Method of Madness

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Method of Madness Page 9

by Brad Kelln


  "What am I, then?" he brist­led. "I'm so­me­body."

  "I didn't me­an that. I just ho­ped that may­be so­me­one might, you know, un­ders­tand."

  "Don't was­te yo­ur bre­ath, WA­IT." Max sud­denly stop­ped tal­king and flung his hands to his chest. A stet­hos­co­pe hung aro­und his neck and he qu­ickly pop­ped the ap­pa­ra­tus in­to his ears and held the bell over his he­art.

  He clo­sed his eyes and se­emed to be de­ep in con­cent­ra­ti­on.

  "Almost ca­ught it the­re," he sa­id af­ter a mo­ment, but his eyes re­ma­ined clo­sed.

  "You don't re­al­ly think you die every on­ce in a whi­le, do you?"

  Max's eyes pop­ped open and he sta­red at Cat­he­ri­ne. "What do­es that me­an?"

  "Well, you can't re­al­ly die for a few mo­ments and then re­co­ver.

  Even­tu­al­ly it wo­uld do so­met­hing to you. It'd show up on one of tho­se 'blip- blip' mac­hi­nes, wo­uldn't it?"

  Max let go of the bell and the stet­hos­co­pe dang­led from his ears. He pul­led the mid­dle of the cord un­til the ear­pi­eces pop­ped out and hung aro­und his neck. His flu­id ac­ti­ons de­monst­ra­ted ye­ars of ex­pe­ri­en­ce with the inst­ru­ment.

  "Cat­he­ri­ne," he sa­id de­li­be­ra­tely. "I know what I know and that's all. Everyt­hing el­se is just so­me­one el­se's ver­si­on-not mi­ne. For ins­tan­ce, I don't think you we­re 'zap­ped' by any we­apon. You pro­bably enj­oyed kil­ling yo­ur fa­mily." Max spun aro­und and to­ok a step away from her be­fo­re he tur­ned back. "And don't talk to me aga­in."

  Then he was go­ne and Cat­he­ri­ne was alo­ne in the TV ro­om. She'd just lost her only ally in the psychi­at­ric hos­pi­tal.

  ***

  Cat­he­ri­ne had no idea what ti­me it was, but the mo­on­light shi­ning thro­ugh her Ple­xig­las win­dow me­ant it was still the mid­dle of the night. She felt a cold chill on her wet skin. She was swe­ating thro­ugh the blan­kets that she had pul­led up to her chin.

  No one will be­li­eve me. No one will ever be­li­eve me, and no one will ever do anyt­hing abo­ut what hap­pe­ned. Ever­yo­ne just thinks I'm a fre­ak who kil­led her fa­mily. Just li­ke that. I'm not­hing but a men­tal pa­ti­ent.

  The so­und of ti­res scre­ec­hing pi­er­ced thro­ugh the qu­i­et, start­ling her. The nur­sing staff was watc­hing a mo­vie in the TV ro­om. The night shift ra­rely ca­me to work wit­ho­ut the la­test vi­deo re­le­ase in hand. They usu­al­ly kept the vo­lu­me down but so­me­ti­mes she co­uld he­ar it any­way. It so­un­ded li­ke they we­re watc­hing Go­ne in Sixty Se­conds. Cat­he­ri­ne re­mem­be­red that Nic­ho­las Ca­ge was one of her son's fa­vo­uri­te mo­vie stars. He'd go­ne to the the­at­re to see the mo­vie, and when he got ho­me, he told her that "it was awe­so­me." She la­ug­hed at the me­mory, then co­ve­red her fa­ce and sob­bed. Her son was de­ad now.

  This can't be re­al. No­ne of this can be re­al. I won't let it. It's a dre­am.

  Cat­he­ri­ne mo­ved her hand un­der the co­vers to the si­de of her leg. She felt the skin bet­we­en her thumb and fo­re­fin­ger and squ­e­ezed. The pa­in shot up and down her leg but she didn't stop. She wan­ted to scre­am but bit her lip ins­te­ad, and pinc­hed her leg har­der. So­on she felt so­met­hing warm in her mo­uth. She re­ali­zed she was bi­ting thro­ugh her lip.

  She stop­ped and la­id her arms out to the si­des. She re­la­xed her mo­uth and felt so­met­hing le­ak down and roll over the si­de of her che­ek. She hadn't wo­ken up from the night­ma­re.

