Straightjacket (14 page)

Caleb decided that his tone was patronizing and didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure Dr. Blackwell noticed, since he carried on.

“I thought we might begin by discussing what happened in the courtyard the other day. Can you tell me what happened?”

Caleb looked at Dr. Blackwell blankly. “That guy picked a fight. I gave it to him.”

“So he picked a fight?”

Caleb waited a few seconds before answering. “I really don’t see the point of talking about this.”

Dr. Blackwell’s face disclosed a hint of annoyance. “It’s important for us to work through what happened. Let’s talk about how he picked the fight.”

Caleb sighed but decided to answer. “That guy’s nuts. He came up to Anna and slapped her. What was I supposed to do?”

“No need to be defensive. I understand that he initiated it, and you were coming to her defense, but as I said before, it needs to be clear that we do not tolerate violence here. Why don’t you think about what you could have done differently?”

“I really don’t know.” He sighed out of frustration. “Let him beat the crap out of a girl a quarter of his size?”

“No, of course not,” Dr. Blackwell answered. “You could have called out for an employee and asked for his or her help before things escalated. There are always attendants out in the courtyard with patients.”

Caleb rolled his eyes.

“I’d like you to come away from this experience having gained something. The point you need to grasp is that you must follow the rules here. Every patient is told about our policy on violence, including you.”

Caleb was focused on the sky again, his eyes trailing the path of the clouds hurrying past the window.

“As long as we’re on this subject, let me ask you about your relationship with Anna.” Dr. Blackwell lightly grasped the frame of his glasses and slid them off of his face, folding them neatly on his lap.

“What about it?”

“Of what nature is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Dr. Blackwell kept his eyes fixed on Caleb. “Have things become intimate between the two of you?”

“This is insane.” It was clear that Dr. Blackwell had begun the task of burrowing into his head, drilling until he hit a bundle of nerves that he could poke and prod to create the desired outcome. This place was already dominating his body, telling him when and what to eat, when to sleep, where his body should sit to rot during his internment here. Now Dr. Blackwell was trying to access entry into the emotional, decreeing who and who not to love. “No.”

“You’re not lying to me?” Dr. Blackwell stroked his chin.

“No.” Caleb wouldn’t let him pry his mind open. His questions were like crowbars, and once inside he would rummage around among the bits and pieces, choosing which ones he could use against him.

“Carlene made mention of something she saw between you two, and after this recent occurrence in the courtyard, I have to admit I’ve grown concerned.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Two of our most important rules here are no violent behavior and no romantic relationships. It seems as if you’ve broken both of these in your time here.”

“I haven’t,” Caleb said emotionlessly. “There’s nothing going on. I haven’t done anything.” Caleb waited for Dr. Blackwell’s next move in silence, pleased with himself for keeping his inner sanctuary impenetrable and intact.

“This is for your own good, Caleb. You need to focus on yourself and working through your own issues, not forming an intense bond with this young woman.”

Caleb could hear the doctor talking, and even understood what he was saying, but he kept his focus on the sky. The clouds were growing darker now. The fuzziness that had been in the distance was edging closer. There was even a flash of lightning. He waited for the thunder, starting to count the seconds in between the flash and its sound, but the soft, menacing growl never came.

“Let me put it this way. Remember how during our last session we talked about the importance of maintaining a rhythm in your day-to-day life?”

“Uh-huh.” Caleb wasn’t even trying to look interested. His only concern was why he wasn’t hearing any thunder.

“Getting into fights and carrying on intense love affairs get in the way of this rhythm we’re trying to establish. They can both trigger and exacerbate your symptoms. I’d like you to spend your time here focusing on your sleeping patterns, finding time to relax, recognizing your triggers. Does that make sense?”

“Oh, sure.”

“So have you kept up with your mood journal over the last few days?” Dr. Blackwell swept his eyes quickly around and underneath Caleb’s chair, looking for the composition notebook with a hopeful expression.

“Uh, no. Can’t say I did.”

