Methods of Madness

by Ray Garton

  19.

  In the kitchen, Dani put a mug of water in the microwave for tea as Richard drank a Coke silently at the table.

  Hushed voices drifted from the living room where Dr. Krusadian was talking with Jason; he refused to let Dani or Richard see him until Krusadian had a word with Jason.

  The rain sounded like battle outside.

  The microwave beeped, Dani removed the mug and began dipping a tea bag in the steaming water.

  “What the hell is that?” Richard asked, firmly but quietly, glaring across the kitchen.

  Dani turned in the direction of his stare and the tea bag plopped into the mug.

  There was a lock on the basement door. Two locks, she realized as she looked below the doorknob. They were padlocks, enormous brass padlocks twice the size of a man’s fist, locked through hasps that had not been there earlier that evening.

  Richard went to the door, jerked on the upper lock, and whispered, “Son of a bitch.”

  At his side, Dani touched the lock’s perfectly smooth, cool surface. There was no brand name written on the lock, nothing to suggest it had been purchased in a hardware store. It was perfect and spotless, the biggest padlock she’d ever seen.

  “Son of a bitch!” Richard repeated, louder, pounding the lock with a fist. “What the hell are these for? The basement, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Remember, Richard, what he said about questions. No questions. Let’s just leave it alone for now and get this over with.”

  “Yeah, for now. But I’m gonna sue him. Sue his black ass.” He returned to the table and his Coke.

  Dani looked down at the bottom lock and a glistening wetness on the floor caught her eye. It was just a thin strip on the tile, flush with the door and disappearing through the crack beneath it. She hunkered down and gingerly touched it with two fingers.

  Cold and slimy. Thick.

  Just like the clear sheen of gelatinous fluid on the closet door-jamb in the bedroom.

  Dani wiped her fingers on the cold floor, grimacing with disgust at the feel of the substance, about to point it out to Richard, when—

  —something moved deep within the basement.

  Something heavy and slow.

  Something that made a sound like that of a person climbing out of a bathtub full of lard.

  Dani felt her insides roll over and she stood, whimpering, “Richard? Rich—”

  Dr. Krusadian entered the kitchen as Dani turned and her mouth shut so suddenly that her teeth clacked together.

  “Jason will be here in a moment,” he said. “He may seem lethargic, quite, a little… different. Don’t be alarmed. My method is swift and covers a lot of ground in a short time. It can be exhausting. One negative word from either of you will force me to have him removed from this home. Do you understand?” he asked, grinning.

  Richard nodded.

  Dani moved her head loosely, as if she had forgotten exactly how to nod.

  “Good, then. You both look very tired. Not used to being held powerless and against your will in your own home, are you? Well. Think of what Jason has endured these past nine years. Perhaps you should put on some coffee, Mrs. Campbell.” Over his shoulder, Dr. Krusadian called, “Come on in, Jason.”

  Jason shuffled into the kitchen in the middle of a jaw cracking yawn. He smacked his lips and said, “Mom, can I have some chocolate milk?”

  Dani knelt before him and touched his pale face, whispering. “Sure, sweetheart. How are you?”

  His eyes darted to Dr. Krusadian and back. “Fine.”

  Looking up at the doctor, Dani ached to ask what he’d been doing with her son, but his narrowed eyes and cold razorblade smile told her not to.

  “Chocolate milk coming up,” she said, going to the refrigerator.

  Dr. Krusadian cleared his throat. “Excuse me while I use the facilities. Ehhh, the sooner that coffee is ready, Mrs. Campbell, the better. We’re all going to need it.”

  When he was gone, Dani knelt before Jason again and whispered, “Jason, listen to Mom. Does Dr. Krusadian scare you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Is he… well, what has he said to you? What has he done?”

  “Talked. Just talked, is all. And played his music box.”

  “Mu… mu… “ Her tongue froze. She thought of the golden cube on her dresser, the music it had played, the things she’d seen as she listened to it and, worst of all, the thing in the closet.

  Dani spun her head toward the basement door so quickly, her neck popped.

