Deadly Delusions

by Barbara Ebel

  “But you didn’t even ask me his name,” Victor said as the door shut behind her.

  Victor stared at the scales on top of Whatever’s head and took a deep breath. Some people, he thought.

  ‘I told you,’ the snake said. ‘She has no manners. She didn’t even pet me.’

  ‘You can’t blame her,’ the other voice quipped. ‘It would be like you being put into a room with a monstrous Komodo dragon.’

  ‘I could squeeze the breath out of one of those. No problem.’

  “Stop,” Victor said aloud. He again placed his hands along his temple, sat down, and allowed Whatever to have his freedom for the rest of the afternoon.

  -----

  Orange walked out and across the street like someone was hot on her heels to perpetrate a crime. She clutched her bag and jacket, thankful she had picked them up in such a hurry, and finally put the coat on before getting into her car. As she drove away, she contemplated next Wednesday. If it was one thing she’d learned with her own diagnosis, patients should look after each other. Dr. Keeton would be surprised when she told her that Victor’s snake was indeed real. At least then his doctor would have a better sense of what she’s dealing with when it came down to Victor’s schizophrenia and well-being.

  Then it dawned on her. So that’s what he was talking about when he said she’d like ‘Whatever.’ He was wrong about that.

  Chapter 28

  Saturday morning Victor hummed a tune to himself as he put on his work apron and took over at the drive-in window. He had mixed feelings about spending much of the day here but he needed money for the basics like groceries. Whatever was the problem. He kept popping into Victor’s head, telling him to stay home. Victor heeded the advice of the other intrusive voice which urged him to go.

  Victor finished handing an order to a teenager, wiped his hands on the apron, and greeted the next lady through the speaker. “If you’re ready, you can place your order,” he said.

  “I don’t want to order anything,” came a subdued voice. “I just want someone to talk to.”

  Victor scrunched up his forehead. He was sure he was supposed to dish out food, not conversation, but the manager had made a big deal about the customer always being right.

  “Okay,” Victor said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I just found out I have an STD,” she said despondently. “What a blow to my sex life. What if it doesn’t go away with medicine?”

  Dumbstruck, Victor knocked over the pile of plastic cups on the counter. The manager passed from the hot oil fryer to the front counter and gave him a frown.

  ‘What’s his problem?’ Victor heard from the recesses of his mind.

  He spoke back to the driver but there was no answer. A car pulled around with dark-tinted windows and kept going. Thank goodness, Victor thought, the lady who needed to talk to a stranger was gone and Whatever stopped talking to him.

  At the peak of lunch orders, Victor strove to keep up the pace. At times, the events taking place were too confusing.

  The next vehicle stopped at the speaker, Victor waited too long for the window to roll down, and then he heard kids in the car. “Welcome,” he said, “what would you like today?”

  The woman driver applied lipstick while looking in the rearview window and listening to her kids bark out their orders. When they were all finished, she spoke up.

  “I need three drinks and three orders,” she said with a refined accent. “The three drinks are a coke, a diet coke for me, and a root beer. The three orders are a double burger for the teenager. Heaven knows, I can’t eat it. I want a fish sandwich. And the other one wants a box of chicken fingers. Give us two large orders of fries.”

  Victor hesitated putting the order in. Wasn’t she making the order more complicated than it was? He gave her a total and after a long delay, a silver BMW rolled to the window.

  A smooth hand with multiple rings handed Victor a fifty dollar bill. After stretching the money to make sure it was real, he stared at the big number while she thumbed her fingers on the top of her door. Victor dished out her change, began bagging the order, and then poured drinks from the machine.

  “What’s taking so long?” she barked.

  Hell, Victor thought, she took forever to drive up to the window and now she’s yelling at me.

  “He never graduated from second grade,” the kid in the front yelled to his brother in the back seat.

  Victor handed two large bags to the woman and then sent one drink at a time to her. “Which one is which?” she asked as she passed them to her sons.

  It seemed to Victor that she had now mixed them up. Or maybe they were mixed up to begin with. He wore a puzzled expression.

  “I need to know the diet one,” she said.

  Victor pointed at the cup she was holding and she took a sip. She opened the door beyond a crack and spit on the ground.

  “Imbecile,” the boy next to her yelled at Victor. The woman exchanged drinks with the boy. Victor stepped back from the window as his anger welled up and the car crept away.

  Victor listened again to a voice. ‘Have you had enough yet?’ it asked. He glanced around but he knew it was Whatever. ‘You don’t need to take these people anymore. That rich suburban mother with her bratty kids should be at a steak and seafood restaurant for lunch. Instead, she’s here aggravating you like you’re mentally-challenged. People from the ghetto and trailer trash are better behaved than her.’

  ‘Leave Victor alone.’

  Victor put the palms of his hands over his head because now he heard the other one in his head, too.

  ‘I won’t leave Victor alone,’ said his snake. ‘If he leaves me at home when he’s dealing with the outside world, he’s going to need my advice.’

  “Hey, Victor,” the manager said, “somebody’s out there trying to give you an order.”