“Caleb, it’s imperative that you cooperate if…” He stopped and allowed a sigh to escape, giving himself a moment to regain his composure. “It’s important to figure out what types of things are triggering the stupors, and a way for you to do that is to keep a journal about how you feel after certain things happen. Does that make sense?”

“I get it,” Caleb answered, devoid of emotion.

“So will you please try to make entries into your journal over the next few days and come ready to share it with me during our next session?”

“Sure, whatever.” Of course Caleb had no intention of writing in the journal, but the conversation was going nowhere and he wanted to cut it off any way he could.

“Good. Let’s move on then. Are you still hearing the voice?”

Caleb allowed his head to fall forward, and he began to stare at a pull in the carpet.

“Yeah,” he answered, still focused on the single loop raised above the others.

“Do you hear it at other times besides during your stupors?”

“No.”

“Good. And have you given any more thought to the medication?”

“I don’t want it.”

“The nurses have told me that your stupors are becoming more frequent and are lasting for longer periods of time. Are you aware of this?”

“Yeah, only because when I come out of it there’s a needle stuck in my hand.”

“I really wish you would give the daily medication a chance.” Dr. Blackwell fumbled with his glasses. “It’s a key component of your treatment.” Caleb met his words with silence. “If you’re opposed to it, maybe we could try the electroconvulsive therapy we spoke about—”

This time Caleb wouldn’t even let him finish his sentence. The rage took over in a matter of seconds. “There’s no way you’re gonna hook me up to some machine and shock me. Over my dead body.”

“I understand your feelings concerning ECT, but it’s not what you think. It’s very clean and controlled and—”

“I said no.” He said it slowly, faking a composure that he hoped would trigger the real thing.

“Caleb, you checked yourself into this facility.” Dr. Blackwell’s frustration was mounting. “I understand it was not your idea, but you did agree to it. So why not try to get better as long as you’re here?”

“Maybe I don’t want to ‘get better.’” Caleb kept his voice calm and even. “Maybe I don’t want the voice to stop.” As soon as he said it, he knew he’d let too much out.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Caleb knew the reason. Samuel’s voice was his only connection to heaven. It was the only thing that could lead him back to where he was perfect, bright—healthy in spirit without the body to screw everything up. He had a job that needed to be carried out, even if he’d messed it up by falling in love. But he could still manage to accomplish his mission, he knew he could, and he could love Anna at the same time. Dr. Blackwell couldn’t know any of this. He had already given away too much of himself.

He waited for Caleb to finish, and when he didn’t, he tried again. “So you don’t want the voice to stop. Why?”

“Because I don’t.”

“Okay. And you don’t believe that it’s harmful. Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“What I’m most concerned about is how the voice is interfering in your life. Because of it, you’re not living the kind of life right now that you’d like. Is that accurate?”

“Well, I don’t want to be in this place, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. If I remember correctly, a year ago you wanted to move to New York, go to art school, and get your own apartment, and because of the existence of this voice, you weren’t able to do so. Perhaps you can see that the voice is preventing you from living the life you want?” Dr. Blackwell was growing more eager.

“It’s not the voice that’s the problem.” Caleb felt himself losing control again, and that meant allowing Dr. Blackwell entry into his mind. He caught himself quickly. “It’s not because of the voice.”

Dr. Blackwell leaned forward and faced him squarely. “Is there any way you might consider that the voice is part of your imagination?”

“Whatever you say. You’re the expert.”

“Caleb, it was clear to me within the first five minutes of meeting you that you’re smart, and by the looks of your drawings, you’re very talented. Our goal, our common goal, is for you to realize your full potential. I want you to create a fulfilling life for yourself outside of here, and that can only happen if you allow me to help you.”

Caleb was aware that Dr. Blackwell was shifting his approach, reaching into his toolbox and trading in his crowbar for a box cutter. But Caleb had promised himself that he wouldn’t let him get inside. Samuel and the fact that he was an angel were just that—facts. He wouldn’t give in to believing a lie. Not for Dr. Blackwell.

