Without even taking a second to pretend that he considered her opinion valid, the doctor answered, “No, he’s schizophrenic.”
Maria felt a wave of frustration. This “professional,” and most likely all the others in this place, had decided Rod was crazy. Unsalvageable. Too far gone. But many doctors had said the same thing about her.
And they’d been wrong. Dead wrong.
Thanks goodness for Dr. Roberts and a few of his well-trained colleagues. They had understood PTSD. Knew how it worked. They hadn’t jumped to conclusions about her future. Because of them, Maria had been given a second chance in life. She got the job as police chief in Kanab. She’d met Rod. She fallen in—
She’d fallen for him.
“Listen,” said Maria, “I want to make sure no one is jumping to—”
He didn’t let her finish her sentence. “The signs are classic. He is displaying every peremptory symptom of schizophrenia.” The doctor said it like it was another day on the job, which it was for him it.
But not for Maria. “And what sort of peremptory symptoms are we talking about?”
If condescension could be measured and weighed, the doctor might as well have handed Maria a hundred pound bag of bad attitude. His shoulders reared back, nostrils flared. “I highly doubt it would be worth my time to explain them all to you. Suffice it to say he’s mentally not well. Schizophrenia has most likely been simmering for—”
“Stop.” Maria held up her hand. “Let me describe his symptoms to you.” Maria flexed her own shoulders back and subtly pushed herself onto her toes to appear taller. “It started with agitation, insomnia, and a sudden distrust of everything and everyone. He became easily distracted and exhibited physical and verbal aggression. Mood was dysphoric with pseudobulbar affection. Then came the paranoid, delusional, poorly structured, grandiose hallucinations. In the end, he had a complete disrupted awareness of the boundaries of his own existence. Did I get it about right?”
A slow nod from the doctor.
Maria continued, “My concern is that the presence of a low-grade fever during an acute psychotic manifestation suggests the need for a completely differential diagnosis. I shouldn’t have to remind you that a first-time neurological manifestation has up to a twenty percent chance of being a secondary induced psychosis state influenced by the presence of an organic psychiatric factor. An examination to account for physical trauma, drugs and toxins, renal failure, structural lesions, infections, and nutritional deficiencies needs to happen immediately. The last thing this patient needs is an erroneous non-organic psychiatric diagnosis and consequential over sedation. For pity’s sake. Do you even know what his vitamin B12 levels are?”
The doctor blinked.
Twice.
“Nurse Madison?” The doctor looked around the room and found the nurse waiting in the corner by the prison guard.
“Yes, doctor?” the nurse answered, glancing at Maria.
“Please inform the orderly it’s time for these visitors to be escorted from the room. The patient needs his rest.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the year 1872, a great disaster befell the Apaches of the Superstition Mountains. It is a tale of horror and death and is responsible for many of the other stories of death that have come out of the Superstitions. It was in that year the first organized effort was made to drive the Apaches from the mountains.
—“Fool’s Gold,” by Robert Sikorsky, Golden West Publishers, 1983, page 48.
MARIA ABSENTMINDEDLY FLIPPED THE phone in her lap back and forth. She had called Ms. Tuttle at the Kanab library and asked her if she wouldn’t mind doing some research on possible infections or poisons that mimicked the neurotic symptoms of schizophrenia. She also asked her to look up anything she could find about the Keepers. Ms. Tuttle had, of course, readily agreed.
You know,” Maria announced to Beth and Grant who were in the car with her, “I’ve come to a conclusion.”
Beth, who was driving to Brian’s house where they would freshen up before going to Rep. Lankin’s for dinner that night, was the first to respond. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I seriously need to work on my people skills,” Maria answered. “I mean, I’m great when I talk to reasonable people, like Ms. Tuttle and you guys. But with Melissa? And that doctor?” Maria flinched. “Not so good.”
“I have to admit that you’d never make in the world of hair dressing.” Beth popped a piece of mint gum into her mouth.
