Story of a Sociopath

by Julia Navarro

  “What does it matter to you where I’m going? I don’t have to tell you. Look, we know each other, and you found me on the highway hitchhiking. I’m going to a friend’s house nearby. Does that explanation work for you?”

  “If you say so…”

  “Yes, I say so. I’m going to a girlfriend’s house. Doesn’t that seem innocent enough to you?”

  I hesitated a moment but told her to get in the car. Her choice. I’d leave her on the highway a mile up the road. Then I’d go. Let her make her own way back.

  —

  Aunt Emma gave me the news the next morning. Lisa Ferguson had been found dead in the bathroom with a syringe in her arm. They had taken her body away for the autopsy and the police were analyzing what was left in the syringe.

  I decided that, to dispel any suspicion, it would be best to say we had met by chance the previous evening.

  “I saw her yesterday and she seemed better to me,” I told Aunt Emma.

  “You saw her? Where? I thought you went to meet your father at the country club.”

  “And that’s what I did, but I saw her on the highway hitchhiking. She was going to a friend’s house and I took her a mile or so.”

  “You have to tell the Fergusons!” exclaimed Aunt Emma.

  “Okay, I will…But she seemed fine when I saw her. They wouldn’t have let her go out if she wasn’t.”

  “It seems she escaped out the window.”

  “But Miss Harris never let her out of her sight.”

  “You know what Lisa did? She drugged her glass of milk. The nurse fell asleep.”

  “I’ll go straight to their house. They’ll be devastated,” I said, without the slightest hint of emotion.

  “We’ll all go. Your father and mother will want to go too. Fix yourself up a bit and…Well, the police might want to ask you a few questions. Where you saw Lisa…Things like that.”

  I went with my whole family to the Fergusons’ house. My grandparents wanted to come with us too. It irritated me that my brother Jaime seemed upset.

  “What does Lisa even matter to you?” I snapped as I saw him stifle a sob.

  Mr. Ferguson told us that the funeral would be held in a couple of days.

  “We have to wait for the results of the autopsy.”

  “I saw her and she seemed so well…” I said, as if my seeing Lisa had been the most normal thing in the world.

  “You saw her? Where? What time? Why didn’t you tell us?” Mr. Ferguson had suddenly become alert and looked at me with distrust.

  “Well, I was driving to meet my father at the country club and I saw Lisa hitchhiking on the highway. She told me that she felt great, and that she was going to a friend’s house a mile or two down the road. So I took her that mile or so and dropped her off on the highway. She didn’t tell me but I imagine she was going to Mary Taylor’s house—she lives around there…”

  “You have to tell this to the police,” said Mr. Ferguson. “You could be one of the last people who saw her yesterday.”

  “Sure, I don’t mind, but…I was only with her a couple of minutes, and she seemed fine.”

  “Not…she wasn’t…I mean, she wasn’t on drugs?” Mr. Ferguson wanted to know.

  “She seemed normal to me.”

  “What time was this?” he insisted.

  “Around five…what time did I come for you at the country club?” I asked my father.

  “Yes, it would have been after five. After playing golf I had a drink for a while with Donna and Tom Willis,” my father recalled.

  Mr. Ferguson called the detective who was conducting the investigation, and he arrived almost immediately.

  The detective repeatedly questioned me about my brief meeting with Lisa. I imagine he was so insistent because he wanted me to add more details. But I stuck to what happened—with the exception of my conversation with Lisa.

  “We still don’t know where she went and who gave her the drugs. It seems you were the last person who saw her.”

  I cursed Lisa inwardly. I should never have let her into my car. I knew that I would end up being implicated, whatever happened.

  Not only my family, but also all the staff at Aunt Emma’s house had to give detailed accounts listing everything they knew I had done that day. They could confirm that I had gone out with Jaime and his friends to sail in the morning, and that I was lounging around at home from noon until my father called, asking me to come get him.

