by Brad Kelln
After they were seated in Dr. Claric's office, he immediately opened the hospital chart sitting on his desk. Normally, he would have spent more time with small talk, getting to know Norma, introducing himself better, but he didn't have the stomach for it. He could barely concentrate on things as it was. He knew that if he dropped his guard, even for a second, he might cry again.
"Barry Boseman," Dr. Claric announced flatly, "arrived here less than a week ago after the siege with police. He's been quiet on the unit and coop- erative with most of the efforts of the team. We're currently assessing him for criminal responsibility." He turned to 'Norma. "Are you familiar with what goes on in an assessment here?" The question seemed almost challenging.
Norma nodded. Surprised by his tone.
Wenton eyed Dr. Claric. From the tone of their phone conversation the day before, Wenton could tell that something was bugging Dr. Claric, but he didn't want to get involved. Everyone has issues but I'm not their fuckin' therapist.
"Good., I've been asked to do a personality, risk and diagnostic assessment. You two will be sitting in on the clinical interview. I'll basically do a bit of a history and focus on psychiatric symptoms. Might go into the index offense a bit. Ready?"
"You don't have any additional history on this guy we could go over?" Wenton asked.
"Like what?"
"You feelin' all right, Brian?"
"Fine."
"You seem a little short."
Dr. Claric took a deep breath, contemplating whether the question deserved an answer. "We had a patient suicide on us."
Norma gasped and held her hands to her mouth.
"It happens," Dr. Claric shrugged, wanting to show them that he wasn't affected by the death.
"Were you working with her?" Wenton asked.
"I was supposed to do a suicide risk assessment."
"I'm so sorry," Norma offered.
Wenton frowned at her. He found Norma's emotional side weak, and he despised weakness.
"Like I said, it happens. Should we get going with Boseman?"
"You wanna put this off? Do it another day?" Wenton asked. I don't want this to be a big waste of time.
"Let's just go."
***
"So Dr. Wenton and Ms. MacDonald will sit in with us today. Is that okay with you, Mr. Boseman?"
Dr. Claric had just explained the purpose of their meeting and the pres- ence of the two guests. Barry Boseman had willingly come to the interview room but hadn't made eye contact with anyone yet. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other but he refused to acknowledge any of them. He responded to their questions with shrugs, nods and vague grunts.
"Mr. Boseman," Dr. Claric scolded, "this is supposed to be an interview where I ask some questions and you give the answers. For that to work properly you'll have to speak up. Is that going to be a problem?"
Wenton smiled. He wasn't used to seeing this short-tempered side to Dr. Claric. It was like watching himself work.
"No that's not a problem" Barry said with a hint of sarcasm.
"Good." Dr. Claric ignored his tone. "Now, do you want to tell us why you're here?"
Barry snorted at the question and his eyes darted to something on the table. His whole body tensed as he focused on the spot and then he relaxed.
"Why am I here?" Barry asked. "You want the long version or the short?"
"You decide."
"Well, my mother always had poor taste in men. She lived by the law of averages, she thought that if she fucked enough guys she'd eventually come out even. Turns out she was wrong. She eventually came out with me."
The answered surprised Dr. Claric. "What?"
"You wanted to know where I came from. It was from a drunken one- night stand my mother had."
"I asked why you were here."
"Same thing."
Dr. Claric stared at Barry. "Fine. Tell me about the night of the index offense, the standoff with police. What happened?"
Barry's eyes shot to his arm and he quickly brushed at his skin with his hand. "That night was all about a fuckin' stupid pizza guy. That's all."
"That's the guy you shot dead, right?"
Wenton smiled again. The words Dr. Claric chose to ask the question were intentionally aggressive, he was looking for a reaction. Go get 'em, Bri.
Barry nodded. "Wrong place at the wrong time sort of thing."
"What were you doing with the rifle?"
Barry shook his head and suddenly turned around in his chair. Dr. Claric and Norma sat back, startled. Wenton didn't move.
Barry peered over the back of his chair. He studied the chair and then shifted his attention to the floor.
"Wliat's the problem, Barry?" Dr. Claric asked.
"Just a second."
"Are you looking for something?"
"Just a second," he said a little more loudly.
"Is there 'disease' in here?"
Barry spun around to face the psychologist. "Don't fuckin' talk to me about that. Got it?"
"Is that the reason you're here?"
"Fuck you."
