Love Gone Mad

by Rubinstein, Mark

  “Like I did. So?”

  “She said their donor population comes from New Haven and Fairfield Counties, an area of about one point seven million people.”

  “Oh, Adrian, the odds are insane.” She swallows deeply.

  “Listen, Megan,” Adrian says, barely able to contain himself. “Half the population is women, so it’s about eight hundred thousand men. But really, it’s far fewer, since they only take men between nineteen and thirty-five and only college graduates.”

  “Oh, Adrian, that’s still thousands of men.”

  “Then she asked me an interesting question.”

  “What?”

  “She asked if I personally know any sperm donor. I realized that I don’t. Very few men are willing to go through the screening process, even if the lab pays them to donate. So the actual donor population’s very small. And they don’t take men with personal or family histories of mental illness, diabetes, or MS, lots of skin conditions, and other things. So it boils down to a small group of actual donors.”

  “Yes?”

  “They called me because they couldn’t fill a request. A client—whom she couldn’t name—asked for a donor between six feet and six two, with blue eyes and of either English or Scottish descent.”

  Megan’s eyes dart from left to right.

  “Lefer said ‘We had no donor who fit that profile.’”

  Megan looks chalky white.

  “Only my semen fit the bill, and they used it for that client.”

  He feels her hands shaking.

  “She couldn’t say more without violating the nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Oh, Adrian, I don’t want Marlee to go through DNA testing.”

  “Well, my love, after seeing Lefer, I ordered the testing kit … and …”

  “Oh, Adrian, don’t be silly.”

  “Megan, do you remember that day when we went to the Maritime Aquarium?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the parking lot, we saw that pickup. Marlee was chewing gum and you told her not to throw it on the ground. Remember?”

  “Not really.”

  “Marlee put the gum into an envelope. I realized that chewed bubble gum has gobs of saliva and cheek cells with plenty of DNA. When I got home, I dropped the gum into a vial from the collection kit. Then I swabbed my inner cheek and put it in another vial. And I sent the kit off to the lab.”

  “You did genetic testing on Marlee and never told me?” Megan’s eyes narrow.

  “I’m sorry, Megan, but I just had to know. I love you so much … and Marlee, too. I had to find out.” Heat crawls into his face. He feels his pores open.

  “You did this without telling me?”

  The question hits him with stunning impact. “Megan, I—”

  “You did DNA testing on Marlee—on my child—and never told me?”

  “Yes. But you have to—”

  “Oh, Adrian, how could you?”

  “Please forgive me, Megan. But you told me about the AI and you said you were desperate to save the marriage and not hurt Conrad …”

  “Yes.” Her lips quiver and her eyelids flutter.

  “That’s how I felt … desperate. I had to learn the truth. I had to find out, and I didn’t want to complicate your life even more, so I did it secretly.”

  Tears pool in her eyes. Adrian wonders if she’ll slap him, walk out of the room, or sink to the sofa, but she stands there, mouth agape, wide-eyed.

  “Yes, I did it,” he says with his voice quivering. “And I’m sorry I violated your privacy … and Marlee’s, too. This is my deepest secret. Megan, please forgive me.”

  She stands there—staring at him in bewilderment. And Adrian gazes at those gorgeous green-ringed hazel eyes, now so wide, as her mouth hangs open with her lovely, fair face and her coppery-red hair pinned behind her like it was the day they met. With her hands shaking, she nods her head frantically, as though she understands how tortured he’d felt when she’d mentioned Gen-Health Labs. She seems to realize—he hopes, oh yes, how he fervently hopes—that she understands the urgency of his need to know more about the woman he loves and this delightful little girl Marlee. It’s all so intense, Adrian feels he could collapse from the anticipation of hoping Megan can appreciate his desperate wish—no, his absolute need—to know more about the two of them, Megan and Marlee, who are now so intertwined in his life. He can’t imagine living without them. His entire body feels damp. His heart pounds like a sledgehammer in his chest, and every nerve ending on his skin fires away in bursts of nervous energy. He looks into her eyes and hears Megan whisper, “Adrian, what—what were the results?”