  The detective wanted to know where and through whom Lisa acquired the drugs. After making inquiries, not just in Newport but also through the police in New York, he had to accept that no person nor any episode in my life could link me to drugs.

  One week later, with Lisa now buried, the police detective insisted on speaking with me again.

  “Do you know a ‘Muscle Mike’?”

  “I’ve already explained that I did. He was the PR guy for a club I went to with Lisa sometimes, and I never liked him.”

  “Apparently Lisa dumped you for this Mike.”

  “Lisa and I were just friends. We never had a serious commitment. Sure, when we met Mike I stopped seeing Lisa—I didn’t like that guy.”

  “Did you know he was a dealer?”

  “You didn’t have to be a mind reader to figure that out. Plus, once Lisa started going out with Mike…Well, it was obvious that she wasn’t well.”

  “This Mike, did he come to see her in Newport?”

  “I don’t know. I only saw Lisa two times here. At her house and on the day I found her on the highway, and we didn’t talk about Mike.”

  “Did Lisa know anyone in Newport who could be connected with Muscle Mike?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say anything to me about that.”

  “You don’t seem very upset by your friend’s death.”

  “You want me to break down in tears? Lisa’s death has affected me just like everyone else, but I’m not the type of person to display my feelings. The way I feel is my business.”

  “You’re much too composed. Way too much, given your age.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t feel guilty about Lisa’s death and so didn’t give the cop the slightest glimpse of anything more than what I wanted to tell him. He was an old hand, and could tell that I knew more than I was letting on, but he also knew that I had nothing to do with Lisa’s death.

  “If you remember anything that could shed light on what happened that night, with Mike or with anyone connected to him…”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I’ve already told you everything that happened in the few minutes I saw her that evening.”

  “She shot pure shit into her veins. Whoever sold it to her knew what could happen to her.”

  I nodded. I agreed that Mike’s friend and Mike himself were scum.

  So many years later I wonder about that late afternoon when I met Lisa on the highway.

  Could I have prevented her death? That day, yes, but Lisa was doomed. If it hadn’t been that day it would have been the next. It was only a question of when she could escape from Miss Harris. It’s what she did. So I didn’t feel guilty about her end. Although things might still have played out differently:

  When I saw Lisa walking along the edge of the highway, I should have asked her to get in, knowing where she was going.

  “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  “Fuck off,” she would have answered.

  “Get in, Lisa, quit being so stubborn.”

  “I’ll get in if you promise to take me a little farther on. I’m going…Well, you know where I’m going. You could come with me.”

  “No. I’m not going anywhere they sell drugs.”

  “If you were that fussy you’d never be able to leave the house. They sell them everywhere. Even those fancy clubs we used to go to.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Don’t play Goody Two-Shoes with me. You know there are drugs everywhere. You only have to snap your fingers and they’ll bring them to your door.”

&n
bsp; “And you want to keep snapping your fingers, don’t you? You’re going to kill yourself, and what’s worse, you’re wasting away so much that you’re nothing but a wreck.”

  “Charming as always. Save your sincerity. I don’t need it. Don’t pretend to be the sensitive one—it doesn’t suit you.”

  Meanwhile I would be turning the car around to take her home. She would protest.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Turn around right now or I’ll throw myself out of the car.”

  “No, I won’t. And don’t bother trying to open the door because I’ve locked it.”

  Lisa would have thrown herself at me, not caring that we might crash.

  “You bastard! You have no right to kidnap me like this. Stop the car right now!”

  “No, I’m not stopping. I’m taking you home. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to help you kill yourself. Do it when I’m not around.”

  “Stop, you bastard!” Lisa, hysterical, would try to hit me or wrench the wheel from my grasp.

  “Keep still! You know that I’m not going to take you to Mike’s friend. Go some other time, and try not to run into me on the way.”

  Mrs. Ferguson would be shocked to open the door to find Lisa and me struggling.