Wenton smiled again. He never expected such an interesting session, and he never expected Boseman to be so antagonistic. Wenton knew that the typical forensic patient was passive and overly compliant since they knew they were under the microscope for an assessment. He couldn't wait to see what was going to happen. He glanced at Norma and his smile faded away. Her face was white. She was obviously frightened by the whole exchange. She had no perspective on any of this. Dumb bitch.
"Does that mean the interview's over?" Dr. Claric asked coolly.
"If you're done, it's over."
"I haven't even started."
"Then keep going."
"You were looking for something in your house the night of the incident."
Wenton noticed that Dr. Claric intentionally changed his language to avoid setting Barry off, referring to the shooting and standoff as an "inci- dent."
"Yeah."
"Tell me about that."
"About four months ago my wife and son left me. I don't even know where they are. They just left." He stopped as tears filled his eyes. Dr. Claric leaned forward and pushed a box of tissue towards him.
"Thanks," Barry said, taking one. "Samantha blamed me for everything.
She thought I was scum. She took off and stole my son." He stopped and covered his face again.
Dr. Claric waited for a moment. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Barry didn't respond.
"You sort of left out an important piece of the story, didn't you?" Dr. Claric prompted.
Barry nodded.
"You cheated on Samantha and got a sexually transmitted disease. You brought it home and gave it to her, didn't you?"
Barry began crying more loudly.
"Did you feel guilty about giving your wife herpes?" Dr. Claric challenged.
B
arry couldn't answer.
"Do you think that's why you started seeing disease everywhere?" Dr. Claric pushed.
"Leave me alone," Barry moaned.
"Is it herpes? Is that what you see everywhere? Disease?"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Barry screamed.
Wenton almost laughed. He really enjoyed watching Dr. Claric work. It was refreshing. He glanced at Norma. Her ash white face was twisted in horror and revulsion. He hoped she didn't puke. Pussy.
"What happened after Samantha left?" Dr. Claric continued.
Barry was silent.
"Barry. I can't help you if you don't help me understand."
Barry finally opened his eyes and stared back at Dr. Claric.
"Everything happened after that, okay? When I lost my wife, I lost my son, and I lost my job. I lost everything."
"Why'd you lose your job?"
Without warning, Barry suddenly stood up and Norma's surprise near- ly knocked her over backwards. Barry stared at the back wall then leaned forward on the table to look at the floor. After a moment, his body relaxed and he sat back down.
Barry closed his eyes and held a hand against his forehead. "You don't understand. It's not me. It's not my son. It's ECOR. They did this."
"What's ECOR?" Dr. Claric asked.
"ECOR Pharmaceuticals, that's where I worked. They're one of the biggest companies in the grand world of psychiatric medicine. Their head office is downtown, right next to the casino on the harbour. It's the big, pretentious building that blocks the view of all the buildings further inland."
He laughed and looked across at Dr. Claric. "You guys have probably doled out every drug they make."
"We're psychologists, we don't prescribe medications," Dr. Claric corrected.
"Whatever, you don't argue against it either. You eat the free meals when they host their little lunchtime education sessions."
Dr. Claric wanted to get Barry back on track. "So what happened at work?"
"I was a junior chemist with them but they were doing some secret research. I got wind of it and they had to get rid of me. They did this to me."
Dr.. Claric frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean ECOR is fuckin' with people's heads. Making them crazy. That's what I mean."
"I'm not following you," Dr. Claric said. He was starting to get nervous about where this was heading. He kept seeing Catherine Mercer in his mind.
"ECOR did something to me so I'd start seeing things. I still do. They made me see disease everywhere: on me; on the wall, on people I saw around me. Everywhere. I could smell pus, taste it, feel it. It tainted everything. I couldn't sleep, or work, or eat, or anything!" Barry paused as if he'd just remembered something. "Fuck! There it is now," he said pointing at the corner of the table. He closed his eyes again and rubbed them with his fingers.
"What's this got to do with ECOR?" Dr. Claric asked.
"It's the research," he cried. "I know I was just a worker-monkey to them, but I heard things that I probably shouldn't have. I know what really goes on in the big companies."
Dr. Claric rubbed a palm over his face. It was suddenly hot in the room, too hot. He glanced at Wenton and Norma, and tried to smile. He looked back to Barry. "How'd they…I mean, how do you think they made you,
'crazy'?"
"I don't want to talk about this," Barry announced.
"HOW'D THEY MAKE YOU CRAZY?" Dr. Claric shouted. He couldn't get Catherine's tortured face out of his mind. He knew someone had done that to her.
"I don't know. I'm pretty sure they were testing some electronic weapon or something."
"Oh my God," Dr. Claric whispered. "It's all true."
