A Predator and a Psychopath Read online
Page 3
CHAPTER 3:
FACING THE DEMONS
The time to meet Gary finally came. Scrubs led me to Dr. Thompson’s clinic. I wondered why he didn’t come to where I stayed. I still didn’t figure out how often we met before. As I waited impatiently for him, I scanned the office, looking at his stupid statues and collectibles.
The footsteps preceded him, and he entered.
Wow, what happened to him?
“Hello. How are you, Jason?”
He walked over to his desk with heavy steps, almost shuffling. The right words evaded me, his appearance shocked me.
“I see you like my ensemble today.” He settled in his seat and sighed.
He lost his hair, goatee, and thick eyebrows. All gone! He was yellowish.
Oh my god, he has cancer.
“No, nothing. Hello. I’m doing well, how are you?” I sounded like a robot. The sentences came in fractions.
“Chemo.” He exhaled. “We recently discovered cancer in my pancreas, at an advanced stage. I have little time left. Estimated to be a couple of months, up to a year, or a couple of years at best.” He pursed his lips.
Despite being a physician, he was still human, and death scared the shit out of him. If what comes after death didn’t frighten you, the cessation of your life and your existence distressed you.
“I’m so sorry, Gary.” I walked toward his desk and offered my hand. Reading the expressions on his face difficult without his eyebrows, but the tears forming in his eyes gave away his emotions.
Fuck. Never easy.
I leaned forward and whispered to him in a breathy voice, “I see dead people.” I hoped he saw the movie.
He broke into laughter, and I smiled.
“Seriously, doc, I wish you a painless recovery. Stay hopeful, you never know, maybe you can beat this.” He nodded.
“The reason I wanted to speed up our process is obvious. I want you to be strong and ready before I’m gone.”
Okay, I can trust this guy, or I should. He was dying, so I doubted he had any malicious motives.
“Okay. So, what’s wrong with me?”
“Let’s start stepwise, how about an exchange of questions? We have a couple of hours. I combined my lunch break with our session, so let’s place our orders.”
He treated me with respect, as an equal, no longer as a challenged and struggling patient. I appreciated that.
“Do you have a family? Did you tell them about your condition?” I asked as we sat on the couch, half turned to face each other.
“No, life passed me by, and I lost interest in having a family.” He looked down. “I lived with a long-term partner, but we couldn’t conceive, or rather I couldn’t, so after years of happiness, she eventually left. I respect her decision. Or at least, I do now.”
The silence grew, and I gave him his space. I wondered if he wanted his ex-lover to spend the remaining time he had with him, or to be next to him on his deathbed.
“So. Based on the current turn of events, I’ll take a different approach, an unorthodox one. You think you spent one month here, right? And you work at CyberCrews, hmm?”
“Yeah.”
Where is he going with this?
“Keep an open mind with me here. I’m going off the books, so whatever you think you can’t handle, inform me. Share the early signs of discomfort, don’t hesitate.”
Whatever you say, man. Just shoot.
“Did you love your wife? And how long did you suspect she had been cheating on you?”
“I love her. I love her a lot. I really love her.”
A defensive answer.
I fixed my eyes on the floor; how could you love someone who cheated on you? “Three months of suspecting, and one month certain,” I said. “I still love her a lot.”
“Do you think you’re capable of committing a crime?”
“I’m capable, in terms of ability. Did I ever commit a crime? I guess most of us did! Mostly traffic related, some tax-related, such kind of stuff.”
“Did you ever follow her? Are you able of committing a violent act? Are you good with your fists?” I didn’t like his changed tone.
“Listen to me, tell me what I did or what you think I did, and I can answer these questions. I don’t like your tone.” I got mad, but I didn’t want to lose my grip on my nerves.
He is testing how I handle provocation!
“Do you remember the trust fall?” I shook my head. “You close your eyes while your friend stands behind you. You fall back and entrust your friend will catch you. I want to do a similar thing today. Save me the energy, Jason. Pretend I’m putting on an act.” He leaned forward, smiling.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I responded.
“Answer, please.”
“I never followed her, although I dreamed a lot about following her.” Flashbacks involving cars ran through my mind. “I’m not capable of committing any violent act. I never hit anyone, and I despise guns of all sorts.”
“You’re able, in terms of ability,”
Well played, sneaky.
“Yes, able physically. But I never engaged in any fight, and I never owned guns.”
“Tell me your most vivid dream about following Lisa. Please.”
“It’s daytime, and I borrowed one of Luke’s firm’s cars, a regular sedan. I’m angry, and I approach a gas station, but I can’t make through the details and dates. The images are blurred.” I wanted to stop, so I lied. The vividness of the images made me doubt whether they might be real.
Dr. Thompson didn’t reply. He floated to his desk and brought out a small folder, locking the drawer behind him. His movement was labored, every action requiring a lot of energy.
“Have a look at these photos. Highway and gas station cameras confirm you stalked her.”
I examined the photos, I became lightheaded and nauseated, and I felt difficulty swallowing. My fingers got cold, my heart raced, and cold sweat formed on my forehead.
“I’m having a panic attack,” I said anxiously.
