Deadly Delusions

by Barbara Ebel

  “Since he’s psychotic,” Selina said, “it could be pointed out that his decision didn’t mean anything if he decides to change it. What if he regrets his ‘decision’ later on?”

  “I see your point,” Dr. Renner said. “We’ll be prepared to seek a judge’s help, just like you or I must do occasionally to involuntarily commit a patient.”

  With a heavy heart, Dr. Keeton left the meeting. Noah Goodman would probably become a regular of hers over the years, she thought, as either an inpatient or outpatient. Not as a budding student rotating through psychiatry like Annabel Tilson or Bob Palmer. Noah’s hopes, dreams, and hard work to get into medical school had been yanked right out from under him by a lousy disorder he never asked for.

  -----

  Annabel rolled over on Saturday morning to the pleasant view of the big tree outside her window. Her radio or cell phone was not her alarm clock today; she didn’t need to get up yet but she wasn’t going to waste the sun coming up and the quiet of the early hour by being inside. She spent too many hours all week inside four walls.

  She pulled over her iPhone and flexed her knees. It would be a good idea to check with Jerry, the boat guy, about tonight, she thought. His trip up river would depend on weather and water conditions so she better not take it for granted that their ‘date’ was on. Even though he may not awaken as early as her, that was the beauty of texting … he would see her message whenever he got up and about.

  Still going to navigate the mighty Ohio today? She wrote. We’re still on for tonight?

  Next, she considered the two officers and Dr. Keeton because she could suggest what day they should all meet. She liked the idea of Wednesday night; the evening after the group therapy would be wise because she and Selina would have something interesting to talk about if the officers ran late with police business. She got up and thumbed through the papers on her desk until she found the officers’ phone numbers. She entered the numbers into her own phone and sent Dustin a message.

  Hi, Dustin. Following up on the dinner breakfast offer from you and your partner. Dr. Keeton and I would like to join you both. Wednesday night okay?

  Annabel dressed into a fall running outfit and sneakers, stuck her phone, money, and keys in a pocket and trotted down the steps. After weaving through parked cars and two blocks, she trotted through the garden park and down the long staircases to the path along the river. With a moderate pace, she ran one mile east. She had bookmarked the website map of the marina where Jerry would moor … somewhere on the other side across the choppy brown water. She smiled about her social life. Psychiatry may be intense but it was a miracle she was shoving in a weekend rendezvous.

  Her father and med students before her had dealt with rougher schedules than hers. Schools had clamped down on students’ hours on the wards and residencies had done the same. Her father told her, however, not to count on those streamlined hours later. Schools and residencies may have made things easier than the insane schedules from the ‘olden’ days, but it was all a big camouflage for the actual hours most doctors worked when they made it out into the real world.

  Her speed slowed on the return mile. Plus, she had three sections of at least a hundred steps each to hoist back up to the garden and street. At the first group of stairs, she took two at a time, but then she succumbed to one step at a time. She sat on her favorite garden bench for a rest and the view when she got to the top. This time there was an old frail woman walking a small poodle. The pup peed on a clump of marigolds and the woman spoke to her.

  “Nice time of the day when nobody’s around,” she said. “That’s because all the young working people around here go out on Friday nights and can barely get out of their beds on Saturday mornings. They don’t have cows that need milking or horses to feed. They’re city slickers.”

  Annabel chuckled as the dog reached her from his leash and playfully stood up against her leg. She gave him a good massage after cupping her hands around his head. “You have a good day, puppy, and you, too, ma’am.”

  The lady nodded and slowly walked away on the sidewalk as Annabel’s phone dinged.

  She glanced at the text message. Just left the boat dock. No hurricanes in the forecast between KY and IN or OH, so we’re on. Look forward to meeting you at the marina restaurant at six.

  Likewise. Six it is, she wrote back.

  Annabel walked a normal pace the two blocks back to her apartment and buckled down studying the rest of the morning and afternoon. When she took breaks from cramming material into her head, she deviated by opening up her report and adding a few paragraphs. The way it seemed, she could write about schizophrenia for a year and there would still be more to talk about. Officer Lowe never texted her back but it wasn’t a big deal.

  At four-thirty she put her school work aside and began getting ready. She selected a long sleeve casual dress to wear with a beaded necklace and bracelet, and put on a thin line of eyeliner and lipstick. Her skin glowed, her hair shined, and she left with a warm coat and the directions at 5:30.

  -----

  After crossing the bridge, Annabel veered left taking the road most parallel to the water. In about fifteen minutes she took a street which wound down the ridge where she could see the marina at the end and sparse adjacent businesses. The restaurant - ‘The Wheelhouse,’ - stood prominently on the main dock, its sign battered from the weather.

  She parked in the lot on the sloped hill and walked along the sidewalk looking ahead and admiring the boats. Most were moored in their own slip but she noticed a few tied alongside the dock. A closed-in patio area flanked one side of the restaurant with more seating arrangements than inside. She opened the main door to a nicer place than she imagined from the outside and the food smelled inviting.

  Annabel glanced around. The big room was half full which was pretty good since it wasn’t summer; she bet there must be houseboat people and locals who made this a routine weekend eatery. A man stood up from a window table and walked over. He had a slight limp and was a good ten years older than her.

