The Weight of Blood

by D. B. Carew

  His thoughts drifted back to three months earlier when he’d found Ray’s cellphone and discovered John Carrier’s body. Ray had almost destroyed Chris’ life. Following what the media referred to as the Murder at Woodland Park, Ray had conned his way into being admitted to the Institute of Forensic Psychiatry, where he proceeded to do what he did best: terrorize those around him. The assessment hadn’t found any evidence to suggest that Ray suffered from acute mental illness. On the contrary, Dr. Stevenson’s report found that he was in full control of his mental faculties and knew precisely what he was doing when he committed his criminal acts. He did, however, exhibit the classic symptoms of antisocial personality disorder and psychopathic traits. Ray was considered a high risk to reoffend, and there was no evidence to suggest that he would benefit from rehabilitation.

  Even though Ray was in custody awaiting trial on a number of charges, Chris still felt a paralyzing fear whenever he thought of him and the threats he’d made against his family. Chris’ fear that Ray would hurt Stephanie was made worse by the fact that she now worked as a psychologist in the very facility where Ray was detained.

  Chris had good days and bad days when it came to keeping Ray out of his head. This was turning out to be a bad one.

  FOUR

  Chris made his way to Alpha Unit to meet Dr. Stevenson. He would assist her in assessing Marvin’s fitness to stand trial: whether Marvin could understand the basics of the court process as well as his ability to communicate with his lawyer.

  Chris was hoping today’s meeting would give him a phone number for a family member so he could find out background information about Marvin and what he had been doing in the days leading up to his arrest. That would help Marilyn with her report on Marvin for his next court date.

  Before his confrontation with Ray Owens, Chris had ventured onto Alpha Unit countless times without incident. Today, however, his body tensed, just as it had on every occasion since his clash with Ray. He waited for the anxiety to pass.

  Bracing himself, he unlocked the door of the unit and walked inside.

  Alpha Unit could accommodate twenty-two patients and had been designed with safety and cost effectiveness, not aesthetic purposes, in mind. Patients’ rooms consisted mainly of a bed, drawer set, and small writing table. Washrooms were shared. In the three common rooms, patients could watch TV, listen to music, and socialize. A locked door separated this area from the rest of the unit. On the other side of the unit, a large dining room was located next to the nursing station, where dietary staff delivered meals on large food trolleys. One could be forgiven for confusing the Alpha and Beta units as they looked like mirror images of each other, with off-white walls, blue flooring, and the same institutional equipment. Even the interview rooms were replicas of each other.

  Alpha was buzzing with activity, something Chris likened to organized chaos, as nurses prepared one of Chris’ patients to be discharged and transported back to Surrey Pre-trial, while another patient was due to be admitted to that departing patient’s bed. Chris made his way to the nursing station. This room held patients’ charts and medications and had large windows to optimize viewing patient activity. He was greeted by head nurse Alex Dunbar, who, at six foot two and two hundred twenty pounds, commanded attention wherever he went. The two men engaged in small talk until Dr. Stevenson joined them. Alex introduced them to Corinne, a second-year nursing student starting a preceptorship at the hospital, and explained that he’d suggested she sit in on the meeting, after receiving Marvin’s nod of approval. The four headed to an interview room to discuss Marvin.

  “How’s Mr. Goodwin doing?” Marilyn asked.

  “Keeping to himself,” Alex replied. “I gave him an orientation to the unit about half an hour ago, showed him his room, the usual routine. I also did the intake assessment interview—or I should say, I attempted to.”

  “What do you mean?” Chris asked.

  “He couldn’t answer many of the questions; he’d just repeat the last word or two of what I asked him. We’ve kept a close eye on him to make sure no one gives him a hard time.”

  Dr. Stevenson looked at Chris. “Any luck with family?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing yet. I also spoke with probation and the RCMP, and neither has anything on him.”

  With the preliminaries out of the way, Alex left the room to get Marvin, returning a few minutes later with the young man by his side. The differences between the two men were striking. Against Alex’s large frame, Marvin appeared even shorter and thinner than he actually was, his hospital-issued blue sweats hanging loosely. His pale complexion contrasted starkly with the nurse’s healthy colouring, and his long, unkempt brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. Marvin looked around the room nervously, then kept his eyes downcast.

  Chris offered him a chair, and Marvin cautiously sat down.

  After introducing the team, Dr. Stevenson started the interview.

  “How are things going for you on the unit, Mr. Goodwin? Would you prefer Mr. Goodwin or Marvin?” No reply to either question. She continued.

  “Do you know why you’ve been admitted here?” Marvin offered no response other than a slight unintelligible mumbling under his breath.

  Chris suspected the young man was feeling intimidated by all the questions from strangers. An idea popped into his head. He pulled out a pen, its hard plastic casing removed so it couldn’t be used as a weapon, and handed it to the young man. “Marvin ... is it okay if I call you Marvin?”

  “Marvin,” was the sole response.

  Chris handed him a blank piece of paper. “Maybe you can write down anything you’d like us to know about you, okay?”