  Victor lowered his arms. The smell of grease permeated his nostrils, someone laughed too loud in the seating area, and an employee dropped a utensil. Everything and everyone was ganging up on him.

  “Victor!” the manager snapped.

  Whatever is right, Victor acknowledged to himself. I’m not coming back here again.

  -----

  Annabel still lounged in her pajamas on Sunday morning as she nursed a cup of tea and took a break from studying. Her final exam was Friday and whatever revisions she needed to make to her report she could then do next weekend. She had a strategy planned out for the day. Study all morning, work on the report part of the afternoon, and go back to studying in the evening. The team was actually on call, but it was Bob’s turn to cover with Dr. Washington.

  She tidied up her desk space and looked out the window over her desk facing the side of the house. Not much of a view like her front window; only another house with the same rental living arrangement as hers where occasionally she’d see young adults come and go like at her place. It was a solid young working neighborhood. Who knows how many people in here date by using social apps?

  Annabel finally registered and scrolled around on the site she had learned about but made a promise to herself to wait until after psychiatry to become active. The new one worked differently in that there was no silly swiping to the right or the left. The app also gave females more ‘control’ over the situation. Pushing sex and encounters to the back of her itinerary was only easy because of the weightiness and importance of finishing up the rotation.

  Wanting to discuss psychiatry material, she slid her phone over and texted Bob.

  You studying?

  She changed into warm running gear to take a quick jog and move her blood around. A ding finally sounded with a reply.

  I’m working, you slacker. I’ve been doing an H&P on a new patient with a conversion disorder.

  I had a patient in clinic with one of those a few weeks ago but I better look that up again. She grabbed the DSM on the desk. The psychiatry ‘bible’ says that with a conversion disorder a physical symptom is not under voluntary control.
<
br />   No kidding, he replied. The patient presents with new-onset blindness and the ophthalmologist and neurologist have found no reason for it.

  That’s crazy. By Monday, Dr. Keeton will probe your patient’s thoughts and figure out why it happened. Soon he or she will have their eyesight back.

  You got that right. Okay, later. Study some for me.

  Enjoy…

  Annabel added conversion disorders or hysterical neurosis, conversion type, to her study list. After she went for a run along the river and warmed back up inside, she put the draft of her report in front of her and began reading.

  A twenty-three-year-old male was brought in to emergency psychiatric services by two police officers after he posted himself on the stage in front of a movie screen and scared the viewers by verbally shouting about serpents and snakes sliding out into the theater from the movie in progress.

  His behavior was the first such episode in his history and our team had to first rule out multiple conditions before making the diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia.

  For my in-depth report, I performed a thorough literature search on multiple aspects of the illness starting with the most likely characteristics of patients when they first present.

  As with our patient, the most likely presentation occurs in late adolescence and early adulthood. It is fortunate that it is uncommon in children and rarely diagnosed in adults over forty-five. Between the sexes, males generally have an earlier onset than females (18 years old vs. 25).

  Annabel made no edits on the first three pages and then began making notes on the margins of the remaining seven pages. Before she realized it, it was time to study again for her test, get a good night’s sleep, and roll back into the hospital for her last week of psychiatry.

  -----

  Monday morning Marilyn Blake’s housekeeper, Anna, parked the car and lit up a cigarette. She crossed the street and savored the smoke, knowing it was the last one until she finished cleaning her client’s place. The temperature was colder than when she left her house wearing a poncho so with her other hand she juggled her purse and gathered the wool close to her chest.

  She walked up to the front door and puffed away on her love-hate habit knowing Marilyn’s portable tank delivered 100% oxygen and that was a hell of a lot more than the 21% oxygen in room air. So she dared not finish her smoke inside and increase the risk for a fire.

  After throwing the butt as far as she could, she rang the doorbell. Sometimes Marilyn took minutes to open the door so Anna glanced at the ground and peered over to see if the window treatments were still closed. Both sides were open and no lights were on inside. She wasn’t going to go climb down between the bushes and the house, however, to get a better look.

  Anna rang the bell again and as she continued waiting for a response, she began rummaging around in her purse to find her copy of her customer’s house key. She pulled out one of the baggies she used to indicate her client – the one with ‘Mrs. Blake’ scrawled on it in black magic marker. She took the key and turned it in the lock. As she opened the door, she still expected to see the haggard-looking woman approach.

  Inside, Anna’s eyes went immediately to the sink and then to the recliner. The oxygen tank leaned against the chair in its usual place and the nasal cannula dangled over the arm rest. The lingering taste and smell of her smoke still permeated her mouth and her nostrils but she could swear something smelled absolutely awful.

  She stepped to the kitchen counter, placed her bag on top, and called, “Marilyn?”

  As the odor made her queasier and she didn’t hear a peep from Marilyn, she kept going into the living area. She stopped short before she almost tripped and fell over a long object. Her pulse sped up and a gaze of fear gripped her face. Before her lay a bloated, decaying body sprawled on the floor. Large blisters were intact or had burst on uncovered skin, fluids leaked from orifices, and the body was swollen grotesquely.

