Authors: Jeff Gunhus
Jack sat back in the chair and eyed the psychiatrist. He told the man everything that had happened over the past two days. Scott Moran listened quietly throughout the story, asking only minor clarifying questions, never offering any analysis or theory to explain the strange occurrences in the Tremont household. Jack noticed that no sign of incredulity passed over the man’s expression either. Moran listened to the bizarre series of events as if they were the same things he heard day in and day out. Then it struck him. Moran probably did hear these kinds of paranoid delusions all the time. From other people who were going crazy.
Even now that the story was done, the psychiatrist kept the passive expression he’d held during the entire session. Jack placed the heel of his hand under his chin and forced his head side to side until the vertebrae in his neck cracked. Moran winced at the sound.
“So what do you think?” Jack asked.
“I think you need a chiropractor more than you need me.” Jack smiled, only because he felt obliged. Moran rose from his chair and threw another log on the fire. “Trust me, Jack. I’ve heard stories that make your stuff seem boring.” He used long tongs to stack burning embers around the new logs. The fire flared, crackling and spitting sparks into the room.
“I’m glad to hear there are people in town crazier than I am. That makes me feel safe.”
Moran grinned and fell back into his seat. “Not crazy. They have issues to sort out, that’s all. Nothing a little therapy won’t help.”
“Is this when you tell me my time’s up and I need ten more sessions to get at the problem?”
“Nah,” Moran waved a hand at him. “I don’t think it’s that complicated. You’ve had a pretty big shock, a traumatic event that’s gotten under your skin. You never really recovered from the trauma of the accident you had in California.”
“I’ve dealt with that. It’s behind me.”
“What was the name of the girl who died that day?” Jack looked away. He hadn’t spoken her name for a long time. It made it too personal. Too real. He couldn’t say the words without seeing her face. Scott Moran let the silence draw out long enough to make his point. “You see what I mean? You ran away from the problem by moving here, but you never faced it.”
Jack nodded. “But how does this tie into what’s happening now?”
“Maybe this is you facing it. Finally dealing with this demon in your past. You obviously feel responsible for Melissa’s death. Buried guilt may have given rise to a hero fantasy about saving another girl, this one you say you saw in Nate Huckley’s car. No, hear me out before you argue against it. This girl hits the windshield of your car just like Melissa Gonzales. A little too coincidental don’t you think.”
“It’s coincidental. But it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“All right, let’s put that to the side then. Once it became clear that you can’t save the new girl, there’s this paranoia that someone is after your daughters. Once again, you have a chance to save them.”
“But you have it backward. Huckley was after them before I saw the girl. So your theory can’t be right.”
Scott Moran shifted in his chair. “All right, Albert James then.”
“What about him?”
“The man died in your lap with a massive head wound. Didn’t Melissa die of a head wound in the accident? Everything happened right after Albert James died, right?”
Jack felt the pull of Moran’s argument. The logic drew him in. For the first time that day he felt like a rational explanation might be within reach. “How do you explain the tangible evidence?”
“Such as?”
“The numbers written by my daughter. There were pages with Huckley’s room number all over them.”
Moran leaned in closer, like a doctor delivering bad news. “You may not like this question Jack but it’s important that I ask it. Did anyone else see her write the numbers?”
Jack stared. It took him a few seconds to process the insinuation. He felt his face heat up in anger. “No, I guess…but you don’t think I…” His hand involuntarily went to his mouth as he thought through it. Could he have written the numbers himself and not realized it? Was it possible? Could he be that sick? He would have sworn he had seen Lauren and Becky dead in their bed too. Maybe…maybe…
“And the visitor at your door. This strange man warning you about Huckley.”
Jack seized on the suggestion. Something to steady himself, orient him to the real world. “Yeah, how do you explain that away?”
“Did your wife see him? Did she hear the conversation at all?”
Jack wrung his hands. “No, she didn’t see him, but she heard the knock at the door. I’m sure she heard his voice.” Moran sat back and said nothing. He let Jack make his own connections. “You think it could have been someone else and I just imagined the whole thing? Hallucinated this Lonetree guy?”
Moran shrugged. “Maybe. I doubt it though.”
“You doubt it?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out, but it might be explained by something a little simpler. It could have been someone who knew what happened to you and was using your situation to live out his own delusion. Someone from the hospital, maybe? Even someone who heard about your story from a friend over a couple of beers.”
“Great.” Jack said, shaking his head. “So this guy’s some crazy living out a fantasy? That’s supposed to make me feel good?”
“Who knows? Could be some scam artist who heard about your episode in Huckley’s room. He shows up offering to help you, confirms the hallucination you think you saw, next thing you know he’s asking for money for continued help. Believe it or not, there are people out there who do that kind of thing.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. Moran seemed to have all the bases covered. Everything was a delusion triggered by watching Albert James die and dealing with guilt from the accident. He started to think about the night of the crash. The girl in the trunk of Huckley’s car. Wasn’t there a chance his eyes had played a trick on him? Hadn’t Lauren and Becky looked real in the bed covered with sores? Maybe the whole thing was in his head. Maybe…”
“Jack, are you with me?”
Jack shook his head. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Listen, I’m not trying to scare you. If anything this should be good news.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, think of the alternative. If these aren’t delusions, then your daughter is a psychic who can hear people in her head and Nate Huckley is haunting you while he’s in a hospital bed in a coma.”
“It does sound crazy, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, we don’t use that word. Let’s just say it sounds very, very improbable. You tell me what seems more likely. You’re experiencing psychological distress triggered by witnessing Albert James’ death. This distress has led to hallucinations and acute paranoia which feeds into both your parental need to protect your children and your guilt over the girl killed in the car accident in California.”
