Crucified

“They come at night while I am asleep,” the patient said. Her hands constantly moved in small gestures that a person far less observant than the doctor would notice. What that person would not see is the dark circles around her eyes, the occasional premature gray hair, and the eyes. They were hollow somehow, devoid of life. She was definitely suffering from anxiety, and possibly paranoid schizophrenia.

            “Who are they?” said the doctor. Her eyes leaped to the dark window behind the doctor and returned in a second. Her knuckles began to fade to white as she clutched the arms of the expensive Italian leather recliner. Paranoia seems very likely, but it could still be only severe stress.

            “They…” the patient said before she interrupted herself for a quick scan of the room. It is possible that she is creating this because it seems more dramatic than traumatic. The doctor let out a soft chuckle at his own medical humor and caught the patient’s attention. There was a slight change in the eyes: not anger or reproach, only despair. You sure are a fine mess. Pretty soon I’m going to have to trade this list here for one of disorders you do not have.

“They are darkness. They are all around us, whispering dark thoughts in our ears when we are not looking.” The patient grasped a crumpled piece of paper in her hand that she held all through the session so far. She twisted it uncontrollably as she said; “There is one with you right now.”

This is exactly what I needed today. I stay late for this new patient and now I know I will spend all week researching the dozens of separate problems living in the body sitting across from me. This is my weekend to spend with the girlfriend while the wife is gone, and I can’t afford to continue sending my wife away for a little action. “There is?” the doctor asked with almost obvious false interest. “What is it doing?”

Her eyes suddenly bored straight into the doctor’s, leaving the window and the dark secrets hidden on the other side. The hollowness was gone, and what replaced it was indescribable to the knowledgeable doctor. It was a strange intensity that seemed to burst forth and capture the complete attention of the doctor’s thoughts. A rapid flash of brilliant white made her irises disappear for a single heartbeat.

“They are whispering dark things to you.” The intensity was gone and she once again surveyed the room and fidgeted constantly. That was odd. I think it is time I convince my girlfriend to stop bringing coke when she comes over. All this paranoia is getting to me. A small trail of drool began to course its way to the patient’s chin. That is a first for such an experienced doctor, my first drooler. Another chuckle came from the doctor.

“What are they whispering?”

“Lust and greed.” More furtive gestures from the patient. “And right before you asked me, they whispered pride.” This time it took no intensity or flash to grab the doctor’s attention. Her words were enough.

How could she know what I am thinking? Then again, how could I know what she is thinking…observe. That is what all those long years of college taught me, observe and judge. Right now she doubts herself for speaking to me at all. I should encourage that thought inside her because it will keep her from bothering me and using up my valuable time. “So you claim to see things that aren’t there. Don’t you know that is not healthy for you?”

“Yes I know doctor.”

“Have you tried ignoring them?” That’s it. Just get her to shut her mouth and eat her medicine like a good patient. Enough lithium and even this difficult case wouldn’t be seeing any bogeymen, she wouldn’t be seeing much at all.

Frustration began to show its ugly face. “I have doctor. That’s when I have the nightmares. All night they attack me with their claws and teeth and scream so loud it wakes me up every few minutes.”

I have to hurry this up or else my girlfriend will be stuck outside waiting for me and I don’t want to spend the night fighting instead of fucking. “I am going to give you a prescription. It should help you relax enough to sleep all night.”

“No. Please…not anymore pills. I can’t stand them. They make everything go away.” Another wave of anxiety washed over the patient that was so strong the doctor could almost reach out and grab it.

“Isn’t that what you want? To be free of all these dark things you see?” My girlfriend is just getting off the interstate. Oh is she going to be pissed when I show up late with another lame excuse about a patient.

“Yes! That is all I want, but when they give me drugs it makes everything go away.” Her legs twitched to an odd rhythm that gradually sped up in a slow crescendo.

Great. Now I have to go through all these stupid questions to find out what I already knew when this woman walked in my door. She is fucking crazy. “What else do you see?”

