“I received a call that you were in trouble and came as fast as I could.” She smiled. “I thought we could talk here, rather than in a more formal setting.”
“Fuck you, lady,” he said, pointing at her. “I’m not staying here.”
Doctor Farrow sighed. She even did that calmly. “Seth, there’s no reason to be childish. Now we can discuss this, but—”
“I know what’s happening,” he snapped. “I saw you.”
“Seth, please sit down.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
Doctor Farrow uncrossed her legs and sat forward a bit in her chair, pad and pen still held in her hands. “If you don’t sit down and remain calm so we can talk sensibly about what’s happened I won’t be able to help you.”
“I don’t want your help, asshole. You let me the hell out of here or I’ll give you a psychotic episode like you’ve never fucking seen.”
Doctor Farrow looked at him as if to say: Are you finished?
“I know what’s happening,” he told her again.
“Seth,” she said patiently, “I understand you’re frightened, confused, angry and experiencing all sorts of varied emotions—and that’s OK—but you need to understand that you’ve been through a terrible trauma and if I’m to help you I need you to be more cooperative than you’re being right now. I thought you and I had developed a certain trust, and I’d hoped we could do this here in Ms. Chandler’s apartment, in surroundings you’d be more comfortable with. You’ve never expressed any aggression before, never given any indication of being a violent individual whatsoever, and I was reasonably certain you posed neither yourself nor the community at large any threat. Now I’d like very much to address what’s happened, and to help you in any way I can, but these things must be addressed, Seth, do you understand? The choice is yours. We can either try to handle things here, or I can have you hospitalized and we can proceed with your care from there. Which would you prefer?”
Seth stopped cold, glanced first at her icy eyes and then at the door. The word hospitalized rang in his ears. He moved away and sank back onto the edge of the bed.
“Good.” She quickly consulted her pad then said, “Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing, Seth?”
“I know what’s happening and I know what you’re doing. I saw you.”
“Saw me?”
“I followed you.”
“Followed me where?”
“The abandoned building behind the old church shelter.”
Farrow creased her brow in confusion. “Do you remember that I was on vacation until recently? I was out of the country, Seth. Could it have been someone who resembled me?”
“What’s the point of this? We both know what’s happening here.”
“I’m not sure we do,” she said evenly.
* * *
Alessandra sits with him a long while. She neither speaks nor cries. Instead, she gently strokes his cheek and does her best to remember the happy years they spent together.
His study, with all his leather-bound classics neatly displayed on tall bookshelves, its mahogany furniture, ostentatious world globe and enormous grandfather clock, its numerous model airplanes he’d spent hours building himself hanging from thin plastic wires attached to the ceiling, seems so quiet and still now, and lacks the warmth that once existed here in abundance. Rolf took such pride in this room and in the things he kept here, things others might find silly and inconsequential, but then, it was his simplicity that made him so attractive to Alessandra in the first place. Rolf was not a stupid man—on the contrary—he was quite bright, albeit in a bookish sense. But there was a minimalism to his manner Alessandra had always envied.
Sitting in his high-back leather chair and slumped forward over his desk, he looks so peaceful, head turned to the side, one cheek pressed flat against the desk blotter where his head has come to rest. Beyond one outstretched hand sits the model he’d been working on when Alessandra brought his lunch: a steaming bowl of minestrone soup, his favorite. He’d not quite finished it when the poison sent him drifting off to eternal sleep…quietly, painlessly, lovingly. She looks beyond his peaceful face to the snow blowing about outside. The storm has grown worse over the last few hours.
Alessandra stands up, straightens her dress and draws a deep breath. She leans over, kisses Rolf gently on the side of his forehead and runs her fingers once more through his neatly cropped hair. She will see him again soon, in a place where forgiveness is inherent and explanation unnecessary.
She walks slowly into the dining room and eventually the kitchen. But for the sound of her heels along the floor and the baying wind just beyond its borders, the house is silent. The putrid smell is everywhere.
Raymond is waiting for her in the kitchen. At her request, he has showered, shaved and changed into a clean sweatshirt and pair of jeans, his freshly shampooed hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail. On the table next to his cigarettes and lighter are two small glasses and a bottle of Crown Royal sitting in a purple cloth bag. As they have for years, he and Alessandra have an entire conversation without ever uttering a word. The look on her face and in her eyes tells him everything he needs to know, and vice versa.
Nana moves to the table, carefully pours a bit of liquor into both glasses then replaces the crown-shaped cap. She takes both glasses in hand and holds one out to Raymond. He takes it, watching as she slides into the chair next to his.
* * *
“Would you like to answer my original question?” Doctor Farrow asked, her pen gliding across paper. “What is the last thing you remember?”
“I remember being here, at Ruthie’s apartment,” he said in an annoyed tone. “She lured me here to find out what I knew and to try to turn me. She drugged me.”
“Ruthie drugged you?”
“Yes. I woke up here, with you staring at me. This is ridiculous, I—”
“You said she tried to ‘turn’ you. What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not playing these games with you.”