Wenton stared at Dr. Claric., What the fuck are you doing?
"What's true?" Barry asked.
Dr. Claric tried to slow his breathing, but couldn't. "The weapons."
Norma couldn't decide who to look at. Her head turned from Dr. Claric to Barry to Wenton.
Wenton ignored her.
"Did they have white vans?" Dr. Claric breathed.
Barry shook his head "No. The company van was blue."
Dr. Claric sighed.
"But the vans they followed me in were white. They used special vans for the research stuff."
"Oh my God," Dr. Claric said.
And then the room was quiet.
Wenton waited for Dr. Claric to continue but the man was obviously lost in a pool of distress.
"I'm going," Barry announced and started to stand.
"Sit down," Wenton hissed.
The tone of his voice took Barry by surprise and he paused, even though he had only partially stood up. He looked across the table at Wenton's face, which was frozen in anger.
"Sit the fuck down," he snarled again. "I've had enough of this fairytale shit."
Barry sat and stared back at Wenton, suddenly noticing how big the psy- chologist actually was. His voice was shaky as he said, "I…I want going to my…my room."
Wenton smiled at him.
Barry didn't know how to interpret the smile but it somehow angered him. Is this asshole making a joke out of me? His courage began to return even though his voice remained soft and unsure. "Fuck you. I'm going to report you."
Wenton's eyes burned deep into Barry, his dark smile unchanged.
"Fuck you," Barry said again and started to stand.
Wenton's hand was only a blur as it snapped across the table and slammed down in front of Barry. Everyone jumped at the loud slap. "I don't want to play any more fuckin' games with you. Is that clear?"
"What the fuck…are…you…doing?" Barry gasped and choked as he tried to control his own breathing.
"Do we understand things better now?"
"I'll…report…you…"
"You're going to answer a few questions or I'll give you something bet- ter to report. Do you understand?"
"Yes…yes." Barry was starting to feel weak and dizzy.
"Fine," Wenton said sitting back in his seat. "Now where were we?" Wenton began as though they'd been interrupted by nothing more than a phone call. "Oh yes, ECOR."
It took a moment for Barry to regain his composure but he decided to cooperate after that.
***
"I never mattered to anyone at ECOR, not until I became a nuisance, I suppose. The other employees, especially the executives, would just walk right by me. They didn't care about people like me. I was just a lowly junior researcher doing whatever crap they wanted done.
"Anyway, when my wife and I started having problems I guess my performance at ECOR suffered. I tried to talk to them. I tried to tell them I just needed some time to sort things out, but they fired me, just like that." Barry snapped his fingers.
Wenton frowned. "They let you go on the spot? No notice or warnings or anything?"
"What'd I tell you? They're bastards. They said I was still on probation because I hadn't been there long enough, but I wasn't going to let them get away with it. I kept showing up fo
r work anyway. I told them they couldn't fire me. They even had security throw me out of their precious building a few times." Barry chuckled at the memory.
"And then I started to go crazy. At first I just felt physically sick, I was dizzy and felt nauseous, and then I started seeing shit everywhere. Sam and my boy were already gone, and I'm glad because I wouldn't have wanted them to see what a mess I had become. I could barely get out of bed because of the stuff I saw on the floor, on the ceilings, everywhere! ECOR was driving me insane."
"What makes you think ECOR had anything to do with that?"
"I know they had me under surveillance. They were watching my house."
"You actually saw someone?" Wenton asked.
"There were vans. Not all the time but frequently I saw these vans outside my place. So one day I run out at the van, right? I tear over to it and the guy takes off, but I catch a glimpse of him and I'm sure it was one of the security guards at ECOR. I knew right away what was going on. It was ECOR." Barry nodded like he'd solved a great mystery. "It was ECOR trying to get rid of me. I knew that because I remembered a conversation I'd over- heard between the president and one of the research guys."
"What conversation was that?" Wenton asked.
"Actually it was a few different conversations but it was always the same two guys, Travis Mettincourt and some other guy who was the head of a research team or something."
"Mettincourt's the president of ECOR?" Wenton clarified.
"Yep."
"And what did you overhear?"
"This was the whole conversation. I can remember it like it was yesterday:
Other Person: 'Project's at three months now.'
Mettincourt: 'And what are we seeing?'
Other Person: 'Looks good. We're getting a lot of good hits. We should see an increase in our numbers pretty soon but it's early to say for sure.'
Mettincourt: 'Pretty slick. There's wackos out there anyway so why not give them the little push they need.'