“Ask your monkey mind to stop. Don’t start the analysis. You are measuring the possible harm done by talking and therefore the liability falling on you. Take a few deep breaths, and order your mind to stop. Trust me. No consequences and no calculations of any kind. Consider this an off-the-record session.”
A few minutes of breathing helped.
“Close your eyes and breathe. In cases of compartmentalization, we want one reality to meet the other without conflicting and causing another crack in the psyche.” He waited for a minute. “If one of the possibilities is true, the possibility becomes a fact belonging to the past. Let’s get familiar with this fact and try to accept it.”
A few more minutes passed before he continued.
“You said you never followed her, but apparently you did. And you said you never committed a violent act. See where I’m going? Perhaps you did, but you don’t remember.”
What is this, delivering a knockout?
Our food arrived. We sat in silence, neither of us eating, for different reasons.
I summoned whatever energy left in me. “Let’s start again, please. Did I hurt my wife?”
“Okay. So, here’s the thing. We’ve tried introducing the facts for a long time now, and each time you shut down again. We tried quite a few times. You’ve been here for a long time, in case you’re wondering.”
“I don’t recall,” I tightened my lips, and barely swallowed because of my mouth dryness. He observed my reactions, looking for clues whether I lied when I had no clue about what went on.
“Whatever I tell you, try to focus on some present consciousness, like our newly formed friendship,” he said. “What will you say if I told you, you’ve been here for ten years?”
“I wouldn’t like that fact, and I’d demand an explanation for why I am kept here against my will,” I replied.
“No, forget the laws and rights and whatnot. Would you commit suicide if someone imprisoned you for life?” he asked.
He interrupted. “So, the physical presence or the period is not the driving factor, correct?”
“I guess not.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“If I told you ten years passed while you are here, how would you feel?”
“I’d be miserable because my mind would definitely be broken.” I considered the possibility before but admitting to Gary was tough. “I’d worry about my cure, and… and I would be grieving over the lost precious time I could have spent with my family.”
“You are expressing well. We don’t need delays going around the subject. We are not yet sure of the diagnosis, but your psychosis is transient so far. Before you arrived here, the physicians narrowed your diagnosis down to two possibilities. Luke transferred you here because our center is specialized in treating conditions like yours.”
I stared at the ceiling. My mind raced: Luke got me here. Who is the man at the gas station? What is “a long time” in here?
“Don’t let your mind drift, come back. Focus on the present.”
“How long have I been here?”
“You should tell how long. You’re a very resourceful man, Jason. You pulled a smart stunt in the pool area.” He laughed.
“What stunt?” How the hell does he know?
“Luke called. Watching the clip of Sandals faking the heart attack was hilarious, but I am impressed by your planning and execution.” He made a ring with his index and thumb, gesturing perfection.
“Thank Luke for me,” Traitorous Luke.
“Trust Luke and me. This is for your benefit. And the moment you allow me in is when I can start helping you heal,” Dr. Thompson said.
The panic attack persisted. My heart didn’t slow yet, and I held my palms under my thighs to hide the shaking. I became cold.
“I think you’re innocent. I want to set the record straight.” He said graciously.
“What? Am I accused of something?”
Innocent of what, you slick shit?
“No, you are not accused. Now let me ask you this.” He moved on so quickly. I doubted if any kind of therapy worked at such a fast pace. “CyberCrews fired you. Do you remember?”
“No, they never fired me. No way I’m being fired. I work hard, and I always go above and beyond.”
“Not being fired. The company has already fired you. The situation wasn’t normal. They wanted you to stay, but you stopped showing up, and they sent you many letters and contacted your lawyer. They appointed an interim person to replace you for some time, but you never showed up again, so you were eventually let go.”
I tried my best to digest what he said, but the whole story seemed unreal or fabricated.
“And your disappearance from work happened three months before the termination. They must like you to have waited for such a lengthy period.” Dr. Thompson stopped for a minute. I was speechless. “We must establish a timeline. In June, you stopped going to your office, but you still put on your suit and disappeared daily. In early September, you trailed your wife around. They admitted you to a hospital on September 14 and transferred here on December 22.”
He went to his desk again, and I jumped to my feet and chased him. We both froze and locked eyes, like deer before they lock horns. A surge or a current of energy built up inside me.
Fired? Daily disappearances? Followed Lisa?
“I will take something from my drawer. Calm down.” Dr. Thompson drew a deep breath and then removed a small key chain with an electronic lock similar to a garage door remote. “And if you assault me or try anything stupid, I’ll press the alarm button, and all of this work will go down the drain. Now, you don’t want such a setback, do you?” He spoke calmly.
I slowly took three steps toward the door, relaxed my shoulders, and placed my hands behind my back and locked my fingers.
“Here, read the letter.”
This is HELL.
How can the letters start in June until termination in August? And why don’t I remember? Why?
I only remembered the day I left work early and drove home.
“I remember none of these. I remember driving home from work.”
“Yes. Work. A new job, a different one, but not CyberCrews,” Dr. Thompson exclaimed. “Luke confirmed you didn’t need your job anymore, he said you worked on a special project. Do you remember anything related to your work?”