  “My God! But…Lisa…”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Ferguson. Lisa is fine. She went out for a walk and I’ve brought her home.”

  “A walk? Miss Harris didn’t tell us that Lisa went out…Miss Harris, Miss Harris!” Lisa’s mother would call in vain for her daughter’s nurse.

  “Let me go! Who do you think you are? I’m sick of this shit. And don’t you go playing the hero. Don’t fuck with my life! Get out!”

  “Oh my God! Lisa, my girl, calm down. Thomas only wants to help you…Miss Harris!” The tone of Mrs. Ferguson’s voice would be hysterical, especially given the absence of Miss Harris.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Ferguson would appear in the hall, at first not understanding what was going on.

  “Good evening, sir. I’ve brought Lisa home.”

  “Lisa? But wasn’t she resting in her room? I didn’t know that she went out. Miss Harris…” Mr. Ferguson would look at Lisa and me in confusion.

  “I’m afraid that Miss Harris is indisposed,” I’d reply.

  “Indisposed? And why did no one say anything?…None of the maids have told us…Oh my God!” Mrs. Ferguson would resume wailing.

  “Shut up! Leave me alone! And let me go or you’ll see what happens!” Lisa would scream.

  But however hard she would try to pry my hand from her arm, she wouldn’t be able to. She was too weak, too emaciated, too sick.

  A maid would appear in the hall to inform the Fergusons that Miss Harris was unresponsive. Mrs. Ferguson would let out a wail, overwhelmed by the situation. She would run to Miss Harris’s room, followed by the maid. Meanwhile, Mr. Ferguson would hesitate, wondering if he should take charge of Lisa. He’d look at the two of us as if we were both strangers, but I’d sense that he feared how Lisa might react. Finally he’d decide to ask me to help him take his daughter to her room.

  Lisa would try to bite my arm. She’d do so with more anger than force. But I would have stayed firm and taken her to her room, followed by Mr. Ferguson. And at just that moment Mrs. Ferguson would reach Lisa’s room, crying and calling for a doctor.

  “She’s dead! She won’t talk, won’t move…My God, what are we going to do?”

  “Mrs. Ferguson, I don’t think Miss Harris is dead, I think…well, I think she’s been given some tranquilizers, a couple of pills that the doctor prescribed for Lisa,” I’d say.

  “But she’s not moving! She’s not breathing!” she would insist.

  “I’ll call a doctor. Please, Thomas, don’t go. You can see that we need you here. If you’d be so kind…”

  “You can count on me, Mr. Ferguson, but let me call my father. I was on my way to pick him up at the country club and I’m almost an hour late.”

  Mr. Ferguson would approach Lisa apprehensively and grab her arm, forcing her to sit on the bed. Lisa would turn against him and I’d have to intervene so she wouldn’t knock her father down.

  The maid would take charge of the situation and say that she would call the doctor.

  When Dr. Jones arrived Miss Harris would still not be showing any signs of life, and Lisa would be suffering convulsions due to her withdrawal symptoms.

  The doctor would confirm that Miss Harris was still alive, and it was just taking a long time for her to wake up from the sleep induced by the high dosage of Valium that Lisa had administered. As for Lisa herself, he’d recommend the most prudent course of action—committing her to a specialized detox center.

  “I’m afraid one nurse, even one as highly valued as Miss Harris, is not enough to control Lisa. There are some very good, very discreet clinics. I recommend that she be admitted as soon as possible. It would be the best for her and…also for yourselves.”

  The Fergusons would agree. It was the only option, and even that wouldn’t fully guarantee that Lisa would get better. She wouldn’t want to go, but they had to try.