  “They came back today.”

  Megan blinks again and again, and she looks frozen in anticipation.

  “Megan, my love …”

  She nods at him frantically as her lips and chin tremble. He wants to hold her in his arms, nuzzle and kiss her tenderly, and he can barely believe what he’s about to say, but it’s the deepest and most abiding truth in his world.

  “She’s ours—yours and mine, Megan,” he says, nearly choking. “I’m Marlee’s father.”

  Her hand goes to her mouth and a gasp erupts from somewhere deep in her throat. Her eyes widen in stunned disbelief, and she’s speechless. She plops onto the sofa, and he drops down beside her, wrapping his arms around her. Her shoulders shake, and she seems to convulse as he feels a coarse shuddering go through her. He can’t tell if she’s crying or laughing, or simply quaking from the shock of it all. And then she leans against his chest and buries her face against him, and he presses her close and feels the beating of her heart, knowing she and Marlee are the most precious beings in his world.

  Megan draws back, her hands in his; she looks into his eyes and whispers, “This is unbelievable. It’s unreal. It’s … it’s just … Adrian, of all the people in the world, they used your sperm?” Her intake of breath is ragged and her look of incredulity is mixed with that of deep revelation blended with shocklike astonishment. She gasps again. She seems unable to process what she’s heard and incapable of uttering a word. Megan shakes her head and stammers, “Here we are … all these years later … and we met in the cafeteria … just a few months ago and … and all these years I didn’t know it, but Marlee … she’s yours, too? I … I don’t even … I can’t get my head around it all,” she says in a tear-filled voice.

  “I’ve been in complete shock,” he whispers, feeling light-headed.

  The clock on the mantle ticks so loudly, it seems to reverberate in his ears along with a low-level hissing sound. A minute passes, maybe two, perhaps three. Adrian can’t really tell because his head spins and his heart flutters and a sizzling sensation sears through him as Megan tries to process this fate-filled and incredible denouement in their lives. And Adrian can tell she’s trying to absorb—to digest and process—the sheer craziness of it all, the statistical improbability of it. Then, looking bewildered, even staggered, Megan nods, blinks, and gazes at him with those incredible eyes, and while they’ll need more time to truly understand this, Adrian can tell that Megan realizes how everything in their now shared little world has changed—completely, permanently.

  Their bedeviled little universe—after years of Megan’s misgivings about Conrad and Adrian’s regrets about Peggy and not having a child—has all funneled down to this single unalterable fact: Marlee’s paternity is no longer a mystery. Her identity and Adrian’s role in her life—and in Megan’s, too—has been forever changed.

  After a long and shared silence, as they hold hands and gaze into each other’s eyes, Megan whispers, “Who’d have ever dreamed that … How can this really be true … that when I went to Dr. Margaret, I’d—”

  “Dr. who?”

  “Dr. Margaret … she put me onto AI.”

  “I can’t believe this,” he says. He stands up as voltage shoots through him, and his pulse throbs. “That’s what Peggy’s patients called her … Dr. Margaret. She didn’t like being called Dr. Yanes. Way too forma
l for her.”

  “Dr. Margaret’s last name was Yanes. She was your wife?”

  He nods as the room swirls and his knees wobble.

  “Adrian, this is so strange. It’s so … so unbelievable. Your ex-wife, the woman who didn’t want your baby helped me get pregnant.”

  “Yes and with my child.”

  “With our child …”

  “Thank you, Peggy Yanes,” he whispers, almost reeling at yet another revelation. “Thank you for this wonderful gift,” he murmurs as his blood hums.

  “It’s so crazy,” Megan whispers. “Conrad’s absolutely right. Marlee’s not his. She’s yours. He’s insanely right! Marlee’s your child. She’s yours … and mine. She’s ours. I can hardly believe it.” Her hands go to her cheeks. Adrian hears the intake of her breath.

  “I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Adrian says as a sob threatens to burst from his chest. His words bubble in his ears. “It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened in my life.” He shakes his head; his entire body tingles, and he says, “It’s hard to believe … Peggy brought us together this way.”

