Mind Games (11 page)

Derrick’s research on Dr. Von Langley revealed questionable but respected techniques used by the glorified therapist. Most accounts had parents commenting that their child or children required therapy to keep them focused. Blame it on the advent of the Internet and the cell phone, the music, the clothes, and the times. Things parents had complained about for decades. New inventions posed new threats for parents. Had the world become so much more complex that children required therapy? According to what Derrick had read, the answer was a resounding “yes.”

Could the real problem lie with the parents? He gazed down at the article he’d been reading dated from 1999. He laughed. That infamous year went down in history as the masses worried about Y2K. Derrick had been in college. He smiled, thinking back to his first year in medical school.

He clicked the back button in the upper left corner of the computer screen and scrolled down to the other articles. A headline caught his eye. “Girls and Boys, Interrupted.” He dragged the pointing arrow over the article to partially reveal some of the text.

Experts say borderline personality disorder is more than a mood disorder. Commonly misunderstood in teens and young adults, fueling careless and impulsive behavior…

Derrick clicked open the article, curious about what Dr. Von Langley had contributed to the story. In the back of his mind, something told him to stop, but the article glared at him on the glowing computer screen. He leaned back against the couch and clasped his hands behind his head, conflicted over his feelings for Sparrow and his concern over her father’s work. It didn’t stop his eyes from straining to read the distant words on the screen, his duty to do no harm prevailing.

…fueling careless and impulsive behavior, including drug and alcohol addiction, eating disorders, reckless driving, and pleasure-seeking activities, from overspending in shopaholics to promiscuity in sex addicts; other forms of compulsive behavior can develop, including cutting and injuring themselves or putting themselves in risky situations. Many young adults with personality disorder are daredevils with desires for extreme sports. Relationships with others are often difficult to maintain.

He paused. The behaviors described in the article were commonly found in teens and young adults. He was beginning to see why so many kids were easily diagnosed with everything from hyperactivity to attention deficit disorder. Did the therapists involved with these cases bother to look at the physical and psychological changes teens faced?

So far, nothing in the article mentioned those changes. What was the story trying to convey—that a majority of young people with any of the above mentioned problems had a borderline personality disorder? He read on.

A person with borderline personality disorder lacks emotional control of his feelings and erupts in unexpected tantrums. According to Dr. Theodore Von Langley, “it is impossible to predict what triggers the emotional outburst.” He suggests people with the disorder have a “thin emotional skin,” therefore, another person’s look, word, gesture, or facial expression can “set off the individual with borderline personality disorder.”

That still didn’t explain the difficulty in maintaining relationships. At those ages people grew up and changed, and it stood to reason friendships were naturally going to come together and fall apart. During that cycle of life young people were making tough choices about colleges and careers and for some marriage and family.

Look at what happened to me and Dana.

Derrick slumped against the couch and dragged his hands through his hair. That last fateful summer they’d spent hanging out together haunted him. Dana was cool, and Derrick liked living on the edge with someone his polar opposite. Someone who wasn’t as focused on school and studying as himself; Dana would rather pick up hot chicks at the beach or find a drag race in the city. Or find some other kind of trouble. Dana was the kind of kid who behaved like he was from the wrong side of the tracks. He’d been a daredevil, and on more than one occasion Derrick was sure he’d end up a dead man.

Fond memories of his teenage friend brought tears to his eyes. To make matters worse, Sparrow was Dana’s ex-girlfriend, and now he was dating her. Derrick would never get the chance to right the past. Would remorse eat away at his conscience if he built a future with Sparrow? The friendship he had with Dana dissolved years ago; yet, to this day, Derrick felt responsible for Dana’s destructive life. After all, he’d bought the beer and scored the drugs.

“Show us your tits,” Dana had yelled out, guzzling another beer. He jabbed Derrick in the arm. “Can you believe these sluts? Dancing around like strippers…for free.” Dana reached for another beer in the cooler and kicked his bare foot through the sand before he staggered over to the dancing girls. Derrick watched as Dana picked his next victim. The girl’s hips swayed from side to side; her body moved to the rhythm of the music, sliding up and down Dana’s. He’d worried when Dana coaxed her away from the crowd, knowing Dana had taken enough ecstasy to fuel a horse, and his next move would be to get into her pants.

Concerned for the girl and his intoxicated friend, he eventually went to look for them. He could still picture Dana pumping into her and see the tears streaming down her face. She begged him to stop. Her shirt was torn, and her mortified wide eyes stared up at his. Dana had given Derrick a sideways glance, an evil smile curled on his lips, and he’d clucked, “You next?” Derrick’s rage had grabbed hold of him and shook the shock from him. He pulled Dana off the struggling girl and punched him in the face. Dana had stuffed his junk back into his pants and came after Derrick with a vengeance. They’d exchanged blows, with Derrick getting the better of his intoxicated friend.