“And option number two?”
“Option two is that the boogey man is out to get you. And I hope it’s option one because therapy and a little Lithium will help the delusions, but I’m afraid there’s nothing in the pharmacopoeia to battle against supernatural cults trying to steal your kid.”
Jack smiled. It did sound crazy. He actually felt embarrassed that he’d invested himself in such a story. Mentally, he tried out the new rationalization and it felt good. It was based on rational thoughts. Time lines. Cause and effect. Cloaked in this logic it felt reasonable. Red faced, he asked Moran for a prescription and another appointment time. A little therapy. A few pills. And everything would get back to normal.
Yet, even though Jack admitted the explanation felt good, there was something nagging at him. While Moran checked his appointment book, Jack wrung his hands and tried to push the feeling away, but it kept coming back to him. The new explanation was rational. It was logical. It was just that deep down, Jack didn’t believe it was right.
Lauren walked into Dr. Mansfield’s office without knocking. The old man was on the phone. He glanced up at Lauren and put his hand over the handset.
“Lauren. What are you doing here?” Before she could answer he held up his other hand. “Can you give me a minute?”
“This can’t wait.”
Dr. Mansfield squinted at her. “You’re here about Felicia Rodriguez.”
Lauren noticed it was a statement, not a question. “Her body is missing.”
“Yes, the body is gone. Hold on one minute.” He uncovered the phone. “Hello? Are you still there? Yes, I’ll be here this evening. Why don’t you come on by around seven and we’ll see what’s going on. All right?” He paused. “Come alone if you want. Yes, that’s fine. Call me when you get close.”
After he hung up the phone she blurted out, “You know about Felicia already? Why wasn’t I told?”
Dr. Mansfield finished writing a note into his planner, not looking up as he answered her. “Felicia’s body was released to her family.”
“But the CDC--”
“The results came back from the CDC. Negative for all known pathogens. Felicia Rodriguez posed no public health risk. We had no right to stop her body from being released.”
“There should be an autopsy. We don’t know what killed her. It could be something we’ve never seen before.”
“You know we can’t force the family to agree to an autopsy if there is no evidence of a crime or a public threat. I tried talking with Mr. Rodriguez but he wanted nothing to do with it.”
“How can you say it’s not a public threat? The way her body broke down. The symptoms. The lesions. We need to find out what it was.”
Dr. Mansfield handed her the report from the CDC. “Look for yourself. She came back clean.”
Lauren scanned the document from the CDC. In a world full of biothreats, the CDC had become very quick in their lab work. In fact, many of the improvements were a result of her own work on the Homeland Defense Medical Council during her time at Johns Hopkins. But she knew the CDC procedure well enough to know its limitations. Vigilance against bio-attacks had turned the lab into a sprawling bureaucracy with hundreds of technicians working through a constant flood of samples. The sheer volume meant it was impossible to test for everything so the screens were limited to contagions that posed a significant public risk. Still the list of tests on Felicia’s blood work and DNA sample ran several pages. All negative.
“So cause of death unknown?”
Dr. Mansfield handed over a document. “The medical examiner’s report will show massive coronary as cause of death.”
Lauren threw the folder back on the desk. “This is bush league medicine and you know it.”
The doctor rocked back in his chair, eyes narrowed. Lauren regretted her comment as soon as it was out of her mouth. She respected Dr. Mansfield, but this lapse of judgment was unconscionable. They had no idea what they were dealing with here. It wasn’t the time to get sloppy.
Dr. Mansfield pursed his lips together. Lauren noticed his knuckles were white as they clutched the side of his chair. He was fighting to control himself. She saw a flash of anger in his eyes, something she had never seen before in him.
“I’m sorry we don’t measure up to your standards, Dr. Tremont.” The words came out clipped, each syllable snapped off like it was frozen. His voice rose as he spoke. “Good people work at this hospital and they do an excellent job with the resources they have. I’ll not have you or anyone else disparage their efforts to save that little girl.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s…” she blinked hard, surprised to feel tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock at Dr. Mansfield’s harsh tone or the stress of the last few days. Regardless, the tears came, pouring faster than she could wipe them away with the back of her sleeve.
Dr. Mansfield held up his hands and sighed. “I’m sorry. Really. Look, I understand you’re upset. I get attached to my patients too. In fact, I was just on the phone with one of them. It’s hard when they don’t respond well to treatment.” He got up from his desk and walked over to her. “We’re both a little spent here. Let’s just chalk this up to stress, all right? No hard feelings?” He opened his arms for a hug.
Lauren shook her head. She suddenly felt ten years old. She wanted the embrace, wanted to cry on his shoulder, but she wouldn’t let herself. Smiling weakly, she said, “Thanks. I’m fine. I don’t usually get so emotional.”
“You’re human. Emotional is OK.”
Lauren smiled. “Yeah, I guess.” She recognized his tone. It was what she called his grandfather mode, his voice full of comfort, his eyes sympathetic, the smile just enough to show he cared. It was the Dr. Mansfield she was used to but his flash of anger only seconds before left her unnerved. No amount of country charm could shake her surprise at the dark cloud that had covered his face. It made the old gentleman doctor routine seem just that, a routine. Then again, he had said that the phone call he was on when she walked into the room was a patient who wasn’t doing well. Maybe it was the stress.
Still, she suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the room alone with him. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Besides, she was anxious to call Felicia’s parents.
“I’m going to try again with the family to get them to authorize an autopsy. I have good rapport with the father. I think I’ll be able to convince him.” She turned to leave, but was stopped by Dr. Mansfield’s low baritone voice.
“You’re too late. The body was taken directly to Westlawn. Felicia Rodriguez was cremated earlier today. I’m afraid this particular matter is closed.”