“Thanks, I appreciate you wanting to help me,” Caleb answered. “But soon it won’t be your problem.”

“I understand that your stay here is coming to an end. I commend you for remaining here for the agreed-upon period of time. But I strongly encourage you to either prolong your stay or continue treatment with me on an outpatient basis.”

“Uh, I don’t think so. But again, thanks for your concern. How many more minutes?”

Dr. Blackwell checked his watch. “About twenty. We’ve still got some more work to do. I have a few more questions.”

“Fire away,” Caleb said smugly, confident that his armor was sturdy enough to remain unblemished.

Chapter Fourteen

Although the book lay open in front of Anna, she wasn’t reading. She hadn’t noticed, but her eyes had strayed from the page five minutes ago, scanning the common room until they found what they wanted. She had been watching Caleb bent over his sketchbook, the pastel in his hand darting across the page. He bit his bottom lip when he paused to think, and she almost shuddered—he looked so perfect doing it. If it weren’t for the fact that they’d be leaving together soon, keeping away from him over the last few days would have been impossible. They’d spent all their time in the common area so they could at least see each other. They hadn’t spoken, but the looks he gave her were so piercing they made her weak.

Suddenly Caleb noticed her staring at him. Half of his mouth turned upward to form a grin, and she answered it with a small smile of her own. She was embarrassed he had caught her, but she couldn’t look away; she enjoyed watching him too much.

“Anna, I’d like to speak to you for a moment.” The words were an unwelcome distraction from the stupor Caleb had put her in. Dr. Blackwell stood over her. “Do you mind if we walk down to your room so we can have some privacy?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” she answered as if she’d been awakened suddenly from a dream. She dog-eared the page that was open with her functioning hand and stood up, looking over again at Caleb. Irritation had replaced his grin, and she watched his eyes follow her as they walked toward the door.

“Why don’t you take a seat on the bed?” Dr. Blackwell motioned with an outstretched arm. He rotated the desk chair so that it faced the bed and sat down himself. Anna took a seat, unsure of what to do with her legs. After letting them dangle off the edge of the bed for a few seconds, she scooted back and crossed them.

“Anna, I’m going to get right to the point. I received your paperwork for release, and I have some serious concerns.” Anna’s stomach began closing in on itself, forming a tight ball.

“Concerns about what?” she tried to say lightly, but her voice cracked midsentence.

“You’ve not spent much time here, and we’re only beginning to make some progress.” Anna felt the sickness start to spread through her body, but it was blunted quickly by what she was beginning to recognize as the effect of the medication.
Stay calm
.

“So are you saying you won’t approve my release?” she asked, barely breathing.

“No, I’m not saying that. But you need to have a plan, and part of that plan is continuing your therapy on an outpatient basis.”

Anna felt the relief settle around her stomach like a coating of Pepto-Bismol. She took a deep breath in. “I understand that, but Dr. Blackwell, I feel like I’ve come a long way. The medication has kicked in and I haven’t had a panic attack in days. I’m feeling much, much happier than I have in a long time. I hope you know how grateful I am to you for helping me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said with a smile. “But it’s not that easy. We need to get to the root of your anxiety and depression. Medication is only a quick fix.” Anna let her face drop down toward the bed and stared at her fingers resting deadly on her knee. “We haven’t talked much about it yet, but I know there are some things going on with your parents that we need to address at some point.”

“No, really, I’m doing much better,” she blurted out. She wasn’t interested in talking about them, being with them, even thinking about them anymore. There wouldn’t be a place for them in her new life.

“There’s something else I wanted to speak to you about,” he said as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “It’s come to my attention that you and Caleb have formed a very intense relationship and you are planning on checking out together.”

Anna swallowed hard. She felt her face blazing red-hot within seconds. The questions raced through her mind—what did he know? What would he do? She tried to collect herself. “Who told you that?”

“I was given a note that Caleb had written to you.”

“What?” she yelled. “Who gave you that?” The possibilities presented themselves to her all at once, but there was only one person who butted into her life here and wanted to ruin things. “Was it Chrissy? She hates me—”