  “Annabel?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “You must be Jerry.”

  “I am. Come on over,” he said, letting her go first. “Did you find this place without too much trouble?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know this was here.”

  He pulled out the chair next to him.

  “Having a boat,” he said, “you learn all the nooks and crannies along the river. It’s fun to go explore, especially since I take some longer boat excursions on weekends and can sleep in my cabin.”

  “Won’t it be too cold soon to do that?”

  “Most likely this is my last getaway before next spring unless we get a crazy ‘global warming’ winter.”

  A waitress wearing a black shirt with the restaurant’s logo came over. “What can I get you to drink, young lady?”

  She noticed Jerry’s beer.

  “I do have wine on the boat,” he said, “but feel free to get some here as well. They carry wine and beer.”

  “Just an iced tea for now,” she answered. The lady left and Annabel said, “We can do Dutch treat.”

  “No. Please. Paying for the two of us is no problem. The tab is on me.”

  “Okay. But no strings attached.”

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?” he said. He said it nicely so she didn’t feel offended; they were on the same wavelength.

  The woman came back with her tea as Annabel noticed him more carefully: the corner of his eyes sloped like a sad beagle; his chin had a scar; and his hair was thin and short. With an average build and apparent manners, she liked what she had ‘found.’

  She raised her glass and he raised his beer. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Likewise.”

  “So what do you do?” she asked. Even though she made the query, she never wanted to pry too much on Findar dates nor did she ever want to divulge too much about herself.

  “I’m a financial consultant in Louisville. It’s a job. You
know, passing the hours and the weeks and the years mostly at a desk job. That’s why I have Hannah, my boat. She’s my getaway.”

  She smiled as she selected a small roll from the bread basket.

  “Not to say I don’t perform a decent service,” he said. “Look me up if you ever need financial planning or, better yet, I’ll leave you with my card.”

  “Someday I hope to worry about financial planning,” she said and laughed.

  “See, it does help if I pick up this tab. So how do you spend your time?”

  “I’m in graduate school in Ohio. Healthcare thesis.” She shrugged because in a way it was true. Medical school was an advanced degree and her daily activities were as in-depth as any thesis could ever be.

  The waitress came over holding her pad. “Know what you both want?”

  “What do you suggest?” he asked. “I was here once last summer and all I remember is that the food was good.”

  “We’re not too fancy but the special tonight is grilled chicken with goat cheese and the best sweet potato you’ll find anywhere.”

  “One of those,” Annabel said.

  “Make it two,” Jerry said.

  She stuck the notepad into her pants without writing it down while Annabel wondered if she and Jerry would end up in the cabin of his boat or not. So far, she’d be fine with that.

  Chapter 12

  Annabel and Jerry finished their entrée, thankful for the recommendations by the waitress.

  “How about we top off our dinner by ordering cheesecake to take with us?” Jerry suggested. “For my boat.”

  Annabel agreed; they waited for their to-go containers and, after paying, they stepped outside to a sky speckled with a myriad of stars. The moon’s reflection on the water bridged the two states and the sound of water lapping at the beams of the dock made her feel as if she were someplace more exotic. Several large houseboats nearby made her think she was around rich nautical people in Miami.

  Along with the cool, crisp air, Annabel wanted to stay all night. Which, she realized, may happen. For a Saturday night, it couldn’t get better than this.

  They walked along a strip of the dock to the far end where Jerry extended his hand in front of a white streamlined boat – the ‘cruiser’ he had texted her about. Although her family owned a kayak and a little motorboat at their middle-Tennessee cabin on a lake, she had limited experience with types of boats.

  “Watch your step,” he said.

  She passed the swimming platform and stepped down into the cockpit. Besides the captain’s chair, there were bucket seats and a table but not too much room … at least not for hosting a party.

  “The lights are a nice touch,” she said.

  “I added the blue LED lighting recently,” he said. “Made a big difference.”

  Jerry unlocked the cabin door and flipped a switch. She followed him in.

  “It’s better than a hotel room,” he said as she looked around. I have everything I want as far as a kitchen and sleeping on the water is divine.”

  He leaned over a small table and turned on an exceptional sound system playing a schmaltzy ballad. “I purchased most of the optional features when I bought her,” he said, “and Hannah’s been worth every penny.”

  “Sounds like you’re married to her,” Annabel said and then regretted saying it. “I didn’t mean that as a derogatory statement, though.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “There’s some truth to that.” He placed the Styrofoam container on the table, grabbed two forks and then opened a Chardonnay and poured two glasses.

  Annabel put her purse down and then sat.

  “Here’s to a fantastic encounter,” he said, raising his glass. “You are going to stay the night, aren’t you?”

  “I usually don’t stay over,” she said, but bit her tongue. That sounded like she did this type of thing almost every night. “I mean, I like to go home later.” It still didn’t sound right but she gave up trying to explain.

  Jerry furrowed his forehead as he set his glass back down. “I hear you. It’s not easy spending a night with a stranger.”