  Cat­he­ri­ne co­uldn't get the ima­ge of her fa­mily out of her mind. She kept se­e­ing her hus­band, son, da­ugh­ter. She kept se­e­ing the im­pos­ters, too. When she tho­ught abo­ut it now it was al­most too ob­vi­o­us. The im­pos­ters re­al­ly didn't even lo­ok li­ke my fa­mily. The boy was he­avi­er. The im­pos­ter

  Ca­me­ron didn't to­uch me the sa­me way. When he hug­ged me in the morn- ing he did it dif­fe­rently. It was the lit­tle things that we­re dif­fe­rent. The things only a wi­fe and mot­her wo­uld no­ti­ce.

  A no­ise at the do­or ma­de her qu­ickly wi­pe a hand ac­ross her fa­ce. She didn't want the nur­se on night check to see the blo­od.

  So­me­one po­ked the­ir he­ad thro­ugh the do­or to her ro­om. The re­gu­lar nur­sing check was a check of her vi­tals signs, but if the staff saw the cli­ent mo­ving in bed, that was eno­ugh.

  Cat­he­ri­ne de­li­be­ra­tely rol­led over on­to her si­de to let the staff know she was ali­ve. Who­ever was watc­hing was sa­tis­fi­ed and step­ped back, shut­ting the do­or. Cat­he­ri­ne bre­at­hed a sigh of re­li­ef. She knew she had un­der ten mi­nu­tes be­fo­re the next check. That's not much ti­me.

  She got out of bed and re­ac­hed un­der her mat­tress, re­mo­ving a ra­zorb­la­de. One of the ot­her pa­ti­ents had smug­gled it in for her. It was easy for the pa­ti­ents who had pas­ses off the hos­pi­tal gro­unds to smug­gle things back. Pa­ti­ents we­re only pat­ted down when they re­tur­ned. They we­re not re­qu­ired to ta­ke off sho­es and socks, and so a ra­zorb­la­de aga­inst so­me­one's he­el wo­uldn't be fo­und. Cat­he­ri­ne had pa­id for the ra­zorb­la­de with a hand-job, a bar­ga­in when con­si­de­ring the ini­ti­al re­qu­est had be­en a blo­wj­ob. She didn't ca­re any­way. She didn't ca­re abo­ut anyt­hing any­mo­re.

  Cat­he­ri­ne re­tur­ned to bed and held the ra­zorb­la­de up so she co­uld see it. It was a thin grey sli­ver, just li­ke in the mo­vi­es. She hadn't even re­ali­zed the­se kinds of ra­zorb­la­des still exis­ted; her hus­band had al­ways used an elect­ric ra­zor.

  Cat­he­ri­ne to­ok the bla­de in her right hand and lif­ted her ot­her hand, tur­ning it to ex­po­se her wrist. She knew ap­pro­xi­ma­tely whe­re she sho­uld sli­ce, she'd se­en too much of this sort of thing on TV and in the mo­vi­es.

  Cat­he­ri­ne pres­sed the bla­de aga­inst her skin. Its thin ed­ge felt cold. She ma­de a fist with her left hand and watc­hed the mo­ve­ment un­der her skin.

  She was pretty su­re whe­re the cut sho­uld go.

  It's just got to be de­ep eno­ugh, she tho­ught. I don't want a su­per­fi­ci­al cut on my skin.

  She pres­sed the bla­de in and drag­ged it ro­ughly down her wrist. She watc­hed very clo­sely, surp­ri­sed at how easily the bla­de sunk in and how the skin se­emed to pull apart to let it pass.

  The blo­od was im­me­di­ate and plen­ti­ful. It hurt but the pa­in wasn't as bad as she ex­pec­ted.

  She let her right hand fall down be­si­de her but kept the left in the air. She wan­ted to watch.

  The wo­und was de­ep, very de­ep. It stretc­hed down her arm from her wrist. The blo­od was po­uring down her arm now. She watc­hed it for a mo­ment then let her hand drop to the bed.

  Less than ten mi­nu­tes. That's not much ti­me.

  Slowly and de­li­be­ra­tely, Cat­he­ri­ne bro­ught her right hand up to her neck. She held the bla­de in her thumb and fo­re­fin­ger and felt her neck for a pul­se. She fi­gu­red the spot whe­re she co­uld fe­el her own he­art­be­at must be whe­re the jugu­lar was. She fo­und a small bul­ge on the si­de and la­id the bla­de aga­inst it. The blo­od co­ming out of her wrist had al­re­ady ma­de her fe­el we­ak and na­use­o­us. Why do­es dying ma­ke you fe­el sick to yo­ur sto­mach?