She studied him a moment. “So you remember being here prior to what happened?”
“You asked me the last thing I remembered. I told you.”
Doctor Farrow let the pad rest in her lap. “Seth, on the day that took place, you had a significant amount to drink at a string of bars in the downtown area. You went to your office, and upon leaving, apparently walked here, to Ms. Chandler’s apartment. An argument ensued and you left, still quite inebriated. Ms. Chandler, concerned about your behavior and well-being, followed you. You had a few block lead on her, however, and wandered a ways from here where you were mugged and beaten. Luckily, Ms. Chandler found you lying semi-conscious in the gutter. She managed to get you back here to her apartment and phoned for help. I came right away, as I said.”
“Explains why I’m so sore. But how did she know to call you?”
“She’s your friend, Seth. She knew you were under my care.”
“Ruthie had no idea I was under your care.”
“I gave you a mild sedative for your own safety,” she said, ignoring his response. “You had awaked suffering from nightmarish episodes and hallucinations. These things happen sometimes when a person suffers intense moments of fear, anxiety or even physical duress, which obviously you had. Thankfully, the physical injuries you sustained weren’t life-threatening. Some cuts, bumps and bruises, and I imagine you’ll be sore for a few days, but you’ll be all right. It’s your psychological and emotional well-being I’m concerned with at this point, Seth. When you awakened just now, understandably, you were disoriented and frightened.” She offered her best impression of a concerned smile. “And obviously you’re still rather upset, but can you tell me how you’re feeling otherwise?”
“Let’s just cut to the chase. I’ll ask you again. What’s the point of all this?”
Doctor Farrow brought a hand to her chin as if wildly fascinated by his questi
on. “What do you think the point is?”
He swallowed. His throat was raw and sore. “I’m not insane and you know it.”
“No one’s suggesting you’re insane.”
“How long has it been?”
“How long has what been?”
“How long has it been since the day I was attacked on the street?”
“The assault and mugging took place late yesterday afternoon. It’s now the early morning of the following day.”
“I’ve been here overnight?”
She nodded. “I could’ve had you moved but you were comfortable here, had no serious injuries, and Ms. Chandler didn’t mind, so it was best for you to stay put.”
Seth immediately thought of Peggy and the timetable he’d established for their meeting when he’d spoken to her on his cell. He looked to his wrist but his watch was gone, apparently taken in the mugging. He searched the room for a clock, came up empty. “What time is it?”
She glanced at her watch. “Nearly ten o’clock. Why?”
“I’m the curious type.” Thank God, he thought. There’s still time.
A long, thoughtful pause, and then: “Seth, do you have any recollection of yesterday at all, or to the events that lead up to what happened? Do you remember why you started drinking heavily that morning?”
“I wasn’t drinking,” he said. “And we both know that.”
“According to Ms. Chandler you were extremely intoxicated. She tried to sober you up with some tea. Or are you saying she was mistaken? Are you saying you weren’t drinking yesterday?”
Seth rubbed his eyes. “Doesn’t much matter what I say.”
“It matters a great deal to me. Why do you say that?”
“This is the part where you make it out like I’m crazy and lock me away because you can’t get to me any other way.” He looked to the cup of water on the nightstand. It was appealing, but after Ruthie’s tea he didn’t want to risk drinking anything else he hadn’t prepared himself. “Even now, I’m sounding like a paranoid nut, aren’t I? Isn’t that the point? Every time I open my mouth I walk a little deeper into your trap.”
“Is that what you think this is, Seth, a trap?”
Seth stared at her dully.
“Is that how you’re feeling, trapped?”
They’ll try to break you, Raymond had warned.
Seth’s heart was racing again. The fear was returning. Perhaps it had never truly left. “It’s just the two of us,” he said. “There’s no reason to pretend.”
Doctor Farrow’s expression remained neutral as ever. “What is it you think I’m pretending about, Seth?”
And if they can’t they’ll try to make you think you’re crazy.
“I know what happens next,” he said. “You lock me away, pump me full of drugs and throw away the key. What are you waiting for?”
“Why would I want to do that?” she asked innocently. “Do you feel you need to be locked away?”
Maybe by then you will be, but don’t listen to a fucking word they say.
“I feel I need to get the hell out of here and away from you, that’s what I feel.”
“Why do you feel that way, Seth?”
It’s all an illusion, a mind-fuck.
“What do you want from me?”
She sat back, assuming a more casual posture, and again crossed her legs. “I’d like to talk about your sudden hostility toward me. Do you think maybe you’re directing it at me because I’m your doctor and you trust me, and because it’s easier that way? It’s not uncommon for patients to direct anger toward their doctors in certain situations.”
“We both know why I’m directing my anger toward you.”
She let the tip of her pen rest on the edge of her bottom lip. “What I’d like you to do is to think about yesterday and the events leading up to it, all right? How much do you remember?”
“I remember everything,” he told her.