  She nodded. He must be a good ten years older than her, she thought, and probably way more mature. She took a double sip of wine and eyed the cheesecake as Jerry tried a piece.

  “Delicious,” he said. He slid closer to her, put a piece on her fork, and inched it up to her lips. She kept it in her mouth where it practically melted like ice cream. After Annabel sipped more wine, he followed with a piece for himself.

  The music switched over to another song; a slow, familiar one with a decent male vocalist.

  “May I have this dance, pretty woman?”

  Annabel rose with a smile. “Not much room in here.”

  “That’s kind of the point,” he said, as he took her in his arms. Within one circle, they pressed closer and closer and he hummed the tune into her ear which didn’t sound bad. Nice in fact, since a guy never hummed to her before. Halfway through the song, his tongue toyed with her ear instead and she began to tingle. Good wine and he may be a good lover, too, she thought.

  “Young woman,” he whispered, “on the other side of that door we can take turns getting on top of each other. Naked.”

  Jerry led the way to a marvelous big bed with extra-large sham pillows. Appreciating more of the same romantic blue tinge to the room, she sank on the bed alongside of him. Experienced, thorough, and deliberate, he made her salivate for more and more of him.

  After their first session, their passion spent, Jerry walked nude back out to the cabin and returned with the wine and cheesecake. She smiled at the view.

  “This is the best party I’ve been to in a long time,” she said.

  After eating and drinking some more, they placed the items to the side and ramped up their lovemaking again.

  When Jerry rolled off of her, they both smiled. They laid silently listening to the water against the hull and the faint music from the cabin.

  Annabel broke the silence. “What caused your slight limp?”

  “A remnant from Afghanistan ten years ago,” he said and positioned himself on his side. “But that wasn’t so bad what happened over there. I was shipped back home because my wife was the one who ended up more seriously hurt and killed.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. How terrible, she thought, and shuddered. His explanation had taken her by surprise but she didn’t think she could handle any more details about his wife’s death. He was getting under her skin.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Her name was Hannah.”

  He nodded affirmatively and ran two fingers along a stretch of her hair. When he laid back down, they both dozed.

  Annabel woke with a start, put her hand over the side of the bed, and picked up her dress.

  Jerry stirred and looked over. “It’s not a good idea to leave in the middle of the night. It would be safer in the morning, especially since you drank wine.”

  He’s right, she thought, and dropped her dress back on the floor.

  In the morning, she experienced troublesome, mixed feelings waking up and taking her departure. He was right; sleeping on the water was an experience - a communal celebration with nature; the water, the sky, the moon, and the fresh air. And sex with him had topped any man yet.

  She continued her thoughts as she drove over the bridge with the sun cascading higher up into the sky off to her right. Even though they only met last night and shared their bodies as basic strangers, she felt there was more to him than any fling encounter she had before. How could he be so flippant to find women on Findar? He was better than that.

  “Ugh,” she mumbled. She was doing the same thing for men. Never mind, she scolded herself. It serves a purpose and the purpose last night was fulfilled. Now to go home and study the rest of the day.

  -----

  After dropping Jerry’s card into a small box of business cards and changing into something more casual, Annabel began studying at home and, by noon, her phone came alive with inc
oming messages. It was time to take a break anyway; other people were probably just getting up or leaving Sunday church services and she’d already absorbed one whole psychiatry chapter on alcohol withdrawal.

  She swiveled her desk chair towards her bed, propped her bare feet up, and looked at her iPhone.

  Wednesday night works for us, Dustin Lowe’s message said. How about if I pick you up and Edgar picks up Dr. Keeton?

  She stared at the message. Darn, she thought. She’d rather they all pile in one car. She wanted to spend nonprofessional time with her attending even more than going on a ‘date.’ It would be an opportunity to tap into her wealth of information and advice for medical students not just related to psychiatry.

  Okay, but ask your partner to talk to her. She typed the number she had for Selina and after that, she gave him her own address.

  I’ll be there at 6:30 p.m., he wrote.

  See you then, she responded, hopefully not before. What our patient did to himself this week was gruesome!

  Wednesday, then.

  Annabel glanced at her next message from her younger sister, Nancy. When are you getting another weekend to come down? Family misses you … not me, of course. It gets old when they talk about you at dinner!

  Annabel smiled. Since she was learning from Dr. Keeton how the mind works, she figured Nancy meant the opposite. Besides being a little envious of her, Nancy probably wanted to be just like her in medical school and on her own.

  Sorry. I can’t help what they talk about. Yeah, maybe one of these weekends unless any of you want to jump in the car and come up here.

  I’ll think about it.

  Annabel strolled into the kitchen and poured cereal into a bowl, the first thing to eat since her marina meal last night. She scrolled Findar to check the last guy, Tristan, she’d spotted who was on her list of possibilities. His location was handy … he lived somewhere between Cincinnati and Columbus … not too close and not too far. He listed himself as a basketball coach for a high school and his photograph wasn’t the greatest since he looked down and wore a western hat with a brim which obscured a good deal of his face. She wanted to capitalize on the good luck last night with Jerry and at least start a dialogue with her next possibility. Hookups after initial contact always took time, so she had nothing to lose.