  I would become the hero of Newport. The Fergusons would tell their closest friends about my feat. How I had found Lisa hitchhiking on the highway and returned her home in spite of her protests. God knows what misfortune she had avoided. All alone there on the road…but fortunately I had appeared and had taken charge of the situation. It was lucky that I was such a good friend to their daughter, always attentive and patient. Maybe someday…if Lisa recovered…who knows…We made such a good couple and were such close friends…

  My father would go on and on about how proud he was of me, and my mother would have to acknowledge that my intervention may have saved Lisa’s life. And my grandfather…well, my grandfather would have told anyone who would listen that his grandson was a true gentleman who had not hesitated to take care of that poor girl.

  —

  Yes, it could have been like that. But the truth was that not for one moment did any of that occur to me, nor did I have any intention of helping Lisa. I didn’t want to get mixed up in her sordid life, so I abandoned her on that road with full knowledge of what might happen.

  —

  The detective, reluctantly, had to accept that I hadn’t committed any crime. His old bloodhound’s nose told him I knew more than I was letting on, even though what I knew had nothing to do with Lisa’s death.

  “You know something? I think you’re afraid.”

  “Afraid? What would I be afraid of?” I asked.

  “Of whoever sold the drugs to Lisa. Of Muscle Mike, the PR guy at the club who was dating your friend. Of the dealers who work with him. You shouldn’t be afraid of them. We can protect you. The only thing I need is for you to tell me the truth about who Lisa was meeting that evening,” he insisted.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s all I can tell you.”

  We locked eyes. He knew he couldn’t force me to say another word. I suppose he gave up, because I never saw him again.

  We returned to New York, and while my parents resumed their routines I spent my time hanging around, until one day my father surprised me by inviting me to lunch at a restaurant near his office.

  I imagined that he was going to deliver some long sermon reminding me that the time had come for me to do something “useful,” as he kept saying to me.

  “I’ve been wanting to have a quiet word with you for some time,” he told me, smiling, while looking distractedly at the menu the maître d’ had handed us.

  I didn’t reply. Why should I? I knew what to expect from him.

  “If it suits you, I’ll order a couple of nice tenderloin steaks and a Caesar salad. And some wine, we’ll get a good bottle of wine.”

  I enjoyed watching how he put off the conversation he had been wanting to have with me. He didn’t start until they brought us our steaks.

  “So, Thomas, I’d like to know if you
’ve made a decision about what you want to do. Both your grandfather and I are prepared to talk to our friends. We can open some doors for you; then it will be up to you. Your grandfather is a friend of Martin Snowdon’s—he’s retired now, but his eldest grandson runs the Snowdon advertising agency. Martin owes your grandfather a couple of favors. Our office has always handled his family matters. So he’ll be happy to help. What do you think?”

  I paused a few moments before replying. Not because the proposal had taken me by surprise. I knew that both my father and my grandfather were well connected, and they’d use their networks on my behalf.

  In our world, these things happened every day.

  “I don’t want to stay in New York. My intention is to leave.”

  Now it was my father who remained silent. He hadn’t really taken the idea seriously.

  “Right. Well, it’s not that it seems like a bad idea, but…don’t you think it would be a waste of time? Here you could get a job, but in Europe…I don’t know, you might find it difficult to find something that’s worth the effort.”

  “Yes, you might be right, but the one thing I know for sure is that I want to leave behind what my life has been so far.”

  “You haven’t had it that bad,” my father reproached me. He seemed hurt.

  I shrugged. I couldn’t blame him for anything, he was right about that, but I think he never realized that I wasn’t happy, given what I had on paper: a family with enough financial means that I never had to worry about anything.

  “It would kill your mother if you left.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. He was a good man, too good, and therefore could not imagine that a mother and son could be irreconcilable enemies.

  “You think you don’t matter to her? You’re wrong. You are very important to her, much more important than the rest of the family.”

  “Come on, Dad! You know that Mom and I don’t get along. If I go she’ll feel free. You’ll see.”

  “You don’t know your mother. It’s just that the two of you both have strong personalities. You’ve always wanted to do your own thing, and your mother hasn’t allowed you to. That’s natural.”

  We talked for a long time, but he couldn’t convince me to stay.