  Anna ran to the sink and vomited until nothing more came up. Finally, she tried to right herself from her stooped-over position. She turned to get her cell phone from her purse but, because of the light-headedness she felt, she held on to the counter top for support. It was Marilyn, she was sure, mostly because of the chunky black shoes and clothes on the corpse. It certainly only vaguely resembled the woman she worked for.

  She paused when she held the phone. This was a first; she had never found a dead body before. Who should she call about that? The police or an ambulance? She supposed they know what to do at 9-1-1.

  “I just found my employer dead in her home,” Anna said when a person answered.

  “Don’t hang up. What’s the address and what’s your name?”

  -----

  Dustin Lowe drew the short straw of the three officers at the station house which made him the designated gofer to step out to the corner café and bring back three gourmet coffees. When he came back, he grabbed each coffee by its sleeve out of the carrier and placed them on his desk.

  “Come get your own,” he said to Edgar Banks and the other man buried with paperwork. The phone rang and he took the call.

  “What is it?” Banks asked when Dustin hung up.

  “Dead body. I’ll make the run. I haven’t even taken my jacket off yet and my hot coffee can come with me.”

  “All right,” Edgar said. “Call me.”

  Dustin proceeded out of the station and soon found himself pulling in the front of Marilyn’s house where an ambulance had also been summoned.

  He walked into the house realizing that someone had the foresight to leave the front door open. The stench overpowered him despite the fact it mixed with the cold air circulating into the living room; he noted the body on the floor and the decaying yet clenched hand the woman had over her heart.

  “Most likely natural causes?” Dustin said to the paramedic with a clipboard.

  “Looks like a heart attack,” he responded. “Appears like she needed oxygen but never got to it in time.”

  Dustin nodded and rose from his crouched position to talk to Anna sitting by the front door dabbing her eyes.

  “Do you know her and were you the one who found her?” Dustin asked.

  “I’m her housekeeper, Anna. I come by every Monday.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Marilyn Blake.”

  Dustin finished talking with her, made notes, and let the poor woman leave. He called his partner.

  “I’ve got a middle-aged or older woman dead for a while from probable natural causes. Forensics should give a clearer picture of time of death. But do me a favor. Her last name is Blake. Remember that guy from the movie theater that we brought into psychiatry? I think his last name was Blake, too. Look up our report and tell me his home address. It couldn’t hurt.”

  Edgar punched along his keyboard and brought up the information. “His name was Victor Blake. I think Selina is still treating him. If it weren’t for him, I would not have met her,” he added.

  “Lucky circumstance for you. So what’s the address?”

  Edgar rattled off the information and Dustin said, “That’s it. I’m here at his place now. Strange coincidence. The lady may be his mother or family member. I better check around some more.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  Dustin scanned the other rooms more carefully and the second bedroom seemed unoccupied except for storage space. He unlocked a doorknob not knowing if it was a basement on the other side. Sure enough, he stared down a staircase and called.

  “Anyone home?”

  No one answered, so he flicked on a light switch and went down. The resident’s name surfaced right away by peering at a mail pile with either ‘Victor Blake’ or ‘occupant’ on the envelopes.

  Within another minute he gaped wide-eyed at a huge glass container with a snake inside … the only time he ever saw a reptile like that was on television.

  Chapter 29

  Dustin whipped out his phone again and called Edgar back.

  “We have a match. Victor
Blake, our movie theater menace, lives in his mother’s basement. He’s not here right now but I am face-to-face with his roommate. A giant snake. Do you see a contact phone number on the report? Why don’t you call him to advise him about his mother and talk to him?”

  “I’m on it.”

  Dustin took two steps at a time back upstairs and then the land-line began ringing.

  “Blake residence,” Dustin answered.

  “That you?” Edgar asked.

  “I was afraid of that,” Dustin said. “He didn’t give us a cell phone number for himself, only for the residence.”

  “In which case we can’t yet break his mother’s death to him. This sounds all too fishy and I don’t like the sound of you finding a snake on the premises.”

  “Yeah,” Dustin agreed. “I think you should call Dr. Keeton with this information.”

  “I contemplated the same thing. She sees him regularly; maybe he’s going to the facility today. The history of Victor’s pet may be important in her psychiatric therapy with him. Plus, if Selina is the first one to speak with him, she is the best person to tell Victor about his mother’s death.

  -----

  “Thanks again for reminding me about conversion disorders yesterday,” Annabel told Bob on Monday morning. “I studied so much yesterday, I feel as if I’ve peaked and can’t squeeze any more psychiatry into my brain.” She shook her head with annoyance.

  “I wish I had that problem. You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “I’m not complaining, but my skull feels like a jug of water which is too full and the contents are going to start spilling out.”

  “I’ll stand underneath you and catch the excess,” he said.

  “Come on you two,” Dr. Washington said entering the lounge. “Dr. Keeton told me to round with you. She’s in the department’s conference room and the staff is finalizing the psychiatry exam.”

  “Can we go spy on them?” Bob asked.

  “You’ll do fine so there’s no need for spying. Dr. Keeton will be back over for the first outpatient clinic appointment at eleven o’clock with Noah Goodman. At one o’clock is Victor Blake. Since they are both your patients, Annabel, you need to be there.”