sense heavy hostilities, which is very unlike you.” Obenchain chuckled. “What makes you feel that way about her?”

  Rick stood up and paced toward the opposite end of the office where, from a nail hammered into the wood paneling, Doctor Obenchain’s psychiatry degree hung. How many years of schooling did his mentor have to endure to get that piece of paper, which now hung on his wall? And was it worth it?

  “To give you an example, Miss Miller held a meeting with the staff earlier this week. She told us her biggest fear was the children would someday realize they outnumber us by more than three to one. If they did, they could take over the facility right out from under us.”

  Obenchain sat back in his chair, keeping his eyes on Rick.

  “She says a patient is a patient is a patient, and we should not be fooled by tears or our own sympathies. She says that for most of them, it’s only their medication which keeps them from acting out their violent impulses.”

  “You seem bothered by these statements.”

  “It’s a prison mentality! This is supposed to be a sanitarium for working with troubled kids, not to mention serving as a school. We’re supposed to be building them up, not tearing them down like convicts.”

  “Many of these children have been convicted of crimes. Some would even be in prison if not for their ages. But I understand where your perspective comes from on this.”

  Rick lifted his eyebrows. He turned his head to give the doctor a curious glance.

  “You want to do right by those who have become your clients.”

  “Yes. You’ve always taught me to do right by the client, Doctor Obenchain, and I follow that. These children need to be taught the proper social behaviors so they can function in the real world and not have to live their lives in places like Brookhill Children’s Psychiatric Residence.”

  “Isn’t that why they are there?” Noticeable cynicism had entered his voice. “I would assume everyone within the facility meets the best interests of these children…”

  “How is keeping secrets about their personal lives from them in their best interests? We have important information in their files. Parents are getting divorced, family members are moving away or becoming incarcerated or worse. Miller leaves notes saying not to tell them under penalty of termination.”

  “I see,” Obenchain answered.

  Rick had been hoping for more. “I have one girl there who desperately wants to speak to her grandmother.” He sat up now, leaning back against the cushion and resting his chin on the knuckles of his rolled up fist. “This girl blames the people who run the residence for not letting her make phone calls, but the real reason they don’t is…”

  “Now hold on. You have an oath of confidentiality to your clients, which extends to their personal lives. No details.”

  Rick nodded and kept his chin low. “I’m sorry, it’s just—she should hear the truth as opposed to just being told she hasn’t earned phone privileges.”

  An irate tone had entered Rick’s voice, but he was powerless to stop it. His head shot up. Obenchain looked at him in surprise. The intensity quickly subsided as Rick rubbed his forehead. “The truth is important,” Rick insisted, getting up to pace again.

  Obenchain folded his hands, twirling his thumbs in his lap. “That should be the case, but sometimes secrecy is necessary, especially when dealing with one’s mental and psychiatric rehabilitation.”

  “I guess.” Rick still wasn’t convinced. “It just doesn’t feel like a caring facility. I feel like…” Rick stopped himself.

  “Please, say what you’re thinking.”

  “Well, I feel like I’m a good person stuck working in a bad place and dealing with bad people.”

  Obenchain suddenly stepped in Rick’s way. He laid a hand on his shoulder to stop Rick’s pacing. “Rick, I feel I’ve erred in judgment. Perhaps, as a relatively new mental health worker, this is not the right position for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is a stressful place you’re in, and I’m concerned the pressures of the facility are affecting your own healing process.”

  “You want me to quit?” Rick asked, a bit stunned by the doctor’s assessment. “I know I’m not off to th
e start I hoped I would be, but to just abandon the job…”

  “The children mandated to the Brookhill Children’s Psychiatric Residence are reputed for being some of the most difficult children in their own communities. Being honest with you, Rick, the residence has, for as long as I can remember, been referred to as a ‘dumping ground.’ That’s both for the patients and the workers there. It’s one of the reasons some of us contribute to the facility, to support Katherine Miller’s desire to change its reputation. We hoped this would lead to her being able to bring in a better clientele of staff.

  “Understand, it is a great place to gain experience, but the good people, once they’ve earned that experience, look to move on rather than work with the kids in the facility. The good ones rarely stay.”

  “Or the weak ones?”

  “Please don’t see it that way, my friend. You’re not only new to the job, but if you think about it, you’re relatively new to your own life.”

  Rick remained silent, lost in thought. “But…what does all this say about the people who do remain there?” He finally asked, already knowing the answer to his own question. “What kind of so-called professionals are they?”

  “Everyone has a story, even you, right?”

  “I guess so, although I’m sure everyone else can at least remember theirs.”

  “We’re working on that, and it is coming. We’re making excellent progress. Be patient, we will put all the pieces together.”

  “I guess. It’s just so frustrating.”

  “I can understand that, but for now, will you consider what we have discussed regarding your future?”

  “I’ll need to think about it. But I think I want to see this through a little longer. I don’t believe I’m ready to just walk out.”

  “Well, do think about it.” Obenchain stood up, the signal their session was almost at an end. “In the meanwhile, you’ve inspired my curiosity. I would like to make a stop at the facility and see things for myself.”

  “You can do that?” Rick asked, as Obenchain led him toward the door. “Miss Miller doesn’t care for outsiders patrolling her hallways.”

  “I’m hardly an outsider. I am on the facility’s Board of Directors. I donate quite a sum of money per year to the program. That means I can walk in there anytime I want. It’s been a long time, but I should see what my money goes to, don’t you think?”