  “Okay,” the young man repeated mechanically. He scribbled something on the paper, then sat quietly with his hands folded.

  “Can I take a look?” Chris asked.

  Without any expression or eye contact, Marvin handed over the paper. On it, neatly printed, was the word home.

  “That’s great, Marvin. Where is home?”

  “Home.”

  “Can you write down your phone number?”

  “Phone number.” To everyone’s surprise, Marvin wrote down a local telephone number.

  “Do you live alone in your home, Marvin?”

  “Home.” He gently put the pen down on the table and stared at it. Chris took this to mean that he was done for the day.

  “Is it okay if I take the sheet with your phone number?”

  “Phone number.” The young man handed the paper to Chris without making eye contact. He then stood up to leave, and Alex escorted him back to his room.

  “Well, it’s a start,” Dr. Stevenson remarked. “A slow one, but a start nonetheless. At first glance, he doesn’t look fit to stand trial.”

  “It’s hard to picture him carrying out that crime,” Chris said.

  The psychiatrist nodded. “But that’s for the police to sort out.”

  Alex returned to the interview room. “So, what do you think we’re dealing with here? He’s obviously got some kind of cognitive problem.”

  “I’d say Marvin’s got a moderate degree of intellectual disorder. I also think he falls along the extreme end of autism spectrum disorder.” She turned to Corinne, the nursing student. “ASD would explain Marvin’s problems with social interactions and his communication challenges. Did you notice how he repeated the last few words of the questions he was asked?” Corinne nodded.

  “That’s called echolalia. Repetitive behaviours and in some cases cognitive delays are also present with ASD. I’m going to have my work cut out for me with Marvin’s assessment, but I’ll also ask Psychology to see him,” Dr. Stevenson continued. “Hopefully, he’ll agree to some basic testing. It would also be very helpful to have background information from his family, Chris. Maybe the number he wrote down will help. Someone must be looking for him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “By the way, nice touch with the pen. He seemed to respond to your approach
.”

  “Thanks. I’m interested in finding out where this phone number leads me.”

  FIVE

  Chris dialled the number Marvin had written. After several rings with no response, he hung up. He was about to dial again when his phone rang.

  “You calling me?” a male voice on the other end demanded.

  “Uh, I was looking for a family member ... for Marvin.”

  “Goodwin?”

  “Yes. Are you a relative?”

  Brief silence. “Who are you?” the man demanded again.

  “I’m a social worker at the Institute of Forensic Psychiatry. Marvin’s been admitted for a psychiatric assessment. He gave me this number. Are you his father? His brother?”

  “Yeah. Michael, his brother.”

  “I’m sorry to be talking with you under these circumstances. Unfortunately, your brother has been charged with a very serious offence.”

  “It’s a bullshit charge. There’s no way Marv would’ve done what they say he did.”

  “So you’re aware of the charge?”

  “Hell, yeah. It’s been all over the news. But that doesn’t mean it’s true. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, to find out what I can about your brother. Marvin hasn’t been able to give us much information.”

  “I can tell you he didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Okay, Michael, but that’s part of a police investigation and I’m not involved with that. Our job is to see if your brother is fit to stand trial.”

  “You don’t understand. Marv shouldn’t have been charged in the first place. It ain’t fair. His whole life, people have called him stupid and retarded. Now they’re calling him a killer. You gotta help him!” The man shouted into the phone.

  “All right, I hear you.” Time to change tactics. “Look, Michael, I want to help your brother. But to do that, I need to know more about him. For example, does he have a family doctor?”

  There was a long pause. “Marv hasn’t seen a doctor in years.”

  “Okay, do you remember the name of the doctor who last saw him?”

  “Yeah, it was some guy named Bond, like in those movies.”

  “Do you remember how long ago that might have been?”

  “Marv was a kid, that’s all I remember.”

  “Does Marvin have a team working with him, like a psychiatrist or home care?”

  Another long pause. “I gotta go. Listen, tell them Marv is innocent. You gotta do that for him. He doesn’t deserve to go to jail; he’d die in there. Have you seen him? Have you actually met him yet?”

  “Yes, I was with him just a few minutes ago. He’s settling in well with the unit.”

  “No one is hassling him, right? He doesn’t deserve shit from no one.”

  “Marvin’s okay. He’s on a unit where there are staff to help him.”

  “And he gave you my number? Go figure, he must have liked you or something. Oh yeah, make sure he gets the Tribune every day. He reads the sports section, especially about the Canucks. He has a thing for reading player stats. As long as he has a paper, he’ll be fine. And paper to colour, he likes to colour. Take good care of him, okay?” The line went dead.

  Chris sat perplexed about the conversation he’d just had, a conversation that left him with more questions than answers. At least now, though, he had somewhere to start: Dr. Bond. He Googled medical offices with physicians on staff named Bond, which narrowed his search to three clinics in the Vancouver area.

  He called the offices and his efforts paid off. The second medical clinic confirmed having Marvin’s childhood medical records archived, and the receptionist agreed to fax them to the number Chris provided.

