by Jay Kerk
“The questions deserve deep thinking, but off the top of my head, I would say their footprint in life, work achievements, family, faith, values, and standards. How they take care of their body and what they give back to the community. The definition varies from one person to another, and one place to another. Whether they recycled.” I chuckled.
“So, a mistake does not define a person?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Even if the mistake of taking a drug led to an unwanted side effect?”
“Well, most mistakes don’t define the person. You can’t make a judgment based on such a small act. You would be overlooking years of effort, thought, memories, and emotions.”
“What if taking the drug also leads to a lapse in judgment or some injury to oneself and others?” he asked.
“Tough one. Like driving under the influence of alcohol? In my opinion, the act defines you because the act endangers others.”
“DUI is a well-known crime, but I can’t say the same about acid. Let’s say you’re here because of a medication side effect. This is easier to accept than being here because you killed someone while driving drunk.”
“Yes. Obviously.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“The side effects of alcohol are well-known, but people don’t foresee the consequences. Let’s say you took a bad batch of acid and you attacked someone without awareness, I wouldn’t be too hard on you, and you shouldn’t be either. Mistakes happen, and they’re part of who we are. We can learn to accept our mistakes.”
We fell silent for a minute; my mind raced through possibilities. Then he said, “You must accept your mistakes, whatever they are. You must accept that sometimes we do things based on the situations we’re in, and we aren’t fully aware of the consequences at the time.”
The food interrupted us. Neither of us had the energy to discuss the matter further, intention and culpability, we needed rest.
“So, let’s continue. Take a few deep breaths and relax your body.” After two minutes, he added, “So, to repeat the facts, you were taking lysergic acid, and you discovered your wife’s cheating, and you don’t recall the last few months. Right?” I nodded. “Did you hurt your wife?”
I didn’t answer. I mean for fuck’s sake; it was possible. I wondered what hurt meant.
“Did you HARM your wife?”
“No. I don’t remember I did. I wish I could remember.”
“I’ll tell you what happened. You cracked. You suspected she started an affair, and you stopped going to work as a reaction to the betrayal. And you followed her to be sure, and once confirmed, you acted.” He sighed. “You killed her.”
“Nope. No. That didn’t happen. I would never harm Lisa, even if she cheated on me. Is she okay? Did I hurt her?” I stood up and paced the room. “I would never do anything bad to her. Kill my wife? Never. Never. I’m a pacifist, and I love her more than anything.”
“You can’t be certain, though.”
“No,” I said. “We have an open dialogue about everything, including sex and urges and needs. Sure, we get jealous and possessive, but rarely compared to other people. What holds us together is not whether she or I engage in a five-minute sexual act ending in a twenty-second orgasm.”
“An open dialogue doesn’t mean you accept cheating though, right?”
“We put in the effort, and the open dialogue protects us from diving into fights over a biological need. So, when our sex life slowed down, we came up with new ideas and acted on them. I pitched a threesome, but she wasn’t interested. She said she wouldn’t mind if I did something on the side without her knowledge.”
“This is one-sided. The deal takes care of your urges and desires, but not Lisa’s. Did she ever discuss her needs?”
I thought about whether she was okay. Did I kill her? I genuinely hoped I hadn’t hurt her.
“No, we didn’t discuss her need. Still, I can’t imagine myself hurting her. I don’t believe you, whatever it is I’ve supposedly done. I do not believe your stories. I love her so much. When I followed her, I wanted to make sure she was cheating, not to hurt her, but to open a discussion.” After a minute of silence, I said, “I wanted to focus on winning her back. I thought she wanted my attention through her actions. She is not a lavish woman who went on wild trips, she just needed me to be myself again. Like a wake-up call.”
“Okay,” Dr. Thompson said. “Let’s change courses. Tell me about the moment when you felt most proud and the most peaceful moment you recall—either, or both, whatever you prefer.”