“I completely agree.” Maria pulled down on her head, touching her chin to her collar bone. It was the best stretch she knew to release the tension in the back of her neck. “I’d be a complete failure if I tried to do what you do, Beth.”
“I’m glad you told both of them off,” said Grant from the back seat. “They needed it. I kept telling them this wasn’t the Rod I’d known for my whole life. But they wouldn’t listen to me. How did you know all that medical detail, anyway?”
Maria’s embarrassment over her own mental condition had come a long way since she’d first arrived in Kanab. “Everything I said in Rod’s room was said about me at least a dozen times. There’s not a whole lot in life I’m really good at except for two things. First, how to shoot a gun, which I’m actually quite skilled at, and second, how to talk to doctors about neuroses.”
Beth slapped Maria’s arm teasingly. “Come on. I’m sure there’s a third thing in there somewhere.”
Grant spoke. “Seriously, I’m so glad Rod found you. If there’s anyone who can help him through this, it’s you.”
That had to be one of the nicest thing anyone had ever said to Maria. Was it true? Deep down she’d always felt she wasn’t the kind of person anyone really wanted their brother or sister to hang with, let alone date. She had too much baggage. “Thanks, Grant. Tha-that means a lot.”
He piped up again from the back seat. “You really are so different from Dakota. I think he was more in love with the idea of being married to her than he was actually in love with her. This time is different. He talks about you constantly. And the fact that you went hunting with the two of us? I mean, seriously, how awesome was that? Dakota would have been much too dainty for that.”
Maria hoped that was a good thing. Was being the gun expert in a relationship too unfeminine?
“You know,” said Grant, “I’m to thank for you two getting together.”
“That’s funny,” said Beth, “because I thought that was my claim to fame.”
“Nope, it’s me,” said the taller but younger version of Rod. “In high school, I was the one who first said how hot you were. And when you moved back to town, I told Rod I was going to ask you out.”
“And what did Rod say when you told him that?” asked Beth.
“Nothing.” Grant smirked. “He slugged me in the gut.”
“Brothers,” said Beth, shaking her head. “I think my two youngest boys are going to be like that. I swear, they’re always wrestling over the same toy—not that you’re a toy, Maria. I didn’t mean to suggest that.”
Maria smiled. Inside, she was still anxious over the fact that Dakota was too dainty to have gone camping.
“Well,” continued Grant, “I deserved the punch. I knew Rod had been crushing on you for a while. Beth, did you tell Maria that you and Rod used to stalk her on Facebook?”
“I did,” said Beth. “I have revealed all of the underhanded and conspiratorial actions I resorted to in order to get my two friends together.”
“And I thanked you for it,” said Maria.
“Actually,” said Beth, moving into another lane of traffic, “I don’t think you ever did. I sometimes wonder if you’re okay with what I did.”
“Oh.” Maria drew in a deep breath. “Yeah. I probably didn’t thank you. I … I have trouble expressing those sorts of things.”
“Like happiness?” asked Beth.
In the backseat, Grant did the opposite of what most men would do. Instead of pretending the conversations hadn’t gone from light and casual
to touchy feely, he scooted forward on his seat, stretching his seatbelt to the maximum length.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Maria. Her neck muscles were seizing up. Too much adrenaline.
Beth answered, “I mean you can’t seem to talk about positive emotions like happiness.”
“No,” said Grant, “what Beth really means is you can’t talk about love. You pretty much suck at it.”
Maria’s heart sped up. Her forehead perspired and ears buzzed. For Maria, it was as if a terrorist with a bomb had hijacked the car. “And … how do you know that?”
Grant’s answer came quickly. “Because Rod told me so. He was hoping for advice on how to break down your barriers. He might be mad at me for telling you this, but he fell hard and fast for you. And that was in high school. When you moved back to Kanab, you couldn’t have found a happier man. He’s not a halfway sort of guy. When he loves, he loves completely. And there’s something else you need to know about my brother. He is as loyal as the day is long.”