Derrick didn’t want to think about that last day they’d spent together. Not knowing how it’d change the two of them forever. He could still hear Dana calling him a pussy.

He dried his eyes and pulled himself together. Was it possible something else had driven Dana’s recklessness? The blank computer monitor blinked in front of him. Suddenly, he felt very anxious to read the rest of the article, concerned he’d overlooked something. He touched the screen and the article appeared.

“To keep these kids emotionally regulated takes severe learning,” says Dr. Von Langley. “With my therapy, using the Theo Effect, they are taught control and their emotional reactions are validated. I help my patients to identify the thoughts, beliefs, and assumptions that make their lives challenging and teach them new ways of thinking and reacting.”

Other experts in the field agree with Dr. Von Langley, who is an advocate of deep meditation and yoga. “These exercises focus the mind and center the body,” says Dr. Von Langley.

Meditation and yoga? To treat borderline personality disorder? Derrick didn’t like the connection his mind was forming. Sparrow was a highly credentialed yoga instructor. She had studied in exotic locales with the greatest teachers. Had she been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder when she was younger? Had her father treated her with this kind of therapy?

She had been in some sort of trance when he found her staring aimlessly at the ocean yesterday morning. Had she been in a deep meditative state? He remembered her intentional breathing. At the time, he’d assumed she had suffered some sort of shock. Her pulse had been shallow, her eyes withdrawn. During the exam, she’d controlled her inhalations and exhalations with near precision. He hadn’t thought of it until now.

Come to think of it, she always seemed focused on her breathing. Derrick assumed it was a simple habit, like biting nails, or in his case running his hand through his hair. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Many recovered patients agree a combination of yoga and chanting can bring the body, mind, and spirit into harmony. “The feeling of pervasive emptiness and the need to fill that void with some dangerous activity can be overcome with this kind of treatment and in some cases psychotherapeutic drugs,” says a patient of Dr. Von Langley.

“This patient couldn’t regulate himself. I taught him how,” says Dr. Von Langley. “Other approaches I find helpful are called RICE and visualization therapy.”

Derrick stopped. It was right in front of him. Dr. Von Langley admitted his version of rice treatment in this article.

He moved his mouse pointer over the word RICE in the article. The link wasn’t active. He saved the article in his Favorites. Determined to find more information on Dr. Von Langley’s RICE therapy, he continued to search the Internet.

Sparrow stopped by a local nursery on her way to her parents’. She wasn’t sure what kind of rose garden her mother had in mind, but it didn’t matter. Planting the garden would give her time alone with her mother, and give her an opportunity to ask her about the outburst Cora had had when Angel was in her bedroom. Sparrow needed to find out whom Angel reminded her mother of. Especially since she’d had the same eerie reaction to the girl.

Sparrow gasped at the sound of clanking wind chimes. Her eyes darted from side to side, and she spun around, terrified at the thought of seeing the dead girl from the ocean again. No one was there. She glanced over the row of roses, expecting to see the dead girl behind the newly blossomed pink variety. When she didn’t, Sparrow ran down the length of the aisle and around to the other side of the roses. She breathed a sigh of relief. The chimes came from the cottage house that doubled as the nursery’s store.

Eager to talk to her mother, she picked out several rose species and decided they would plant a prize-winning rose garden. They wouldn’t enter them in a contest, but the roses would complement afternoon tea. She grabbed some lattice to build a trellis and hauled everything in a wagon toward the cottage house.

The clanking chimes grew louder the closer she got to the cottage’s porch, reminding her of the charm bracelet dangling around the dead girl’s wrist. Something about that charm bracelet had meaning, but what? She couldn’t ever remember owning a bracelet like that, but perhaps she had.

She eased her foot from the accelerator and slowly drove the long, winding drive to her parents’ estate. Appearing anxious would only rouse suspicion in her father. She could tell him she wanted to see how Angel was, but he’d easily see through her lie.

She exited her car and popped open the trunk. After climbing the long, wide steps to the double doors, she rang the bell. It seemed strange considering it
was
her house, but father didn’t like unexpected visits.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t expect to see you today. What brings you by?”

Her father didn’t invite her in, and waited for an answer to his question. He stood in the doorway ready to weigh the reason for her visit. She pointed to her open trunk.

“Mother wants to plant a garden. I think it’s a good idea. We’d like to host an afternoon tea.”

He pulled open the door and allowed her to enter.

“Your mother is not well, sweetheart. I’m not sure—”

“
She
wants to do this, Daddy.”