“A proud moment? When I ran after a dog off its leash in our community. I ran for three miles after her. I searched in the bushes, behind ramps, and then I spotted her. The run exhausted her, so I approached slowly and hugged her. I waited until her owners came. They were looking for her around the block. Some people wouldn’t regard the chase as something big, but I do. I used to own a dog, and this made me happy.”
“When did you own a dog?”
“I got him from middle school until the first years of my marriage. Let’s go back. What happened? What did I do?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Lea, Lea, Lea. A beautiful girl. How old is she now?”
“Fifteen. No, sixteen.” I remembered. 2017.
“Has anyone told you anything about your relationship with your daughter?”
“What do you mean told me anything?”
“Did anyone talk to you about your relationship with her? Or perhaps advise you about how close you were?” He took his time choosing his words carefully.
“Like an intervention? Are you serious?”
“No, nothing like that. Just drawing your attention to certain parts of your relationship with her.”
“Lisa told me our close relationship is weird. Nothing else. Luke told me a couple of times we are too close, and I should give her some space.”
“Did they specify what close meant?”
“Lisa said we tell each other everything. I guess she felt excluded. Luke said we text a lot, and we stay connected all the time. I guess he hated the interruptions when we met. Nothing notable.”
“Why do you call her ‘babe’ and ‘love’?”
“Who told you? How do you know about that? And what the fuck does it matter?”
“After the accident, the police took your phone and checked your messages with her. Who takes his daughter on a date? Tells her to dress up? Do you think such behavior is normal?” He mocked me, intentionally provoking me.
“Many mothers call their sons babe, and whether I say babe and love to my daughter is no different. I regularly take her on dates because I love her a lot. But I’m not in love with her,” I said, and my chest got tight. I wanted to cry. I was vulnerable and exposed. In my mind, my relationship with Lea was a healthy one. I would not accept the insinuation from Gary.
I said, “Whatever you’re hinting at, just don’t. It isn’t true. I would never lay a hand on my wife, and I would never abuse my daughter. I’m careful not to say anything hurtful to her, let alone hurt her in such a way.”
I was frightened. The truth of my intimate relationship with Lea was out in the open. What right did Dr. Thompson have to expose me?
“In your texts, a peculiar one drew my attention, you told her to wear the tight red dress.” He stopped for a few seconds. I controlled my reactions. “Did you enjoy looking at her body? Did you feel an urge to do something sexual with her?”
I laughed sarcastically. “No. An absolute no. Fuck you, this is over. I’m leaving.” I walked to the door that was locked. I turned back to face him. “If you say anything else about her, I will punch you.”
“Jason. You just said you aren’t a violent person.” He flipped a page in his notepad. “A pacifist.”
I took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t judge our proximity and intimacy if Lea was a person with a disability. Or a recovering addict. Isn’t that right? You would even say such parenting is an example to be followed by other parents.”
“Did you enjoy when she told you about her sex life? Whom she sleeps with—and how?” He questioned with disgust.
“If she told Lisa, you wouldn’t judge. You would admire how close they are, how they share everything. I’m protective of Lea, and I respect her privacy. I never obliged her to tell me, never pressured her. She shares when she wants, and I listen, I advise... Fuck you, Gary.” I tried my best to focus on breathing. “I never enjoyed her telling me.”
“Why didn’t you enjoy?”
When I didn’t answer, he raised his voice. “I asked why didn’t you enjoy? Why were you annoyed when she told you about other men kissing her, groping her, lying with her?”
I wanted to hit him with something, ideally an ashtray. Instead, I froze. I held my breath.
“Because it made me jealous. There. Satisfied?”
I’m sorry you’re sick, but fuck you.
My throat tightened. I could have cried.
“Jealous!” he said. “Why? Because you’re in love with her?”
“No. What father would feel okay about his daughter sleeping with men? I’m jealously possessive, protective, but not jealous to be her lover.”
“I don’t believe you,” he blurted out.