  Light from the overhead flourescents glittered reflectively in the strip of slime beneath the door. She noticed more of it streaked on the doorjamb just below the knob.

  Demons…

  The word passed through her mind like a ghost and Dani closed her eyes a moment, searching for it again. It was something Dr. Krusadian had said earlier that evening—although it now seemed days ago—one of his annoying melodramatic proclamations.

  My job is to remove from Jason all of the demons which you have inflicted upon him.

  Demons…

  She opened her eyes again and looked at the substance on the floor.

  Demons…

  Something roiled up inside her; it was not quite guilt and not just fear, but a thick acidic mixture of both that bloated her stomach and gushed through her entire body until she could smell it clogging her nostrils.

  “Richard,” she hissed, rushing to the table, trying to ignore her sudden dizziness. “Richard, we have to get out of here!”

  His heavy-lidded eyes rolled to her slowly and he mumbled, “Shut up, Danielle.”

  “But Richard, he’s—”

  “I told you, I’m gonna sue his goddamned—”

  “No, we have to get out of here now. Before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” His voice was heavy with contempt and annoyance.

  “I… I don’t know, Richard.” Dani fought back a sob; her trembling hands fluttered up and down his arm pleadingly. “I don’t know yet, but I’m telling you he’s doing something horrible, I’m telling you whatever was in the closet is—”

  “How is that coffee coming, Mrs. Campbell?”

  Dr. Krusadian put his black bag on the table, reached in and removed a small notebook and seated himself across from Richard, opening the book with a slight flourish of his arm. Taking a pen from his breast pocket, he began making notes, reading over the pages, and acting as if he were alone in the room.

  Dani rose and got Jason’s chocolate milk, unable to hold the carton or glass steady in her quaking hands.

  Standing in the middle of it all, Jason turned round eyes from Krusadian to his dad to Dani and back to the doctor again, the seat of his pajama bottoms sagging, the nails of his right hand scratching nervously over the scribbled inscriptions on his cast.

  When Dani gave him the chocolate milk, he whispered, “Thank you, Mom,” in a voice so soft and hollow that tears stung Dani’s eyes and she reached out to embrace him, but he was drinking, eyes closed, head tilted back, and a part of her heart shriveled.

  She hurriedly put some coffee on, then waited for Jason to finish his chocolate milk. When he went to the sink to rinse his glass, she glanced at Dr. Krusadian, saw that he was still involved with his notes, and leaned toward Jason’s ear. “Come upstairs with Mommy, sweetheart,” she whispered, slipping an arm around his shoulders and leading him out of the kitchen.

  She’d made a decision; she would call Dr. Saunders and, if she reached him, would tell him she thought her family was in danger at Dr. Krusadian’s hand and if any harm came to them, she would see that the blame would fall on Dr. Saunders for forcing them to take the strange doctor into their home. She wanted Jason with her when she made the call; she’d also decided that she would not let him out of her sight until Dr. Krusadian was gone.

  Before either Dani or Jason could step out of the kitchen, Dr. Krusadian said casually, “Jason stays with me at all times.”

  Dani turned to find that he h
adn’t even looked up from his notes. She said, “I… I was j-just going to—”

  “At all times, Mrs. Campbell. You may go if you wish, but Jason does not leave my sight.” He sounded distant, preoccupied with the notebook, then he looked at her and smiled. “Go on, Mrs. Campbell, it’s all right. I’ll let you know when it’s time to go back to your room.”

  Dani couldn’t let go of Jason; she looked down at him through her tears and saw, to her horror, that he was smiling at her.

  “S’okay, Mom. I like Dr. Krusadian.”

  She pulled her hand away from him slowly, turned to Richard, who was staring blankly out the window at the stormy night, then Dani hurried from the kitchen and up the stairs.

  In her bedroom, she looked up Dr. Saunders’ number in the telephone directory, placed the call, and reached his answering service. After a few minutes of trying to impress the woman at the other end of the line that her call was urgent, Dani said, “Listen to me, please, this is not a medical emergency, it’s personal, do you understand? If Dr. Saunders doesn’t call me back immediately, he could be in a lot of trouble.” She left her number, hung up, and sat on her bed, waiting.

