by D. B. Carew
“Please tell me the Ray you were just talking to was not Ray Owens.”
Chris sat up with a start. It was Florence. How long had she been there? And how much had she heard?
“Uh ... hi, Florence.” He felt his cheeks burning red hot.
Florence entered the office and closed Chris’ door with some force. “Why were you talking to Ray Owens?” She remained standing, looking down at a seated Chris and shaking her head.
“I didn’t know it was him when he called.”
“Why was he calling you in the first place?”
Chris gave a nervous laugh. “Why does he do any of the things he does? He was looking to get a reaction.”
The long, hard look she gave him felt like she was running her personal lie detector test. He must have passed because she took a seat and broke the silence.
“That can’t be easy,” she said in a way that to Chris’ mind actually bordered on empathy. “I caught the last part of your conversation, in case you were wondering. The man is a royal pain in the ass. He revels in his ability to terrorize. I really hope you’re able to put him behind you.”
“Thank you.” He was shocked by her support.
Florence shifted in her chair, the expression on her face becoming stern. “I came to see you about the interview you gave Lucy Chen.” The hardness had returned to her voice.
“I screwed up, I know.”
“Why? That’s what I don’t understand. You could have kept walking, kept your mouth shut. Why did you talk with her? Can you help me understand that?” “Lucy caught me at a really bad time. She was talking about Marvin, about Woodland Park. She didn’t have all the facts. But I acted without thinking.” He was slow to look her in the eye, wary of her response.
Florence didn’t respond immediately. She seemed to be deliberating.
Chris knew he’d used up all of his get-out-of-jail-free cards with her. He knew she’d be within her rights to suspend him, perhaps even to fire him now. She was pissed at what he had done. Hell, he was pissed at himself.
“I explicitly told you not to talk with the media. Our communications department is much better equipped to respond in a professional and dispassionate manner to media questions on sensitive matters. What you did was the exact opposite. You allowed the reporter’s questions to get to you. You took it personally. You spoke from your heart, not your head.”
“I know —”
“Let me finish!” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “What you did was careless, and it’s causing me a lot of grief. This case was already high profile, and your outburst has taken it to a whole new level. I just got off the phone with the health minister. She’s been put in the position of having to defend the Ministry’s actions in terms of the Community Living Society. I’m told they’ll be giving a press conference in the coming days to defend their cutbacks to services. No doubt they’ll deflect their responsibility and place it squarely at the feet of CLS.”
She looked at Chris and exposed a flicker of a smile. “There is, however, an upside to the situation. Your interview and the Tribune’s pending series of stories have put pressure on the Ministry to respond to the lack of services for clients like Marvin. They want to save face, and they intend to use Marvin to do it.”
“How?”
“By announcing that he’s been accepted for placement in a twenty-four-hour licensed care home.”
“Really?” Chris was flabbergasted.
“It’s their way of showing there’s no problem with the system. Coming up with a bed for Marvin demonstrates that the wait-lists are not as bad as have been reported. And,” she added, a cynical tone creeping into her voice, “the Ministry comes out smelling like roses.”
“Do you know where the home will be?”
“No. I guess we’ll find that out at the dog-and-pony show. And I’m willing to bet they’ll all be on site for the photo-op when Marvin is admitted to his new home.”
She paused for a moment before continuing. “My point in coming to see you was to let you know that your interview with Lucy Chen helped Marvin in a way that I couldn’t. We both know IFP isn’t the right place for him.” She paused again before adding. “I also wanted to give you fair warning that the Ministry has you in their crosshairs now. The minister was not impressed with your interview and its repercussions for them. There’s considerable pressure on me, as your director, to make sure you don’t step out of line again. I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Florence.”
“So consider yourself warned. The next time you disregard my orders, I will personally deliver your walking papers.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” She looked him over. “Now go home. You look terrible.”
Chris breathed a sigh of relief when she left, content that he still had his job. He loved working with his patients and their families, and he enjoyed the camaraderie with his colleagues.
He agreed with Florence, though: recent events had caught up with him. It seemed everyone around him was echoing her concern; the question was what he would do about it. Right now, all he knew was that he had a few details to sort through, and then he’d be on his way home. The thought of seeing Stephanie later that evening lifted him out of his melancholy mood.
He looked at his watch. It was time for his meeting with Dr. Stevenson. He made his way to Alpha Unit, where he endured some light-hearted ribbing from the nursing staff about his latest exploits. Even Alex showed him no mercy. “Just finished reading the latest in the Chronicles of Ryder. What do you do for an encore?” he said to gales of laughter from the other staff.
Dr. Stevenson arrived and bailed Chris out by leading him and Alex to a meeting room. Alex updated them on Marvin, and Chris shared the highlights of his conversation with Florence. Alex left the room to get Marvin and returned a short while later with the young man, clutching his copy of the Vancouver Canucks program.
Marvin sat down warily and uttered his now-familiar word: “Home.” He shyly looked at the faces of the three other people in the room, finally resting his gaze on Chris.