Sparrow stepped past him and climbed the staircase to her mother’s suite, surprised she had the courage to interrupt her father midsentence and boldly walk past him to her mother’s room. His footsteps echoed behind her.

“Sweetheart, she’s had a sedative.”

“Why, Daddy? Why? It’s late morning.”

She couldn’t understand her sudden irritation with her father. Maybe it was because he’d ruined everything between her and Derrick. If Derrick hadn’t seen her father’s treatment facility, he would have never left her last night.

“She was having an episode. I had to calm her.”

“Daddy, what were you doing early this morning?” Her heart pounded harder from raising the question, coupled with climbing the stairs in a hurry to reach her mother. When he didn’t respond, she paused on a step and turned to look at her father. He had a frustrated look on his face.

“Sweetheart, did you forget I am a licensed behavioral therapist and a psychiatrist? I know what’s best for your mother. But to answer your question…” Sparrow didn’t appreciate his condescending attitude or the sparkle that illuminated his steady eyes. “I haven’t shared your mother’s bed in years, so in my own quarters in the early morning hours I lie shrouded in darkness, enjoying the peace and solitude. Isolation is a wonderful thing, wouldn’t you agree?” He took a step closer to her.

She swallowed around her throbbing pulse and nodded in agreement, then uttered, “Quiet is necessary for meditation.”

He caressed the side of her cheek. She froze in place. “Quite right, sweetheart. After my morning meditation, I had breakfast in the dining room, and Angel and I walked the gardens. Why?” He raised a bushy brow, took another step toward her, and closed the small amount of space separating them. The tips of his shoes touched hers. He looked down into her eyes through narrowed slits, searching her face. His lips twitched from side to side. “Perhaps you’d like some quiet time here at the house to ease your worry about your mother?” His thumb slid under her chin, and then fell away from her face. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for her answer.

Her heart rate accelerated. He couldn’t keep her here. She hated that he intimidated her and made her feel threatened by his power still. She was an adult, but she worried he could have her committed on the grounds of insanity if he found out about her vision and how she’d witnessed him and Angel in the garden, with the dead girl from the ocean. Had she been there with them, an observer outside of her body, like the night Dana had died?

“Quiet time. Here? Um, no, that’s not necessary, Daddy. I was just so happy that Mother wanted to plant again. I guess I’m disappointed she’s relapsed. Anyway, how’s Angel?”

He uncrossed his arms and stepped back from her. “Hobbling along. I don’t think your doctor friend would have liked her walking on that ankle.”

Sparrow noticed the odd smile on his face. “Probably not. Has he stopped in to see her today?” She continued to climb the stairs to her mother’s suite. Her father followed.

“Not yet.”

Great. They were bound to run into each other. Not that she could avoid him forever, but she wasn’t ready to confront him about his accusation either. She looked back at her father.

“Daddy, if you’ve got things to do, I can keep Mother company for a bit.”

She hoped he’d leave them alone. Sparrow had questions for her mother. Starting with what had she been trying to tell her last night before her father walked in on them. She thought about the needle marks on her mother’s arm. What kind of injections had her father been giving her?

“Did you give Mother a shot of—” she blurted out before she could think of a logical sedative. “What do you give her?”

“Sweetheart, I know you’ve had a rough couple of days with Dana’s passing, but you don’t have to worry about your mother. I’m taking good care of her.”

He laid his hand on her arm and patted her like dog. She pulled her arm out from under his condescending hand. She continued up the stairs. Her only hope now was that her mother was awake and semi-alert. If she could get her outside and away from everyone, she stood a chance at getting some answers.

She lightly tapped on her mother’s bedroom door. “Mother, it’s me, Sparrow. Can I come in?”

Behind the closed door she heard rustling and what sounded like an incoherent moan. “Sparrow, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mother.” Sparrow placed one hand against the door, and the other on the doorknob; she pressed her cheek against it, turning her ear to the hard barrier.

Please, get up, Mother.

Her father loomed behind her. She strained to hear her mother’s movements. Did she imagine the sound of covers rustling from her mother’s edge of the bed and her vanity stool sliding against the carpet? She pictured her mother fluffing her coif and applying cream to her face and balm to her lips.

Her father cleared his throat, startling her. “Darling, may we come in?”

“One minute.”

Relieved to hear her mother’s voice, weak as it sounded, she turned the handle and burst into the room. Her mother turned in the vanity stool to face them. Her mother’s glazed-over expression, glassy eyes, and lips stained with red lipstick, dripping from outside her lip lines, sent chills across Sparrow’s shoulders and down her arms.

What had her father given her mother?

She tore her wide eyes from her mother to her father, who looked adoringly at them. Considering the state of her mother, she found his smile discomfiting. Was this his idea of a perfect mother-daughter moment? She needed to speak to her mother. Alone.