  Tears drip down Megan’s face, and he pulls her so close, he feels her heart beating against him. He kisses her cheeks, then her lips, and she sobs with joy and wonder and excitement; and it all seems a gorgeous mystery to Adrian as he tastes the tang of Megan’s skin, the saltiness of her tears, the sweet wetness of her mouth, and he’s overcome by the astonishing, incredible madness of it all.

  Thirty-four

  “So this is the place,” Megan says, getting out of the car. “It’s Whitehall Forensic Institute … long-term housing for the criminally insane.”

  “Looks like a college campus, not a mental institution.”

  “It reminds me of Harvard,” Adrian says, gazing at the Federal-style brick buildings with shuttered symmetrical windows, low-pitched roofs, and balustrades. Stately sycamores and gnarled maple trees line the walkways crisscrossing a parklike setting. The air is crisp and cold; it’s mid-January. The afternoon sky is a deep indigo. A cooing blizzard of pigeons flutters upward; feathers spiral and swirl through the air.

  “You know, I’m still trying to get my head around this,” Megan says as they walk arm in arm toward the main building.

  “You mean what we are to each other and to Marlee?”

  “Yes, that I’ll be marrying Marlee’s father. It’s just insane. Actually, it’s insanely wonderful.”

  “It brings things full circle.”

  Megan stops at the stairs. “I sometimes wonder if this is all a dream.”

  He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her toward him.

  “For all these years, the donor was a phantom. I’d wonder who he was, what kind of person he was. Had I been fair to Marlee with my decision to have a mystery man as her father? And now that mystery man is right here.”

  She plants a kiss on his lips. The taste of her arouses him.

  “And I always felt cheated, even angry,” Adrian says. “I blamed Peggy for my not having a family. And now I learn that with you, I have a smart, beautiful little girl. Thanks to Peggy. Life is so crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s crazy and wonderful.”

  “You know,” he says, “sometimes at breakfast when I pretend to steal Marlee’s Apple Jacks and she shoots that little smile at me …?”

  “Yes?”

  “I realize it’s my mom’s smile.”

  Adrian also knows that Marlee’s laugh is a distant ghosting of Mom—and Dad, too—a glimmering trace of genetic indelibility. Yes, he sees in Marlee slight insinuations of Megan and himself and his parents. Marlee’s a mirror of lineage, of kinship.

  Suddenly, Megan’s brow furrows. “I just wonder,” she says.

  “About what?”

  “If it was known that Marlee is yours, would Conrad have a legal basis to go to court because he was right?”

  “Yes, he’s right, but for all the wrong reasons.”

  “But could there be legal complications? I mean, if Kovac—”

  “Megan, Conrad tried to kill us both. He’s a madman. That’s all that counts right now.”

  “And the rest is our little secret,” she says.

  Standing amid the twittering of sparrows and cooing of pigeons, he says, “It’ll be our secret. And when she’s old enough, we’ll tell Marlee.”

  “We sure had her in an unusual way, didn’t we?”

  He pulls her close again and inhales the fragrance of her hair.

  “I have an idea,” she says, moving back and smiling.

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s have another baby. But in a more traditional way.”

  “Let’s get to work on that when we get home.”

  Dr. John Grayson greets them. He wears dark slacks, a blue shirt, no tie, and a white lab coat. He sports that three-day stubble.

  “Thanks for agreeing to see us, John,” Adrian says.

  “It’s my pleasure, Adrian. And it’s good to meet you, Megan.”

  “You have quite an elaborate security system,” she says.

  “We’ve never had an escapee at Whitehall. It’s a hospital facility within the Department of Correction.” Grayson sits behind his desk and gestures toward two leather chairs facing him.

  Grayson’s office is book-lined and cozy. The shelves brim with medical and legal volumes. A skull of what Adrian guesses is a Neanderthal man sits on a black pedestal in a corner. A chart with drawings depicting the evolution of a fish crawling out of the sea to become an anthropoid hangs on one wall.

  “We need to know what to expect since Conrad was found not guilty,” Adrian says.