  Cat­he­ri­ne pres­sed the bla­de down and drag­ged it ac­ross her neck. This one hurt. She gas­ped and cho­ked be­ca­use blo­od had got­ten in­to her wind- pi­pe. It was anot­her de­ep cut. She let her hand fall away and the ra­zorb­la­de drop­ped from her fin­gers.

  She knew she'd be chec­ked in a few mi­nu­tes. She clo­sed her eyes. She was trying to bre­at­he slowly thro­ugh her no­se but it was very dif­fi­cult. She felt her­self cho­king but didn't want to co­ugh. Blo­od was run­ning down her nec
k and she co­uld fe­el it in the back of her thro­at. Ref­le­xi­vely, she co­ug­hed and her body spas­med. With each hack blo­od spe­wed everyw­he­re from the pres­su­re. The pa­in was un­be­arab­le but she re­fu­sed to ma­ke no­ise and alert the nur­sing staff too early.

  Not now! Not now! Cat­he­ri­ne told her­self and re­la­xed her body back on­to the bed. She sud­denly felt cold. It was a chill that sunk thro­ugh every part of her. She al­so felt we­ak and dizzy, and ho­ped she'd pass out so­on.

  But a vo­ice bro­ke thro­ugh her ha­ze. An un­fa­mi­li­ar vo­ice that ca­me to her from all aro­und the ro­om.

  Don't Cat­he­ri­ne. I ne­ed you.

  "What?" she as­ked we­akly. "Who?" She lo­oked down at the she­ets and saw a dis­fi­gu­red fa­ce for­ming in the po­ols of blo­od. It was the fa­ce of her hus­band as she plun­ged the kni­fe in­to his chest that hor­rib­le af­ter­no­on not so long ago.

  Wa­it for me.

  "No mo­re," she whis­pe­red. "Ple­ase no mo­re." And then she clo­sed her eyes for the last ti­me.

  FIFTEEN

  It was eight in the mor­ning, half an ho­ur ear­li­er than Dr. Cla­ric nor­mal­ly star­ted work. He'd only ma­na­ged to sle­ep for a lit­tle over an ho­ur du­ring the night be­ca­use he'd spent most of it tos­sing and tur­ning, unab­le to get Cat­he­ri­ne Mer­cer's story out of his he­ad, unab­le to stop thin­king abo­ut elect­ro­nic we­apons, whi­te vans and all of the myste­ri­o­us signs in his own ho­me. He wo­uld've co­me to work ear­li­er to­day if he co­uld ha­ve. He was des­pe­ra­te to talk to Cat­he­ri­ne aga­in and find out if the story was true. He wan­ted to find so­me clue, so­me link to help him put the pi­eces to­get­her and find out what was go­ing on.

  When he ar­ri­ved on the unit he wal­ked qu­ickly in­to the nur­sing sta­ti­on whe­re he ran in­to Cla­ire, one of the staff nur­ses.

  "Is Cat­he­ri­ne up, yet? I ne­ed to see her right away."

  "L..uh…," Cla­ire stut­te­red.

  "I ne­ed to see her so if she isn't up, we ne­ed to get her up."

  "You're he­re pretty early. What's up, Bri?" Ken, anot­her nur­se, as­ked, wal­king out from the back ro­om.

  "I ne­ed to see Cat­he­ri­ne Mer­cer. I ha­ve to go over a few things. I'm just trying to find out if she's up."

  Ken frow­ned. He tho­ught Dr. Cla­ric was ac­ting stran­ge. His spe­ech was stra­ined as tho­ugh he we­re agi­ta­ted abo­ut so­met­hing.

  "You okay?" Ken as­ked.

  "Fi­ne. I just had a ro­ugh night is all. Can we go get Cat­he­ri­ne now?"

  "Bri­an, co­me on in the back," Ken sa­id, re­ac­hing to put an arm on Dr. Cla­ric's sho­ul­der.

  Dr. Cla­ric shrug­ged him off. "What's go­ing on?"

  "The­re was an ac­ci­dent last night," Cla­ire of­fe­red.

  "What?"