Maria’s lungs begged for air. Why was the car so small? So confined? So … personal?
“He really is,” said Beth. “Grant is right. Which is one more reason that I absolutely know Rod didn’t hurt a hair on Dakota’s head. Let alone the rest of her.”
Maria wished she could relive the last month of her life. She wished she hadn’t built up her walls so high. She wished she’d opened up more to Rod. That she’d been more honest with herself about all the effort he was making in their relationship. Why had she resisted? What was wrong with her?
Dr. Robert’s faced popped into her mind along with his words about her fear of intimacy. Of course he had been right. But Maria knew she was ready to change. She was ready to take risks. She simply hoped it wasn’t too late.
Maria let her body sink back into the car seat. She focused on her breathing for the rest of the car ride, as tear after tear dripped silently onto her lap below.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A column of troops of the Fifth United States cavalry came upon the trail of a large band of Indians. The trail was followed into the wildest part of the range and then was lost on a granite ridge, amid a maze of canyons. Soon, however, a [cavalry] scout discovered an Apache brave and young boy hiding in a rocky crevice. The child was captured and forced to lead the way to the tribal camp.
—“Fool’s Gold,” by Robert Sikorsky, Golden West Publishers, 1983, page 48.
BY THE TIME MARIA was thirteen years old, she’d read all of the Agatha Christie crime novels that her hometown library offered. Tonight, in Rep. Lankin’s dining room, she had the eerie feeling her favorite of the detective stories was coming to life, And Then There Were None.
It was the tale of a group of seemingly innocent, but secretly guilty, people who gathered on an isolated island—making them all targets for a vigilante to bring justice to the world. One by one, they killed each other.
Was this Rep. Lankin’s plan? Get them all together and see who would kill whom? Maria chided herself. She’d now crossed the line between reality and fantasy.
And what’s so new about that?
Her own thoughts mocked her. In the last week she’d relapsed with her hallucinations, seen Dakota’s real ghost, and imagined seeing a dog’s paw turn into a human foot. What was fantasy and reality? Was there really a line?
Six people sat around the well-polished mahogany table: Maria, Beth, Grant, Tom, Brian, and Rep. Lankin. Derrick and Melissa were running late. While the group waited, Rep. Lankin’s kitchen staff had served a platter of exotic hors d’oeuvres that smelled delicious, especially since Maria hadn’t eaten for nearly twelve hours.
“I haven’t had good carpaccio since the last time I was here,” said Brian, who was on his second plate of finger food and his third glass of wine.
“That’s right. You do enjoy a good carpaccio,” said the representative.
“Yep,” said Brian, more relaxed now than when he’d first arrived. “You know me. I love the salty with the sweet.” He lifted his glass.
“Well,” Rep. Lankin laughed, “pace yourself. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”
A belly laugh erupted from Brian.
“What are you two talking about” asked Tom. He’d been working on a full plate of hors d’oeuvres himself. “Let the rest of us in on it.”
“Oh nothing. Just one of my less stellar moments and Representative Lankin’s first scandal.” Brian finished his glass of wine, and his eyes immediately searched for the bottle.
Rep. Lankin explained further. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was throwing a ‘who’s who’ sort of shindig last year and invited Brian for some of his connections. He got a little tipsy—”
“A little.” Brian smirked.
“—and he knocked out the assistant to the state attorney general, who thankfully was also as drunk as a …” Rep. Lankin paused as Melissa entered the room. He stood up and waved her to the dining table. “Melissa, my dear!” said the representative.
“Continue on. I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said as she hurried into the room.
“You’re no interruption at all.” Rep. Lankin smiled widely. “I was telling a stupid story. Come sit by me. We’re waiting on Derrick to arrive. It’s good to have you here.”