The patient’s entire mood shifted at those five words. Where before she was nervous, fearful, and psychotic, now it was like the sun rising and showing its wonder to the world. The intensity returned to her eyes, but not in terror, in joy. “White things like little candles that fly around and make everyone happy. When they touch you it makes you smile. I like them because they scare the dark things.”

Genuine interest was sparked in the doctor. Most paranoid schizophrenics focus on invisible evil things, but this one is different. A case study on her might get me another award for my mantle. “Do you see any right now?”

Her brow creased as she lost herself in some kind of weak trance. Unresponsive, and her pupils are dilating. Dr. Simmons beware, this year the award is mine! Only ten seconds later she snapped out of it and gazed into the doctor’s eyes. “Yes. I see two right now, but they are by me and not close to you.”

Hell you can keep your flying candles as long as you give me this award. My girlfriend can park her ass on the porch and wait as long as this patient keeps this up. “What do you think they are?”

“Angels.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” the doctor muttered so softly she didn’t even notice. There goes my award. They never hand those out to studies on religious fanatics. “Are you sure? Maybe they are aliens or just invisible flying candles?”

The patient let out a clear honest laugh without any hint of malice or deceit. “I’m sure doctor. They are angels because sometimes I hear them singing and talking. They tell me things that I need to know.”

The doctor’s frustration was obvious even to a drooling psychopath. Maybe I could just leave out this angel business and send it in. That just might work, especially if her perceptiveness is some kind of extrasensory perception. A well-documented case on ESP is a definite shoe-in. A smile with a very strong hint of deceit and malice gradually crept onto the doctor’s face. “What do they tell you now?”

Her fear and anxiety returned in a heartbeat. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the arms of the chair with all her might. For a second the doctor heard muttering or whispering even though the patient’s lips never moved. What he heard was unintelligible yet it sounded somewhat like Latin. “What did you just say?” the doctor asked.

Her eyes shot from his to every conceivable angle that did not include him. “Nothing,” she whispered.

“I just heard you say something. Was it Latin?” Her eyes widened to enormous proportions like those of a cartoon. Her anxiety level just went from two to eleven and I swear I heard Latin. “Do you know Latin?” the doctor said.

“No, I’m a Protestant. I only know a little French.”

“Whatever. So what did they tell you?” The doctor looked at his watch and scowled. Damn, it is already eight o’clock! By the time we get high and fuck Sport Center will be over and I’ll have to watch some stupid women’s show with her.

“I can’t tell you. You won’t believe me.” Once again she toyed with that scrap of paper. The doctor casually glanced at it but could only tell that it was a page torn from a book.

“Of course I will believe you, that is my job,” the doctor said with mock sincerity. My job is to listen to you, judge you, and get you out of my office this late at night.

“They told me that she died.” A tear slowly made its way down her cheek, and she gazed deep into the doctor’s eyes, looking for a response that was not there.

“Who died?” the doctor asked. I think someone has watched the Sixth Sense one too many times.

“The girl with pretty blonde hair. They say she knew you.” She clenched the paper as tightly as she could, waiting for a response that still was not there.

“Listen, I know a lot of girls with pretty blonde hair. You have to be more specific,” the doctor said. A sliver of doubt had forced its way into his heart like a needle through flesh, and he had felt its first pain.

“The girl that you were planning on meeting tonight. The one who does too many drugs and is not your wife.” This time the patient got a response, but it was not the one she wanted, it was the one she feared.

“What the fuck are you playing at? This is not funny at all.” The doctor’s calm and reserved face was a mask of fury. That is it. I’m shipping this bitch off to her padded cell with more drugs than a rock star from the 70s.

The patient looked into his eyes with sympathy, but she could feel the dark things inside him and she knew that her chance was over. “I knew you would not believe me.”

“You’re damn right I don’t believe you. You are just a crazy bitch that will never see the sunlight again. I hope you rot in your cell forever,” the doctor screamed. He stood up and pressed the red button repeatedly under his desk that let the orderlies know that a serious problem needed to be fixed.