  "Let's just go in the back he­re and ha­ve a qu­ick talk," Ken sa­id and gu­ided Dr. Cla­ric in­to the con­fe­ren­ce ro­om.

  Dr. Cla­ric was stun­ned. He knew "acci­dent" was a eup­he­mism for so­me- thing far wor­se. All at on­ce, he was su­re Cat­he­ri­ne was de­ad.

  ***

  Dr. Cla­ric pic­ked up his of­fi­ce pho­ne on the se­cond ring.

  "Hel­lo?"

  "Dr. Cla­ric. It's Ge­or­gia. Are you okay?"

  "Fi­ne."

  "Are you su­re? This is a tra­uma­tic thing."

  "I know, I'm fi­ne."

  "I'd li­ke to co­me down and see you." Her of­fi­ce was at the ot­her end of Dark Al­ley.

  "No, don't." Dr. Cla­ric co­uldn't stand the tho­ught of a sympat­he­tic per­son sit­ting ac­ross from him tel­ling him the­re was not­hing an­yo­ne co­uld do.

  "It: helps to talk when… What am I sa­ying, you're a psycho­lo­gist. You know that."

  "I do and I'm fi­ne. I just ne­ed so­me ti­me he­re. I'm fi­ne."

  "If you ne­ed so­me ti­me off just-"

  "I'm okay, Ge­or­gia."

  "You know how to get a hold of me."

  "Thanks," he sa­id and hung up the pho­ne.

  Dr. Cla­ric tur­ned his at­ten­ti­on back to the Web si­te he was re­ading. He'd pul­led up an ar­tic­le on "MK Ult­ra" ex­pe­ri­ments, lo­oking for anyt­hing on the tech­ni­qu­es the go­vern­ment used to me­asu­re the ef­fec­ti­ve­ness of we­apons. He wan­ted to see what the­ir stan­dard ope­ra­ting pro­ce­du­res we­re for using su­bj­ects in the­ir ex­pe­ri­ments.

  The pho­ne rang aga­in.

  He was temp­ted to let it go to vo­ice­ma­il but knew that wo­uld spark even mo­re un­wan­ted con­cern. Ever­yo­ne just ne­eded to be re­as­su­red that he was okay abo­ut Cat­he­ri­ne's su­ici­de.

  He pic­ked up the re­ce­iver. "Hel­lo."

  "Bri­an? It's Dr. Wen­ton."

  Dr. Cla­ric bol­ted up­right, surp­ri­sed. "Dr. Wen­ton! Hel­lo. How're you?"

  Wen­ton ne­ver res­pon­ded to ple­asant­ri­es. "I'm cal­ling abo­ut one of yo­ur new ad­mis­si­ons."

  Just li­ke Wen­ton, Dr. Cla­ric tho­ught. Stra­ight to the po­int.

  "Oh, ye­ah."

  "I was the on-sce­ne con­sul­tant when he bar­ri­ca­ded him­self in his ho­use with the rif­le. The guy's na­me is-"

  "Barry Bo­se­man."

  "Right. You wor­king with him?"

  "Not yet. I was go­ing to get in­vol­ved tho­ugh. Why?"

  "I'm wor­king with a gra­du­ate stu­dent, Nor­ma Mac­Do­nald. We've be­en dis­cus­sing this Bo­se­man ca­se and the who­le di­ag­no­sis of psycho­sis. It wo­uld be go­od for her if we co­uld sit in on an in­ter­vi­ew."

  "You guys want to par­ti­ci­pa­te in the as­ses­sment?"

  "Ye­ah. Is that go­ing to be a prob­lem?"

  Dr. Cla­ric he­si­ta­ted. "I'm su­re it isn't. When do you want to start?"

  "Whe­ne­ver."

  "Well we might as well start right away." Barry Bo­se­man was one of the next cli­ents on his list. He was go­ing to see him right af­ter the su­ici­de risk as­ses­sment on Cat­he­ri­ne. Damn it. Why'd she kill her­self? His mind qu­ickly switc­hed back to the events of last night and this mor­ning.

  Dr. Cla­ric tho­ught abo­ut men­ti­oning Cat­he­ri­ne's su­ici­de to Wen­ton. He didn't know of a mo­re im­par­ti­al, obj­ec­ti­ve per­son. He won­de­red if he co­uld so­me­how desc­ri­be his re­cent ex­pe­ri­en­ces wit­ho­ut se­eming in­sa­ne. He was des­pe­ra­te to tell so­me­one. He re­mem­be­red thin­king how na­ive it was of Cat­he­ri­ne not to tell an­yo­ne be­fo­re it was too la­te. Am I ma­king the sa­me mis­ta­ke if I don't say anyt­hing?