  “I understand,” Grayson begins. “Let me explain a few things, especially for you, Megan, since you weren’t in court when Judge Burke gave his instructions to the jury. As the judge said, an NGRI verdict isn’t the same as being found not guilty in a regular criminal trial. The jury decided Conrad acted out of an insane belief and that’s why he’s here and not in prison.”

  “But what if he gets better?” asks Adrian. “And gets out? Then what happens?”

  “We don’t want to live under a cloud,” Megan adds.

  Grayson says, “I understand completely. But contrary to popular belief, a defendant found NGRI isn’t just treated and released. In 1983, a forensic case was tried before the Supreme Court—Jones v. United States. The court ruled that the sentence a defendant would have received if he’d been convicted has no bearing on how long he can be committed after an insanity acquittal. The crime could have had a fifteen-year sentence, but he can be hospitalized for thirty years, or a lifetime, if necessary.”

  “Really?” Adrian says.

  “Yes. Our NGRI acquittees are under maximum security. Patients in Whitehall come under the purview of the PSRB—the Psychiatric Security Review Board.”

  “Which means?” Megan asks.

  “It means that twice a year, the patient’s status is reviewed by a committee. I’m in charge of the PSRB. All staff members who’ve had contact with the inmate participate. We evaluate everything, from the patient’s relationships with inmates and nurses to his treating psychologist and psychiatrists—everyone. The board votes on whether or not the commitment continues or is modified in some way.”

  “Please don’t take this personally, John,” Adrian says, “I just don’t trust hospital committees. People with different agendas butt heads.”

  Grayson laughs knowingly. “I know, Adrian. But these patients are very sick, and there’s little chance they’ll be restored to any semblance of mental health.”

  “So how long are they kept here?” asks Megan.

  “Good question. The average commitment in Whitehall is twenty-five years. Whitehall’s no walk in the park. Of course, we’re usually dealing with very sick paranoid schizophrenics and, basically, they’re lifers.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Adrian says, glancing at Megan.

  “Conrad’s not schizophrenic or retarded, to say the least, but he�
��s paranoid—very disturbed.”

  “So he’ll be here for a long time?” asks Megan.

  “Probably. Megan, if you’d been in court, you’d have seen how sick he is. He convinced a jury of that. And his delusion about you two makes him dangerous.”

  “To us,” Megan says.

  “Yes. I don’t see Conrad leaving Whitehall for a very long time, if at all. I have to say that Wilson’s an intriguing patient.” Grayson gets up, moves to the pedestal, and sets his basketballer’s hand over the Neanderthal skull. “You know, I’ve always been interested in anthropology and evolutionary biology … the blending of science and animal instinct. And in that context, Conrad Wilson’s absolutely fascinating.”

  “How so?” asks Megan. She looks milky white.

  “First of all, he’s brilliant. We’ve given him all the standard tests: the WAIS, the Stanford-Binet, the Reynolds Intellectual Assessment Scales, and the Woodcock-Johnson Test of Cognitive Abilities. Conrad tests off the charts. Our neuropsychologist, Dr. Morgan, says Mensa would take him in a heartbeat. He masters any subject in no time and can apply what he’s learned in practical ways.”

  “Conrad was always very smart,” Megan says.

  “He’s interesting in other ways, too,” Grayson says, sitting again. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s quite a physical specimen.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Adrian says. “If he hadn’t slipped and hit his head, he’d have killed me. And he tracked me at night, over very rough terrain.”

  “Well, his abilities aren’t limited to strength, speed, and agility … though they’re extraordinary. He has some other unique physical characteristics,” Grayson says. “At Eastport General, they did CT scans and MRIs of his brain. It was fascinating. The studies showed a very large olfactory bulb, the part of the brain’s neural system responsible for smell. In animals with a strong sense of smell, the olfactory bulb is relatively large. We humans have a smaller olfactory center in proportion to the rest of the brain.

  “Conrad has an extraordinary sense of smell. Our neurologist tested him using the common test materials: banana, cinnamon, chocolate, onion, and a few others. They come as scratch-and-sniff test strips. You put the strips beneath the nostrils, but Conrad can smell them from across the room.