Once again he heard something whispered, but this time he could understand it. “In Nomine Domine Sabaoth su filique ite ad infernos.” The girl had not moved her lips. The fucking girl had not moved her lips. What is going on here?

“What did you just say?” the doctor asked. I am positive that was Latin this time. Protestant or not something is not right here.

No nervousness at all now. The patient was calm, collected, and not afraid at all. “It wasn’t me. The angels said it.”

The sliver of doubt rammed home like a stake through his heart. Now the doctor was the one who gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles faded to white. “What did they say?”

Her eyes were locked on his as she said, “In the name of the Lord of Hosts and His Son, get thee back to the lower hells.” A moment of silence passed as she let it sink in. “They told the dark things to go away.”

The orderly chose that moment to barge through the massive mahogany doors. He was a big man, but a very dumb man. He charged up behind the patient and grasped her shoulders in an iron grip. “You…uh…rang sir?” the orderly said.

“Yes I did. Take her to her cell and give her enough lithium to leave her semi-conscious for about a week.” The doubt was not strong enough to stop the doctor’s desperate determination. “And forward all my calls, I’m going home.”

The orderly stared blankly back at the doctor for a second, then said, “Yes sir.” He pulled the patient up on her feet and half carried her from the room. She was still calm and would have easily left on her own, but that is what orderlies are for.

When the door shut, the doctor opened his desk and took out a bottle of Xanax and a small flask of whiskey. He took a few pills and washed them down with a healthy dose of whiskey. What a night. My girlfriend definitely won’t believe this one.

On the floor the doctor saw the crumpled piece of paper. He stood on weak knees and picked it up. It was half a page torn from a Bible, from the book 1 Kings. This time the doubt would not give up, and he sat down and read it.

“Then He said, “Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.

The patient was led through the plain white halls by the rough hands of the orderly. On either side patients were locked behind large white doors, peering at her through the small window.

On her left an old man with a wild unkempt beard said, “Woe unto those that will not hearken to the voice of the Lord. For the Lord is with us always…” His voice trailed off with each step she took. Another patient pounded on his door and screamed, “Redemption!”

Her cell, her home, was close now. The old woman who was directly across from her cell saw the patient, and she gave her a warm smile. “They just won’t listen. They never did and they never will.”

As the door to her cell closed, the patient spoke in a soft whisper, “Lord take this cup from me…”

The doctor had been driving as fast as he could through the wide avenues that led to his home in Beverly Hills. The pills really kicked in and he numbed the doubt and fear that plagued him with his only real friend, Jim Beam. He was swerving back and forth between two of the three lanes on Sunset, yelling obscenities back at whatever driver took offense to him.

Stupid bitch screwed up my entire night. Even if my girlfriend will believe this story, I don’t know if I will be up for it. And my wife will be back tomorrow so I won’t get any more chances. He drained his flask of whiskey and chucked it out the window.

I knew I should have had Simmons take this damn case. That bastard has no life. I’d pay to see if he could turn that bitch into an award. The doctor lit a cigarette with his platinum lighter and took a long and much needed drag. His hands began to steady and he gained control of his angry thoughts as he focused on the road for the first time tonight.

“I am a psychologist. I can control my mind and my emotions because only I understand them,” he said. It was his personal motto, his incantation against the evil that he could not see and could not believe. He took a deep breath, turned up the radio, and zoned out.

As he came around a wide turn without infringing upon the lanes beside him, he felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. Suddenly his windshield was replaced by a black so deep and dark that it was as if he stared into a world that never knew light. In the center of the dark two red eyes like burning coals bored into his soul with a fire that he could not see but felt, a fire of lava that turned his heart to flame.

And then it was gone. In its place a traffic jam sped towards him, threatening to crush him and his expensive BMW in the back of a truck. He slammed on his brakes with all the force he could muster and stopped inches from the truck in front of him.

Through the denial and the numbing fog of drugs the doubt returned. Fear took over and he bolted out of the car. Drivers waiting very impatiently yelled at him, but he took no heed. As he finally made it to the front he saw a white convertible with a tree halfway through the middle of it. A single lifeless arm was visible.