“We were just talking about that,” Chris said. “We’ve got some good news. We’ve found a home for you.”
He stopped to let the news register with Marvin. The young man looked away from them and then down at the program. He didn’t seem fazed by the announcement.
“Would you be interested in seeing the house in a little while?” Still no response, but Chris gently pressed on. “You could bring your program with you, if you like. In fact, you could even decorate your home with Canucks posters, any way you like. It’s your home.”
Marvin looked up from his program, directly at Chris, and showed more than a hint of a smile. “Home.”
“Yeah, Marvin. Home.”
FORTY-TWO
A thought stopped Chris on his way back to his office, redirecting him to his manager’s office. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He wasn’t even sure if David would be there. But he felt he’d put off the inevitable long enough.
He arrived to find David sitting at his desk reviewing a report. “Have you got a minute?” Chris asked apprehensively as he stood in the doorway.
David put the paper down. “I’ve been looking for you. Close the door, please.” Chris did as he was told and remained standing. “About that interview ...” he said, giving Chris a surprised look.
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m not sure ... This isn’t easy for me.” He breathed in and slowly let the air out. Then in a rush he said, “I think I need to take some time off work.” Saying the words out loud startled him. But Chris also felt immense relief.
David gave him a sympathetic look. “Whatever time you need, Chris, I’ll support you.”
“I’ve been putting this off for ... for who knows how long. I should have taken time off after Ray Owens and Woodland Park. I dunno, maybe I didn’t want to admit I had a problem. And I guess I thought if I was busy, it would distrac
t me. But it hasn’t worked out that way. It’s taken a long time for me to realize that I was in denial about how bad things had gotten.” He thought back to his foolhardy trips to unknown houses, his irresponsible behaviour at his daughter’s dance studio, his interview with Lucy. “I need to make some changes.”
He looked away from his manager, his eyes settling on a snow globe on a shelf next to him. He picked it up and shook it. “My life feels a lot like this. It’s been shaken up and I don’t know what’s what anymore. I need to take some time to figure out what to do, get things under control.” Chris gently placed the ornament back on its shelf.
“I think you’re doing the right thing, Chris. Whatever time you need to take, you’ll have my full support. Your job will be here when you’re ready to come back.”
“Social Work 101, right? I have to help myself before being able to help someone else.” Chris shook his head at the cliché.
“It’s true. You’re good at helping your patients, but who helps you?”
“It’s kinda hard for me talk about. But I know I have to do it.”
“You call me when you’re ready to come back, and don’t worry about anything else. We’ll work it out, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks, David.” He opened the door and left, feeling awkward and embarrassed but also relieved.
Back in his office, Chris responded to a few patient-related matters and packed up his belongings.
He knew he didn’t have it in him to go anywhere or do anything that evening, so he placed a call to Stephanie, who offered to spend the night at his place, and he quickly accepted. He ordered a taxi home.
As his ride drove away from the IFP parking lot, he looked back as the building slowly receded in the distance.
He didn’t know when he’d be returning to the place that for the last ten years had been a second home to him. He felt a quiet sadness passing over him but knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing.
FORTY-THREE
When Chris arrived home, he called Nathaniel and upon receiving his voicemail, left a message to schedule their next meeting. He knew he had his work cut out for him with his future counselling sessions, but for the first time he felt optimistic about that future.
Chris grabbed a gel ice pack from his freezer and wrapped it around his neck to lessen the aching. He hit the Play button on his iPod and flopped down on the futon, content to shut his eyes and take a well-needed rest.
The ringing of his phone disturbed his peace. It was Brandon Ryan. “You gonna be there awhile?”
“Yeah. Stephanie’s coming over later, but you’re welcome to drop by.”
“Okay. I’ll bring the beer this time.”
Chris lay back as Led Zeppelin filled his apartment. He was listening to Robert Plant sing about a faraway land of ice and snow and letting his thoughts drift when a knock at the door brought him back to reality. He was groggy and slow to respond, a fact not lost on Brandon, who stood there with a pizza and a six-pack.
“Damn, you look like hell!” Brandon walked into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Granville Island Pilsner, and offered it to Chris. “This is your brand, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ll pass.”
Brandon took a slice of pizza and offered the box to Chris. “Figured you might be running low.”
“Thanks,” Chris mumbled through a mouthful.
“Read your interview.” Chris just grunted. “Caught the news on Marvin, too. Congrats. That kid is lucky he had you in his corner. Good job. And I have some news for you.”
“Yeah?” Chris said with wide eyes.
“Michael Goodwin was arrested near the BC–Alberta border about an hour ago. He’d ditched the SUV and stolen a car, but RCMP had already been tracking his movements from the licence plate info you provided—or to be precise, Marvin provided.” Brandon filled Chris in on the developments in the case. The SUV had been registered to Calvin Johnson. The first address Chris had sent did in fact belong to Marvin and his brother, the second to Calvin.
“With the blood analysis results, it’s only a matter of time before Calvin is officially declared Alberto Bianchi’s killer.”