I shook my head.
“Do you remember renting a new office?”
I didn’t answer this time. Honestly, I couldn’t be sure, I sat at many desks in my life.
“What the hell did you do during this time?” he said abruptly. “You can’t lose three months of your memory like this. Simply not possible. And now, so much is at stake…. So you remember what you want to remember, what suits you, what protects you.”
“I don’t remember.” I raised my voice. “You either believe me or not. I can’t force you.”
“Try, at least. Where were you on the 4th of July? Anything? Try, close your eyes and try.”
I closed my eyes; the darkness unsettled me.
An idea crossed my mind: insects can’t imagine the consciousness of an animal, and the most intelligent animal can’t imagine the consciousness of a human. I could not understand what people around me understood. Something had died or burned inside of me, and I couldn’t think like my old self. I remembered Sandals expression, “burned wires.”
I heard Dr. Thompson moving to his desk, the lock clicking, and papers rattling.
“Open your eyes.” He gave me a newspaper. “It’s 2017, Jason. You have been here for five months, add the three months before coming here, of which you remember nothing. Eight months are absent from your mind, my friend. You must understand why.”
Fuck you. I’m not your friend.
I read the newspaper, and the tears rolled down my cheek. The year was 2017, and Trump won the presidential race. Doctoring such a paper could be done easily, you could get excellent quality for a hundred dollars.
He held out a tablet. “You might not believe the paper, so instead give me a couple websites you trust.”
“Harvard,” Damn. A headline read Top Takeaways From 2016. “Try Roscosmos please.”
“It isn’t loading,” he sighed.
“Try Roscosmos.ru, not .com,” The Russian version of NASA. The date checked out too, news banners from 2017 moved across the screen. In English, the header read IN SPACE WE TRUST. Yes, like the dollar.
Without asking me, he played videos of him and me on the tablet, and my stomach turned upside down at the sight.
I stood up and moved away, I swerved to the right, and then to the left. I became nauseous and cold, my hands shaking, but I found the trash bin and vomited.
CHAPTER 4:
IMPURE TRUTH
I woke up in the white room. I couldn’t remember how I got here, but I remembered the discussion from the day before, and it left me in an unshakable foul mood.
A nurse visited me holding a handy phone. “Hi, Jason. Dr. Thompson for you.” He signaled with his eyes: Come on.
“Hi, Jason,” Dr. Thompson said. “I’m looking forward to our meeting tonight. One question, please. Remind me—how old are you?”
He intended to check whether the news destabilized me, pulling me back to the repression zones and to amnesia.
“Don’t worry. I remember everything. The year is 2017, for confirmation.”
“Great. Let’s continue over dinner and a chess game.” He chirped.
“Okay.”
I thanked the nurse smiling courteously.
Around 7 p.m., they escorted me to the clinic. Dr. Thompson wore a V-neck white cotton shirt. On his forearm, a faint small tattoo said I.B.G.F. I never saw him in casual clothes. Someone added a small bed in a corner of his office.
After the greetings, I asked him about the ink. “What does your tattoo mean?” I thought it rel
ated to a gang or a sort of mantra reminder.
“Nowadays, it’s a reminder of buoyant youth, but at the time, the letters meant Intelligent. Brave. Greedy. Foolish,” he numbered the words on his fingers.
“Did you come up with the wording or get it from a famous person?”
“I did,” He smiled.
We ordered dinner, but eating turned into a task; a nourishment need and not an indulgence for the taste buds.
“Tell me about the dream.”
“We agreed it is not a dream.” I gave a smirk. Afterward, I gave in totally. Be my guest; let’s dive to the unknown.
“Any other dreams? Weird or recurrent?”
“Yes. I had this one few times. I enter a funeral home, and as I’m walking down an aisle, I see many friends. I reach the first row where my family sat. I see Lisa and Lea, and Lisa signals me with her head to check the casket. I move toward the casket; the view is zooming in a surreal sense, like in a movie. I open the casket, and I see myself inside. I turn back, and there is no one there, and the room is pitch black.”
“Okay. Any other dreams?” he asked while jotting down a few notes. I responded with “none”.
“Did you ever use drugs? Specifically, in the last year leading to the event?”
“I wish to say no, but unfortunately, I did. In high school and college, I smoked marijuana, nothing too dangerous, but I enjoyed the experience. And then for a decade, I used nothing. I read a book a while ago about acid being used in very low doses. I’d been taking small doses for a year before I lost my memory. Acid supposedly makes you more creative in your work, promote lateral and creative thinking.” I felt ashamed of sharing this reckless behavior with a doctor.
“Acid. Hmm. Lysergic acid can cause psychotic episodes at recreational doses, but it isn’t well-studied in smaller doses.”
“So, could the drugs be the reason for all this? Are the effects reversible?” I asked eagerly.
We may have found the reason for this nightmare.
“Did you take a high dose?”
“No, I never did high doses.”
“It could still be the cause. Maybe you took a high dose during the period you can’t remember.” He took a deep breath in. “What defines a human being? How do you rate modern people, a man or a woman?”
A Predator and a Psychopath