“Fuck you, asshole. This subject is off the table. You aren’t allowed to utter Lea’s name anymore.”
He stood and went to make another cup of tea. He didn’t use a tea-bag this time. Instead, he used something he’d brought with him.
“What happened to me?”
“You killed your wife,” he said dispassionately.
“No way. No. Don’t say that.” I didn’t know how to react or what to do.
“I’m not kidding. Here, read this newspaper.”
It was true. I didn’t know what to think. Must. Breathe. The room grew darker, and I passed out.
CHAPTER 5:
BROKEN
I woke up in my room drained of energy, and anxiety took over me. “My mind is a tool, my mind is a monkey, and I control it,” I repeated to myself as I paced the room.
The calmest among us transforms into a savage under the right circumstances, but I couldn’t believe I killed Lisa without remembering. I wished someone would intervene and confess this was all a bad joke, the worst one.
My thoughts spiraled until we reached Dr. Thompson’s office. On the way, I kept my head down, embarrassed to look people in the eye. Although I knew no one in the place, I cared for their opinion of me.
The room stank of old people smell. The cancer is spreading; I told myself. Dr. Thompson sat on the couch looking yellower than last time, skinny and frail.
I lied down and closed my eyes wishing this nightmare would stop. Lisa’s voice echoed in my mind, “Ask for help, never shy away. We all need help at some point.” She used to tell me whenever I hit a rough patch or passed through one of my low periods.
“People fear losing control over their minds because others take advantage of them, steal from them, abuse them. But the true risk to the individual comes from the one losing control.” Dr. Thompson said.
“True.”
“Did you fight with Lisa?”
“Yes. All married couples fight. Our fights were normal, in frequency and intensity. I thought we could separate for some time, not because of cheating. We wanted different things at different stages of our lives. Lisa always asked me if she should go away for a month or two. But once the separation happened, she wanted to punish me, she asked me to move out and stay away from the family.”
“So, you’re remembering now,” he said.
“Ask, don’t imply. Please.” I grinned. “I remember emotions and thoughts, not incidents and dates.”
“Okay. Continue please,” he said.
“I wanted to try new things, to travel for a month to a foreign country, write a play, or be part of an experiment.”
Paranoid ideas tried to sneak in: What if this is an experiment?
“When did this talk take place?”
“I don’t know, but during the period in which I stopped going to CyberCrews.” I looked at the floor.
“Do you remember where you went instead or with whom you met?”
“Nothing. Just that I stopped going to work. I also remember the letters the company sent,” I said
“What happened afterward?”
“I packed a suitcase and left, but I slept at home once or twice per week, in the basement on a foldout bed. And I always returned home for dinner. Lisa refused to talk claiming I abandoned my family.” I paused. “I remembered something, I became fond of the basement because of the autonomy while staying close to the family.”
“Continue.”
“A few times I sneaked into our room to watch Lisa during her sleep. How could I kill her? I would never harm her. No way.”
I imagined what Lisa’s family had said about me to the press, on TV shows, in court. Lisa’s brother, Brent, would have been the meanest. Her family tried to build a relationship, but I neglected their attempts. I kept wondering whether they would have forgiven me if I’d done anything to Lisa. I didn’t hurt her, but some sick part of my mind, my other personality. Not me.
Lea’s forgiveness was the most important thing. Could she look past this? My eyes filled up. “So, Lea isn’t speaking with me. Is this why we can’t call her?”
He didn’t answer.
“Where did they bury Lisa?” I didn’t recall whether she preferred cremation.
“She’s in a cemetery near your home,” he said. “Would you like to visit?”
I wanted to so badly. To apologize, to cry, to hug the gravestone.
“Yes. Can we go today?”
“Not today, but soon. I sense you’re drifting, many thoughts are coming to your mind, and that’s normal.” He changed his tone. “Let’s talk about Lea.”
“No. Let’s talk to her. Call her. I want to hear her voice.”