Chris felt a shiver go up his spine as his thoughts turned to Calvin, of how he’d nearly been killed by him and then the sight of his dead body. “I’m just glad it’s all over.”
Brandon nodded in agreement and took a gulp of his beer. “Well, I can see you need some rest. I’ll leave you to it.” Brandon had his hand on the door handle when he looked back at Chris. “Hey, you really did good with Marvin.”
Stephanie greeted Brandon as he stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor of Chris’ building. They exchanged hugs. “How’s he doing?”
“He seems all right to me, considering the circumstances,” Brandon replied, then added with a smile, “which is more than I can say for his apartment. How do you put up with it?”
“We all have our crosses to bear.” She rolled her eyes and motioned to the plant she was carrying. “I bought him this. I hope he doesn’t kill it.”
“You’re a brave woman.”
“At least he’s got us to keep him on the straight and narrow,” she said lightly. “Keep him out of trouble, okay?” She stepped inside the elevator.
“I’ll do my best.” As the door started to close, Brandon added, “He’s doing all right for himself.”
FORTY-FOUR
Chris held the door for Stephanie and welcomed her inside his apartment.
She placed the plant on his kitchen counter and threw her arms around him, kissing him softly.
“I should get attacked more often. You even come bearing gifts!”
“Don’t even joke about that! Where does it hurt?”
“I’ve got a killer headache. I’m waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in. Got some bad news, though.” He paused. “My truck didn’t make it.”
She shook her head, not the slightest bit amused. “Why aren’t you taking this more seriously?”
“Okay.” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “But maybe you can help me pick out a new truck once the insurance is cleared.”
“I don’t really care about that right now. A car can be replaced anytime. What did the hospital say?”
“Bad case of whiplash. If the symptoms get worse, I need to see my doctor. Oh, and I need a lot of TLC.”
“And your only symptom is headaches?” she asked, ignoring his last wisecrack. “Not your only symptom, you know what I mean,” she corrected herself.
“I’m fine, Stephanie. Really.”
“I read your interview with the Tribune.”
She looked at him closely, and Chris knew she was observing his reaction. He sighed and struggled to come up with a rational explanation but found none.
“I’ve made mistakes. That was one of them.”
“How much trouble did you get into?”
He shrugged. “Could have been worse. It was a wake-up call, made me realize I need to make some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
“I shouldn’t have gone back to work so fast. I should have listened to you. All I can say is, I’m listening now.” He paused. “I’m taking a medical leave of absence. I’m ready to commit fully to counselling. I know I need it. I left a message for Nathaniel.” Now it was Chris who was looking for a reaction.
“Starting when?”
“Now.”
“I ... I don’t know what to say. I know how hard that must have been for you. But I think it’s the right decision.”
“Yeah,” he said wistfully. He walked into the kitchen, craving a rum and cola but settling on a glass of water. He moved into the living room and plopped himself onto his futon. Stephanie joined him. “By the way, Brandon was here.”
“I know. I ran into him on the way in.” They were silent for a moment before Chris continued.
“The other mistake I made was turning away from you when I needed you most. At the time, I couldn’t help but feel you were seeing me at my worst.
And that’s not the real me. That’s why I didn’t want to talk with you about it, because I didn’t want to weigh you down with my problems. But I realize now that I have to be more open with you. And I will. And I’m going to do everything I possibly can to get better and make us work.”
“I know the last three months have been hell for you, Chris. But that hasn’t changed the way I feel about you. And what’s that saying ‘for better or worse’?” she said with a smile.
“It will be for better, I make that promise to you. I’ve also been thinking about us living together.” The look she gave him combined eagerness and surprise. “I know the timing isn’t the best with everything that’s happened. But that’s also why it’s so important. I don’t ever want to lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chris drew her into his arms. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life. When my mind went to dark places, all I saw before was Ray, and I’d feel powerless and hopeless. But now when I’m low, I think of you and I feel hope. That’s what you are to me, Stephanie, you’re my hope. I love you.”
“I love you too, Chris,” she said, swiping at her wet eyes.
“I want us to start a new life together. I want to hold you tight, every night. And wake up with you by my side, every morning. I want us to get a new place. We’ll make it our place. Our home. You. Me. Our family.”
AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD
This story, although fictional, was inspired by my experiences working in a forensic psychiatric hospital for over twenty years. While my primary goal was to entertain, there were a few things on my mind as I was writing this story. One was the stigma towards “forensic” patients; another was the stress that caregivers often experience when providing care; and another was a general point on how mental health issues are perceived in comparison to physical health issues.
Over the course of working in a forensic psychiatric hospital I’ve witnessed friction between criminal justice and mental health; it plays out in the public debate in our communities on issues such as who is in need of mental health care and who is in need of incarceration. Unfortunately, when we approach these issues with a closed mind, the debate contributes to the stigmatization of individuals involved with forensic psychiatric services. I’ve also witnessed the effects of vicarious trauma that those in the helping professions (nursing, social work, psychology, psychiatry, etc.) may experience when they work with the victims of trauma.