  The phone rang nearly ten minutes later and Dani picked up before the ring died.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Campbell? Dr. Saunders.”

  “Oh, thank God. Dr. Saunders, please, you’ve got to help me, you’ve got to.”

  “What’s wrong? Is it Jason?”

  “No. Well, yes, in a way. It’s actually, it’s that man you sent over here, that horrible man, Dr. Krusadian. Dr. Saunders, he locked us in our bedroom! My husband and me, he locked us in our bedroom and just left us there for, Jesus, I don’t know how long, but he was alone with Jason all that time, down in the living room, and he left this music box with us and, and—”

  “Mrs. Campbell, please, hold on, just calm down, now. Okay? Just calm down.”

  Tears flowed freely and she sobbed loudly before she covered her mouth and took several long deep breaths. When she regained some composure, she said, “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

  “Now, Mrs. Campbell. What are you talking about?”

  “Dr. Krusadian. He got here about… well, I don’t know what time it is now, but he came at seven, so I guess he’s been here for about—”

  “Dr. who?”

  Dani pressed the receiver to her ear so hard it made her head ache. “Kru… sadian. The doctor you sent, the doctor you made us see.”

  “Well, Mrs. Campbell, you’re certainly free to see another doctor regarding your son, but if you’ve done so, it hasn’t been at my recommendation.”

  She couldn’t find her voice for a moment. “What? What?”

  “I don’t know who you’re referring to, Mrs. Campbell. I’ve never heard of the man.”

  “But… but you… you-you-you—”

  “Sounds like maybe you need some rest, Mrs. Campbell. If you’d like, I could prescribe some—”

  “Why are you doing this?” she sobbed.

  “Um, Mrs. Campbell, I’m sorry, but… look, I don’t really have time for—”

  “You son of a bitch, why are you doing this? He’s here now, in my house! With my son!”

  Silence.

  Then: “Goodbye, Mrs. Campbell.”

  Dr. Saunders hung up.

  Screaming behind tightly clenched lips, Dani slammed the receiver into its cradle and lay on the bed sobbing for long minutes before she picked up the telephone again. She clumsily punched 9-1-1—

  —but the dial tone would not go away.

  Dr. Krusadian’s voice bled through the endless hum: “No phonecalls, Mrs. Campbell.” He was speaking on the kitchen phone. “I’m leaving the telephone off the hook.”

  The dial tone went on and on and on…

  Dani threw the receiver down and bolted from the room, descending the stairs in a staggering run, stumbling to a halt at the front door, no longer trying to hide her sobs. They echoed through the house with the thunder as she turned the doorknob.

  Only after a moment of blindly throwing herself against the sturdy door did she see it.

  A padlock.

  An enormous shiny brass padlock…

  20.

  Later—Jason had no idea how long—after his parents had been sent back to their room, Jason lost count of the times Dr. Krusadian started the globe spinning and played the music that never sounded the same twice. He lay on the sofa, the plaster cast heavy on his chest, and passed in and out of a heavy sleep each time the music stopped. Under Dr. Krusadian’s gentle guidance, Jason relived incidents he’d tried so hard and so long to forget that when he experienced them again, it was like returning to an old forgotten nightmare that had disturbed his sleep long ago…

  The time his dad made him sweep up a dish he’d dropped and broken in the kitchen, then beat him with the broom…

  The Christmas Jason accidently broke an ornament on the tree and his dad stripped all the ornaments from the branches, cornered Jason in the living room and pelted him with the brightly colored bulbs, shattering them on his head and face and hands, inflicting small cuts that opened like new eyes and cried tears of blood…