Full panic mode kicked in. Did I meet Lea in court? I imagined her causing a scene, calling me names. I became dizzy and close to losing consciousness again. I extended my arms on the sofa for support.
“Speak up, don’t hold your emotions in,” he said.
How can I tell him what went on inside me?
Fear paralyzed me. Did somebody hurt my baby? Or worse, did I hurt her?
He put his hand over mine. “Jason. Speak up. We must work together, or you’ll suffer. Don’t be afraid.”
“Is my baby okay? Is she injured?” Tears rolled down my cheek.
“She is not okay,” he said.
I succumbed to the floor breathing shallowly. I crawled on my knees to Dr. Thompson, and I studied his face, trembling with fear. “Is she dead? Tell me she’s okay. Tell me she’s alive. I beg you! Tell me she is okay!” I whimpered.
He didn’t answer, and I understood. After a while he said, “she is dead, Jason. I’m very sorry. I wish the truth were different. I wish I could tell you she is okay, but she’s gone.”
I became numb. I lied on the floor and the tears poured down my face. My chest ached. I remembered the broken heart syndrome, when people died from a terrible breakup or heartache.
Please stop and let me die.
I wished I had never wasted a minute away from Lisa and Lea.
Once on my feet, I became nauseous. Dr. Thompson spoke about grief, acceptance, and finding a reason to live.
Revenge will be a good reason to live, afterward, I’ll die in peace.
“How did she die?” I asked.
“Someone shot her.”
Did Lisa kill her? If she did, therefore killing Lisa made sense. Actually, the only reason I would ever hurt Lisa was if she harmed Lea. But why would she? The whole story made a little more sense.
“Who shot her?”
Dr. Thompson didn’t reply.
Is it possible? No way.
“WHO SHOT HER?” I cried.
He pursed his lips “Lisa did.”
“No way. NO WAY. They love each other. Lisa devoted he
r entire life for Lea. No. This isn’t real, this is not real.” I slapped myself and screamed, “WAKE UP! JUST WAKE UP!”
“Jason. Calm down. Calm down.” I was about to faint.
He grabbed my hands. “Jason, you must stop, this is exactly what you do whenever we reach this stage.”
“This isn’t real.” I sobbed until I coughed hard. The room grew darker.
“Jason, don’t sleep.”
Dr. Thompson moved my legs to rest slightly above the level of my head.
“Jason, open your eyes.”
I lied on the couch, conscious.
“Relax. Breathe.”
“What happened? Why would Lisa shoot her?”
Dr. Thompson showed me a few photos of the crime scene at our home, I saw the blood spattered on the walls of the doorway, but no bodies.
“This is not real.” I wanted to wake up, I slapped myself harder. Enough pain. “Wake up. Wake up!”
I had never prayed much before, but at that moment, I pleaded to any higher non-human existence. Give me my family back and take everything else. Let them live. Let me see their eyes one more time. I want nothing else anymore.
Everything faded away. How stupid of me to leave their side every day for work.
“Are any memories coming back?” he asked. “Are you remembering what happened?”
“No,” I said.
“Search deeper. Breathe, I don’t want you to faint.”
I closed my eyes and imagined winter time, when Lisa and Lea used to squeeze next to me on the couch until they pushed me off.
Why would Lisa kill Lea? Lea did nothing to harm Lisa or our family. They never fought and hardly argued.
“What do you think happened?” Dr. Thompson asked after a while.
“I can’t think of anything. Lisa adored Lea. Lisa told her she was better than both of us. And parents want to see their children become better than them, right? And then to fucking bury them. Unbelievable.” I wept. “Unbearable. Oh, god.” I puffed air through my mouth.
“What might have happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I have no clue why. Did Lea do something? Did she kill someone, run over someone? Drugs?”
I got dizzy again. “What if the shooting was an accident? No other valid explanation, must be an accident. Lisa shot her by accident.”