  "Hey, Wen­ton?" Dr. Cla­ric be­gan ten­ta­ti­vely.

  "Ye­ah."

  "You ever he­ard abo­ut elect­ro­nic we­apons, or elect­ro­mag­ne­tic we­apons?"

  "Su­re."

  "Whe­re?"

  "Why are you as­king?" Wen­ton didn't li­ke ans­we­ring qu­es­ti­ons un­less he knew how the in­for­ma­ti­on wo­uld be used.

  "I had a cli­ent who cla­imed she was hit by one of the­se we­apons."

  "I've he­ard that be­fo­re."

  "He­ard it from a pa­ti­ent?"

  "He­ard it from a men­tal pa­ti­ent who cla­imed a ray gun zap­ped him and ma­de him kill his bo­ar­ding ho­use ro­om­ma­te."

  "Did that guy co­me he­re?"

  "No­pe. I saw him at the Spring­hill Cor­rec­ti­onal Cent­re. I tho­ught he was full of shit and tes­ti­fi­ed that he was fit and res­pon­sib­le. He's in pri­son now."

  "Oh," Dr. Cla­ric sa­id, ob­vi­o­usly di­sap­po­in­ted.

  "What's the de­al? Why are you as­king abo­ut this shit?"

  "Do­esn't mat­ter. I was just fol­lo­wing up on so­met­hing my cli­ent sa­id abo­ut it."

  Wen­ton de­ci­ded he didn't want to drag out the con­ver­sa­ti­on. "So I'
ll bring Nor­ma over to­mor­row, ten o'clock?"

  "See you then," Dr. Cla­ric sa­id dist­rac­tedly and hung up.

  SIXTEEN

  Dr. Cla­ric sat mo­ti­on­less at his desk. Wen­ton and his gra­du­ate stu­dent wo­uld be ar­ri­ving so­on and he wasn't men­tal­ly pre­pa­red. He hadn't slept aga­in.

  Dr. Cla­ric's hands be­gan to sha­ke and he clas­ped them to­get­her, tightly. He ne­eded to push thro­ugh this. He ne­eded to be strong.

  Te­ars wel­led in his eyes. Why'd you kill yo­ur­self Cat­he­ri­ne? he as­ked him­self. I wo­uld've hel­ped you. You co­uld've hel­ped me but now we're both alo­ne. We're both alo­ne and I don't ha­ve the sligh­test idea what's go­ing on. I think I might be go­ing in­sa­ne.

  He la­ug­hed, a pat­he­tic lit­tle puff of air. The last thing I ne­ed right now is to in­ter­vi­ew anot­her pa­ti­ent with an audi­en­ce watc­hing. Es­pe­ci­al­ly this Barry Bo­se­man cha­rac­ter. And then Dr. Cla­ric be­gan to cry openly.

  ***

  "Thanks for let­ting us sit in on this one, Bri­an," Wen­ton sa­id as he and Nor­ma wal­ked thro­ugh the ma­in ent­ran­ce of the MSPC.

  Dr. Cla­ric smi­led we­akly. He was stan­ding ne­ar the se­cu­rity desk in the lobby. From this ma­in area, loc­ked do­ors led off in fo­ur dif­fe­rent di­rec­ti­ons.

  Wen­ton went stra­ight to the desk and sig­ned in on the clip­bo­ard the of­fi­cer held for him.

  "Bri­an, this is my gra­du­ate stu­dent, Nor­ma."

  "Right," Dr. Cla­ric sa­id with an ob­vi­o­us lack of in­te­rest and as­ked the se­cu­rity gu­ard to buzz them in. "Might as well get go­ing. Lo­oks li­ke we're re­ady."

  As they en­te­red the cor­ri­dor, Nor­ma lo­oked at Wen­ton with a fa­ce full of qu­es­ti­ons. She didn't un­ders­tand Dr. Cla­ric's odd be­ha­vi­o­ur. Wen­ton tri­ed to ig­no­re her alt­ho­ugh he was al­so cu­ri­o­us abo­ut Dr. Cla­ric's dist­rac­ted com­po­su­re.

 

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