  The weekend his dad got really drunk, even drunker than usual, and decided Jason was being too pampered by his mother—”pussified”, he called it—and spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday teaching Jason what it meant to be a man, getting drunker and drunker as he tried to make Jason cry; he pinched him and poked him and stuck him with pins, burnt him with cigarettes, plucked his eyelashes with tweezers, stomped on his feet and pulled his hair, and the moment Jason so much as allowed his lip to quiver, his dad beat him mercilessly, screaming, “This’s what my pop did to me when I cried, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna do any different with you! Pussified, your mother’s pussified you, and by Christ, I won’t have it!” Jason was never able to stop crying that weekend and the tears lasted through the first part of the following week. The beatings stopped only because his dad finally got too drunk to stand up and make a fist…

  There were others, countless others, and Dr. Krusadian gently led Jason through each one, touring his young past like a museum of pain and fear with exhibits that screamed, bled. And through it all, one image returned again and again: the sight of his mother cringing in the shadows or peering around a corner, looking, at first, as if she might step forward and scream for her husband to stop, might pull him off Jason and bring an end to the violence. But that look lasted only a moment and, each time, she retreated, backed away, disappeared silently to find a bottle and turn up the volume on the television set until the laughter and applause of a studio audience blanketed Jason’s screams.

  Always she was there, silent and watchful, looking numbed, then she was gone.

  Always.

  Except once…

  “Can you hear me, Jason?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Are you relaxed? Comfortable?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Good. Now. I’ve noticed, Jason, that your mother is always - watching when your father becomes violent. Is that right?”

  “Al… ways.”

  “She never does anything else?”

  He did not respond.

  “Never?”

  Still no reply.

  “Tell me, Jason. Has your mother ever hurt you?”

  Nothing.

  “Ever?”

  “Yes,” he finally whispered, and the music began…

  21.

  Dani no longer felt she was in her own home. It was a replica, a decoy meant to fool her, holding in its deceptively familiar shadows and corners the things of childhood nightmares.

  When they returned to their room, Dani cautiously approached the closed closet and found that the slimy substance on the door-jamb was gone.

  “It was here,” she muttered.

  Richard sounded impatient and annoyed when he snapped, “What?”

  “I swear to God, Richard, something was in this closet.”

 
“You’re still drunk.”

  “I’m not. Look, the carpet is still damp.”

  “Okay, so you threw up again. Jesus, Dani, will you give it a rest.” The bed squeaked under his sudden weight and he groaned as he squeezed his head between his hands. “You said you called Saunders. What’d he say?”

  “He denied it. Said he didn’t know a Dr. Krusadian.”

  “What?”

  She turned from the closet and faced him, hands fluttering. Her voice was a quiet midnight breeze, her sentences punctuated with quick breaths. “He’s done this to us, Richard.”

  “Done what, Dani?” he sighed.

  “Sent this man. This Krusadian. He’s not a doctor, not really, I’m sure of it. I don’t know what he is, but he’s not a therapist, not like we thought. He’s… wrong, Richard, there’s something wrong with him, something not right, and he’s come here to… to, yes, to punish us. Yes. That’s it. He’s come here to punish us, Richard.”

  “Punish us for what, for Christ’s sake?”

  “For what we’ve done all these years. For all the horrible things we’ve done… things I haven’t done.”

  “Will you take a couple Valiums and shut—”

  “There are no Valiums, Richard. There’s no wine and no pot. Don’t you see, there’s always a Valium or a drink or a joint, but they’re gone now. They’ve always been our answers to every problem and now they’ve been taken away from us. We’re being punished.”

  Richard got to his feet, fists clenched, and growled through his teeth, “Goddammit, will you shut the fuck up. We’re not being punished because we haven’t done anything wrong. We’re just like everybody else in this neighborhood, this town, this whole goddamned country. We’ve got problems, we have bad days, we fight, just like everybody else, you hear me? There’s nothing wrong with us, we just had an accident that looked suspicious to one doctor, one miserable fucking doctor, and if he denies siccing this black bastard on us, I’ll sue his ass, too, by Christ. So shut up. We’re not being punished. There’s nothing wrong with us.” He paced as he spoke and, when he was finished, he sat heavily on the bed, breathing as if from a run, and spoke quietly to the floor. “I’ll go into the city and get a really good lawyer. Top drawer. A Jew. Somebody who’ll—”