Melissa sat in the chair by the representative and immediately started rifling through a leather satchel. Beth looked at Maria with questioning eyes, and Maria stared back blankly. What was she getting at?
“We could get started without Derrick, I suppose,” said the representative.
“I think we should,” said Melissa curtly. “I don’t have much time.” She glared at Maria, showing her disdain for the woman following their conversation earlier that day. “I still have a ton of paperwork to do tonight.”
“Fair enough. I’ll tell the staff to get dinner.”
A few more minutes of small talk ensued while Rep. Lankin’s staff served a main course of chicken cordon bleu with roasted root vegetables and a decorative wedge of iceberg drizzled with a tangy vinaigrette.
After everyone had been served, Rep. Lankin stood up, as if about to give a nuptial toast. “I appreciate you coming on such short—”
Derrick barreled through the door, out of breath and red faced. “Sorry I’m late. I was having a discussion with the Keepers.”
“Welcome, Derrick. Come in, come in. We were getting started. How is Sierra?”
Derrick unsuccessfully tried to catch his breath. “She’s fine but quite interested in what goes on here tonight. Apparently she’s missing some items of significant worth. She’s hoping I might be able to clear up the … ah … misunderstanding.” For the second time in five minutes, Maria received another glare. This time from Derrick.
She was not endearing herself to Rod’s old friends any too quickly.
“Excellent. That’s what tonight is all about. Getting everything out in the open.” Rep. Lankin indicated Derrick should sit in the last empty seat around the table. “Let’s get started.”
The representative’s position at the head of the table felt paternal, almost grandfatherly. “Rod is our friend,” he began. “And, to be perfectly honest, he’s not doing well.” The representative looked at each member of the dinner party individually. The special attention he gave each person blanketed the room in reassurance. “Rod’s not only accused of murder, but now he’s in the throes of a major neurotic episode. I think we can all agree he is having a pretty bad week.”
Everyone listened to the man who most in the room used to call professor. Maria could see his influence on them and why others found him so endearing. When he spoke, he sounded genuine. Much less like a politician and more like a confidante.
“Call it fate or subtly engineered, but we’ve all been reconnected to witness this tragic event. Maria here,” he gestured toward her, “feels some of us have information about Rod or Dakota that we’re not being completely forthright about. And, at least in my case, she’s correct.”
His
former students sat up straighter in their chairs, the cordon bleu on their plates growing cold.
“I have a connection to the Superstition Mountains that most don’t know about. My step son, Christopher Mayfield, was lost in the Superstition Mountains. We found his body two weeks after he passed. It’s been almost ten years.”
Besides Derrick’s heavy breathing, the room was silent.
“Chris was a … unique … young man. He kept to himself a lot, most of his friends he knew by only their gaming avatar names. He became obsessed by the idea of finding the Dutchman’s goldmine. It worried my wife at the time. She felt it was a sign of some mental condition. It should have worried me too, but I didn’t know what to think. I told her to calm down and that when I was his age I was totally obsessed with building models. However, on the day before his nineteenth birthday he got high on drugs and left us a note, telling us the mountains were calling to him.”
The pained look on the representative’s face grew as he approached the crux of the story. “We immediately knew he’d gone into the Superstitions. For a person who had some idea how to survive in the wild, that wouldn’t have been such a big deal. But Chris could hardly even open his own yogurt container. He was immature, naïve, and hyped up on speed. He had no idea how to stay alive in the desert. We called the police. We called search and rescue. Troy Ferlund at the Superstitions’ ranger’s station sent out search parties. They found nothing. Anyhow—” A deep breath. “As these sorts of stories go, Chris never made it out. We found his body with some help, and, about ten months after the funeral, his mom and I split. All of us are victims of the Superstitions in a way.” He reached out and put his hand on Melissa’s shoulder to steady himself. The silence in the room reflected the ache and agony Rep. Lankin felt.
Skeletons Among Us: Legends of Treasure Book 2 Page 17