  Pleased that he’d accomplished something, he prepared to leave work for the day, but first, he called Alpha Unit to pass on the information about Marvin liking the Tribune. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d only scratched the surface of the Goodwin case.

  SIX

  On his drive from work that afternoon, Chris’ thoughts turned to his upcoming session with Nathaniel Power. When Stephanie stopped her counselling role with Chris, she recommended he seek additional therapy through his hospital’s Employee Assistance Program. And now that they were dating, she’d made it clear that she couldn’t continue with their relationship if he wasn’t willing to work on his recovery from PTSD. Chris reluctantly agreed to therapy because he was willing to do just about anything to continue seeing Stephanie. He’d started working with a new psychologist and they’d seen each other twice. Nathaniel used a cognitive therapy approach to counselling, with the goal of helping Chris understand and change the way he thought about his trauma and its effects on him.

  Before entering Nathaniel’s building, Chris checked his phone and read a new text from Stephanie. “Good luck with your session.” The love emoji brought a smile to his face as he entered the office.

  “So Chris, in our last session, we identified Post Traumatic Stress Disorder symptoms related to what happened to you at Woodland Park. These include the recurring and intrusive images and flashbacks you’ve had associated with discovering James Carrier’s body, as well as disturbing thoughts and feelings related to the trauma of being shot by Ray Owens. Correct?”

  Chris nodded.

  “You noted another symptom involves sleep, difficulty falling or staying asleep, as well as nightmares. Yes?”

  “Yeah, and anxiety. I get panic attacks.”

  “Have you had difficulties with concentration or irritability?”

  Chris briefed him on his recent outburst over the telephone with the staffer. “That’s definitely not something I would normally do. But my concentration isn’t that bad. Work actually helps as a distraction from ... from all this other stuff.”

  “By stuff, you’re referring to your anxiety, sleep problems, and flashbacks?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty stressful.” Chris exhaled loudly. “I used to deal with it by running. Going for a run on a trail used to melt away my stress. And listening to music used to help by distracting me from whatever was bugging me. But now ... I can be listening to music or running and all of a sudden I realize I’ve been thinking about Ray Owens for the last twenty minutes.”

  “Give me an example of what you’d be thinking about with Ray Owens.”

  “Wondering what’s he’s scheming and planning to do next, to hurt me and my family. Or my mind will go back to that day at Woodland Park when he held the rifle on me. The thoughts just creep into my head, it’s hard for me to catch them, you know, to stop from thinking about them, and it’s so mentally draining to get them out of my head.”

  “Well, exercise and listening to music are positive strategies. We can build on those by adding deep-breathing exercises. So, for example, when you find yourself getting anxious, slowing down your breathing can help, as well as learning to relax the muscles in your body when you become tense, and focussing your attention on inhaling and exhaling. Another strategy would be using grounding techniques. Grounding can be particularly helpful when you experience a flashback because touching something around you and describing it in detail can help return your focus to the present. I’ve got some handouts on this if you’re interested.”

  “Sure, it’s worth a try.”

  Nathaniel stood up, went to his filing cabinet, and retrieved a booklet, which he handed to Chris. “You mentioned your work earlier.” Chris leaned back into his chair. “Do you like your job?”

  “Wow, that’s a loaded question,” Chris replied with a nervous laugh.

  “How so?”

  Chris took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I enjoy working with patients and their families. For many families, this is their first experience with having a family member with mental health issues or being involved with the forensic system. I appreciate being able to provide information about the hospital, and I spend a fair amount of time listening to family members tell their story of how the illness and the crime has impacted them. I neve
r lose sight of the fact that the patient I’m working with is someone’s father, son, husband, or brother. In some instances, we help reconnect patients with their families after a period of being estranged from each other, and that’s extremely rewarding.”

  “Do you think your decision to work in a helping profession, and your interest in helping families, has been influenced by your own family experience, with your mother dying when you were young?”

  Chris winced involuntarily.

  “I can see it’s a sensitive subject.”

  “I’m sure you could make a connection between the impact my mother’s murder had on me as a kid and the fact that I relate to families when they’re going through a rough time.”

  “The question is, do you agree with that connection?”

  “Yeah. I do, especially around the feeling of being powerless. There was nothing I could do to save my mother and that really bothered me growing up. So I guess you could say I empathize when a patient’s family member reaches out for help. I do everything I can to help.”

  “I imagine that can be stressful, too, putting a lot of responsibility on yourself. That, and the fact that you work with vulnerable individuals, many coming from difficult backgrounds, admitted under difficult circumstances, and often charged with serious crimes.”

  “It can be,” Chris said in a subdued voice.

  “What do you see as the greatest challenges for you?”

  “Well, there’s the fallout from the crime, as you pointed out, working with a patient without judging him for the crime he’s charged with committing. It’s also difficult when a patient is discharged from hospital and for whatever reason doesn’t connect with services in his community.”

  “Are you referring to mental health after-care services?”