“Daddy, would you be so kind as to ask one of the gardeners to take the stuff out of my trunk? I would intercom, but could you direct them to an open spot near the potting shed?”

Sparrow paused. The loving smile disappeared from her father’s face and his brow furrowed. Was it something she’d said?

“I’ll take care of it, sweetheart. Right away.” His expression softened, and he kissed the top of her forehead. “I hate for you to see her like this. Just let her be. If you try to straighten her, she’ll get agitated.”

She breathed a brief sigh of relief, and then noticed how her father favored his left leg, limping out the door. She clapped her hands around her mouth, holding back her shock. When her father looked over his shoulder, she felt like a fish caught in a net. She pretended a cough, and he continued out the door.

The way her father gimped out the door was ever so slight, but Sparrow wasn’t mistaken about the way he’d dragged his foot against the carpet, careful not to bend his left knee.

The dead girl from the ocean had done this. She’d raised the piece of driftwood and swung it harshly. Dr. Von Langley had stumbled under the first blow to the back of his left leg, bending his knee at a forty-five-degree angle. He’d lost his balance. His left knee had crashed to the ground, and his hands stretched out, attempting to break the fall. He had stumbled onto all fours.

It was the second indication that she’d transported her mind or had some kind of out-of-body experience that put her in the garden in the wee hours of the morning with her father and Angel. She blew out her breath and turned to her mother, who was too busy admiring her image in the oval mirror to notice her.

She placed a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Mother, you look so pretty, but there’s no need to primp; you and I are going to plant a rose garden.”

“A rose garden? What on earth for, sweetheart?”

By now her mother had refocused her attention on her appearance. She flipped the two-sided mirror back and forth, scrutinizing her magnified face, and then disgustedly turned back to the normal-sized image. Her mother pulled at the skin around her eyes, giving them an elongated slant. Up and down, up and down, and up and down. Her mother nudged the delicate skin in and out of place. When she tired of that, she rubbed the skin along her round cheekbones. Sparrow wasn’t sure what she’d expected to accomplish with all of the pulling, tugging, and flattening. Her mother sucked in her cheekbones, turning her head from side to side, examining the protruding bones. She blew out a breath, picked up the tube of red lipstick, and started reapplying the shade around and around her already painted lips.

“Mother, last night you said you wanted to plant a garden. Remember?”

Her mother stopped with the lipstick and picked up her brush. With quick strokes she worked curling the ends of her hair. Making sure every strand was silky, smooth, and in place. She curled the ends using her index finger, fussing with the unruly pieces.

“Sparrow, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“What about having an afternoon tea party? Mother, please…are you listening to me?” Sparrow grabbed the hairbrush from her mother’s hand. “You begged me to come over. You’ve got to remember. You said Daddy keeps you cooped up in here.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t remember.”

She looked into her mother’s glassy eyes and could see her sadness. “It’s okay, Mother. Do you remember anything about last night?”

“Of course. Daddy reminded me this morning when he brought me up that lovely rose.”

Daddy reminded her, huh?

Sparrow turned away from her mother. On the corner of the bedside table was a large pink rose, floating in a shallow crystal bowl. Sparrow nearly retched at the sight of the pristine rose she’d watched her father and Angel pick during the disturbing vision.

It was the third indication that she’d transported her mind or had some kind of out-of-body experience. The tangible evidence stared back at her, convincing her that the vision was real, and so was the dead girl from the ocean. Had she opened her mind to an out-of-body experience? Had her body levitated? Had she mentally teleported to the scene? Could that explain her sudden ability to have visions, or was her mind on the brink of going insane?

*               *               *

Derrick recognized Sparrow’s car in the driveway. With hesitation, he rang the bell, expecting her father to greet him. Tension crept into his shoulders. He shrugged it off and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hello, doctor. I’ve been expecting you,” Dr. Von Langley said. “Good to see you again. Please, come in.”

“How’s my patient?” Derrick replied, noticing the doctor’s clipped, unfriendly speech. He dragged his hand through his hair. “Thank you for allowing her to stay last night. How are you? I hope she wasn’t any trouble.”

“I’m fine, but Mrs. Von Langley is not well. She was very upset by Angel’s presence last night, although the girl has been a model houseguest. Follow me and see for yourself. She’s elevating her ankle in the library.”

Derrick walked beside a limping Dr. Von Langley through the west wing of the enormous house in silence. They proceeded down a long hallway. Dr. Von Langley rattled on about the various pieces of art tucked away under lit alcoves. Derrick didn’t recall Dr. Von Langley walking with a limp last night. Must be a recent injury. From the angle of his gimp, Derrick diagnosed it stemmed from a knee ailment.