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“Maybe you should tell me. Your version’s already a lot different than mine.”
She flipped a few pages on her pad and briefly consulted it. “Do you remember meeting with your boss William Jacobs?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember physically assaulting him, Seth?”
“Yes, I do.”
“All right, would you like to talk about why or how that happened?”
Seth would’ve laughed had he not felt so utterly hopeless. “Just do whatever it is you’re going to do to me and get it the hell over with.”
“Luckily, Mr. Jacobs has been wonderfully understanding about this and has chosen to try to help you rather than press charges.” Doctor Farrow was quiet for a time then said, “Let’s go back a bit. What can you tell me about your friend Louis?”
He felt anger rise alongside his fear. “He threw himself out a window to get the hell away from all this. It’s one of the options, suicide. He took it.”
She flipped through her pad, read over the various notes jotted there then looked up from it. “Louis is still alive.”
“But in a coma?”
She nodded. “How did Louis’s actions make you feel?”
“Why are you doing this to me? You’ve won, OK? You win.”
“Seth, I want you to revisit some of these things with me because they all play a part in what’s happened since, do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand, believe me.”
“You’ve suffered a tremendous trauma, and many things have happened. It’s important for you to retrace some of these events so you can better understand them, and also to better understand the subsequent impact they’ve had on you. It’s all tied together, and these things have helped to contribute to what’s happening now.” She tried on another smile. “Make sense?”
Seth clenched his trembling hands into fists but kept them in his lap.
“All right,” she said in her velvety voice. “Do you remember the conversations we had about your vacation trip to the cabin in Maine with your brother and your friends, and how you felt upset about the things that happened during that vacation?”
“Yes.”
“And do you remember our discussions about how mental illness is often hereditary?”
He nodded.
“Would you agree you haven’t been acting like yourself for some time now?”
Seth glared at her. “Why don’t you go ahead and explain it to me? Lay it all out.”
Doctor Farrow put the pad aside and folded her hands delicately across her knees. “Seth, your grandmother and brother both suffered from mental illness.”
“Nana’s always been eccentric, not mentally ill.”
“That illness is something you’ve been dealing with for some time now,” she said, dismissing him. “That doesn’t mean you’re insane, and no one is suggesting that you are. But you are struggling with some problems right now. Problems I fully believe we can resolve with your cooperation, but problems nonetheless. You began to not feel yourself some time ago, and things have been steadily unraveling since that time. Things at home became difficult, and then at work as well. You vacationed in Maine, had the episode at the cabin where your brother disappeared for a time, at night during the snowstorm, and that triggered many terrible childhood memories for you. I believe it also served as a trigger to some of the things you’ve been dealing with since.
“When you returned from that vacation,” she continued, “your problems escalated. Within weeks you and your wife had separated. From there, problems at work began to mount. You decided to come and see me, and we began having these sessions together. Not long afterward, your friend Louis, struggling with his own inner demons regarding his divorce and his ex-wife’s attempt to relocate with another man and take their children with her, attempted suicide. The shock, stress and depression associated with this made matters worse for you, and your problems escalated again.”
“I knew you’d have it all figured out, Doc.” Seth felt a smirk danc
e across his upper lip. “Somehow, I just knew it.”
Her eyes again dropped to her pad. “A few moments ago, just before you woke up, you called out your brother’s name. Do you remember doing that?”
“Raymond.”
At the mention of his name, Doctor Farrow’s expression changed ever so slightly, and Seth’s heart plummeted as an overwhelming rush of realization and sorrow engulfed him. “Oh, Christ,” he said softly. “Raymond.”
* * *
Raymond takes another sip of whiskey; feels it warm his throat. Though he is nearly finished with his drink, Nana has yet to even taste hers. Neither has spoken in some time, choosing instead to listen to the wind and their thoughts and memories.
At one point Raymond can almost hear his mother singing to him again, nearly feel her arms around him, her love absorbing him and making everything all right. And in these memories he can see her face clear as day, like she is sitting right there at the table with him. His father is there too, standing a bit to the side with that wry look he so often had. Only Seth is missing from the picture. It is his time to be alone now, to fight the battles he feels he needs to.
“I know you’re feeling tremendous sorrow,” Nana says, her voice shattering the silence. “So am I. But there are far worse things than sorrow, my love.”
Raymond nods. He knows this all too well. He wipes at his nose. The smell grows worse here with each passing minute. He remembers reading somewhere once that they put something in it so it would smell like this. A safeguard, they called it.
“I’ve always believed what’s important is how one confronts and deals with those things, how one maintains one’s poise and self-respect in the face of chaos. But it can’t be an exercise purely for show. It needs to go deeper into one’s soul than that because its very essence is more profound. It has no choice but to be what it is.” She holds up her glass until the light from nearby windows catches the golden tint of the liquor. “In the early 1980s I visited Israel. One of the more fascinating sites I had the privilege to experience was The Masada. Are you familiar with it, Raymond?”
Deep Night Page 33