Edward Lee - Succubi

“Why not sue me while you’re at it, Ann?” her mother suggested. “Sue me for mental anguish. That’s what lawyers do, isn’t it? Sue people? And you’d do it too, I know you would, Ann. You’d sue your own mother.”

Ann caught herself. Her mother and Dr. Heyd exchanged silent glances. Ann stared, more at herself than them. What am I saying? she thought.

Her father groaned once, lurched and twitched a few times.

“Are you happy now?” her mother asked. “Look what you’ve done, you’ve upset him. Haven’t you upset him enough in your life? You’ll even upset him on his deathbed.”

Ann wished she could melt into the wall. For that moment she’d felt completely out of control of herself.

“This is a disgrace,” her mother said, and left the room.

Dr. Heyd followed her. He quietly closed the door behind him.

Ann sat down. Her outburst left her limp, jointless. Her gaze returned to her father. She seemed to be looking at him from miles away, or through a fish eye lens.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she muttered.

He lay still. The flesh on his thin face seemed translucent, sagging into the crags of his skull. Then he moved.

Ann leaned forward, held her breath.

Very slowly, her father’s right arm lifted. His hand turned, and his index finger extended feebly.

Shakily, and only for a second, the finger pointed directly at her.

«« — »»

The house was emptying when she came back down. Visitors smiled curtly, bid subtle goodbyes, and left. A few teenage girls were picking up in the dining room, putting things away. Martin stood alone in the corner, his arms crossed.

“We could hear you yelling all the way down here,” he said.

Ann sulked.

“I know it’s not easy for you, Ann. But it’s not easy for your mother either. It’s not exactly sincere to threaten your own mother with legal action when her husband’s dying in the same room. You’re going to have to get a grip on yourself.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me.” Martin lit a cigarette and frowned at his cup of punch. “She went out back with Melanie. Dr. Heyd’s in the kitchen, I think.”

Ann nodded. She shuffled into the kitchen. Dr. Heyd was hanging up the phone.

“Dr. Heyd… I’m very sorry about the things I said to you. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean—”

“No apology necessary, Ann,” he said. “This is a difficult time for everyone; I know what you must be going through. But you must realize the facts. The symptoms are undeniable. Your father suffered a massive orbital hemorrhage. Regrettably, no medical technology in the world can help him. There’s little anyone can do except try to make him as comfortable as possible. Your mother thinks it best that he stay here, closest to the ones he loves, in familiar surroundings.”

Dr. Heyd’s politeness, and his reason, made Ann feel even worse. What a shitheel I am, she thought. “How much time does he have? Do you think he’ll linger on like that for very long?”

“Highly unlikely. A stroke of this magnitude generally produces the same result. It’s a large hemorrhage. The hemorrhage will systematically clot, dispersing particles of coagulation into the major cerebral blood vessels. I’d say a week at the very most, though he could go at any time.”

Ann looked down at the floor. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Simply being here is the best thing you can do for him. And for your mother.”

Ann sighed quietly. Shitheel, shitheel, shitheel.

“He’ll be under constant supervision. I’ll be checking on him several times a day, and there’ll be a nurse ’round the clock. Do you remember Millicent Godwin? She’s several years younger than you, I believe.”

The name seemed familiar. High school, she thought.

“She’s a registered nurse now,” Dr. Heyd explained. “She’ll be staying at the house, to look after Josh when I’m not here. You needn’t worry. She’s quite qualified.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done, Dr. Heyd. And, again, I’m very sorry about—”

“Think nothing of it, Ann.” He smiled and grabbed his bag. “I’ve got a house call to make right now, but I’ll see you soon.”

The doctor left. Ann craved a drink after all this, but then she remembered liquor was not kept in the house. She looked out the kitchen window. Large, gnarled trees kept the spacious backyard in shadow. Beyond the kiosk, Melanie could be seen walking through the grass with Ann’s mother.

—

Chapter 11

The top line read:

THARP, ERIK.

The second line read:

ADMITTANCE STATUS:NGRI.

And the third line:

DIAGNOSIS:Acute Schizoaffective Schizophrenia.

The standard form, Statement of Clinical Status, was dated five years ago.

PHYSICAL STATUS:The ad-mittee is a 25 year old white male. Build within ectomorphic range, 69 inches, 121 pounds.

BOARD EVALUATION, INITIAL:The patient was oriented, alert, and coherent. His motor behavior was unremarkable, his speech deliberate and monotone. His facial expression showed sadness, and he described his mood as “tired, but I’m relieved to finally be away from them.” His thought processes seemed clear though there were clear paranoid ideations. Somatic complaints included difficulty in getting to sleep and morbid dreams. The patient appeared to have a high I.Q., though his recent, past, and immediate recall were clearly impaired.

NARRATIVE SYNOPSIS:Admittee is subject to bizarre delusions highly sexual and subservient in nature. Admits to extensive CDS use during late teens and early twenties, though denies any such use within the past two years. Board concludes likelihood of PCP related receptor damage, which could explain delusion fixe and hallucinotic inferences. MMPI results indicate overly concrete abstract association and reduced multimodal creative assembly. No paranoiac or delusional tendencies, however, via MMPI results, which is curious. Patient demonstrated above average scores on Muller Urban diagnostic, which is puzzling given the nature and detail of delusions. TAT recommended prior to med therapy. Narcosynthesis is advised.

For the next hour, Dr. Harold read the narrative summation of Erik Tharp’s madness. The hospital board had evaluated him yearly. The last three narratives were fairly dull; Tharp denied the delusion outright, claimed to no longer be bothered by his nightmares, and dismissed all that had happened to him as “Craziness, I must have been crazy,” he told Dr. Greene. “I can’t believe that I believed those things, if you know what I mean.” Lying, Greene had written in the comments section of the evaluation form. Still believes delusion, just not admitting it anymore. But why would Tharp do that?

To qualify for roam status? Dr. Harold thought.

Of course, and to eventually …

“Escape,” he muttered.

It was obvious. Tharp had been planning his escape for some time.

Dr. Harold ruminated. Five years ago Erik Tharp had believed a disturbing delusion. So thereafter he lied, hoping Greene would think he was no longer possessed by the delusion and hence give him roam status.

His premeditation, even though it hadn’t fooled Greene, proved something very clear. Tharp had a preconceived motive for his elopement. He wasn’t escaping just to escape. He wanted to escape in order to do something specific. But what?

Why had Erik Tharp denied his own delusion after one year? The problem was, delusional people weren’t able to do that unless they weren’t delusional in the first place.