Never Fear

by Heather Graham

  Everyone was yelling… screaming… I… got my… They were… yelling… I couldn’t find my… yelling…”

  Silence.

  “I got my bag and ran to the MRAP. My guys had gotten the injured soldiers out of the vehicle and I took over. I did triage and worked on the guys that were hurt the most first and I assigned other guys to help the couple of guys who were only shaken up bad. I applied a tourniquet to one guy whose leg was bleeding pretty bad. Then treated the other injuries: a dislocated shoulder, busted wrist, bruised ribs.

  “So I took care of them, did my job, you know. The helo got there, took ‘em out.

  “When we finally got back to the COP, we were all affected by what had happened, but I was good. Except that night, I must have eaten something bad at the mess hall, ‘cuz I was sick--sick ass a dog. Sick as one of those nasty flea-bitten strays that hung around camp and annoyed the fuck out of us until we had to shoot them. Nasty things always barking and howling, you know.

  “So anyway, I was sick for a couple of days, throwing up my guts. All I could do was lay in bed; I couldn’t eat anything. Even water came back up. The guys felt bad for me. Nobody else got sick, which was weird, but I was glad they didn’t. I dropped like five pounds, which I got back fast and got back into action as fast as I could.

  “The guys from the IED incident all healed fine and got reassigned.

  “My guys all said I probably saved Albano with the tourniquet I put on him. They said I definitely earned my CMB--Combat Medic Badge. I never did get it though--some messed up paperwork or something. Didn’t matter though. I was just happy I could help them. Just doin’ my job. I don’t need badges or medals.

  “That was my last supply run. The guys didn’t want to risk me being in a blown-up vehicle. I understood. That was cool.

  “But then right after that incident, the powers-that-be decided to cancel our sniper team op. No real reason. I mean, we were all ready to go. I was shooting every day. I’d gotten real good. Maybe not as good as the others, but pretty damn close. I gotta be honest here; I was real down. I wanted to do something important… Not that what we were all doing wasn’t important, but you know, a sniper team… yeah, well, that’s how it goes sometimes. I did have my guys to take care of.

  “And they all loved me. Well, almost all of them. There was this one other medic, Nelson... I never did anything to him. I liked the guy. Really. But he had it in for me. I think he might have been jealous, me being on the sniper team and all. He would say shit about me to the other guys all the time. How I didn’t know my shit and I didn’t want to get my hands dirty. He told the guys I was gay and I only got on the sniper team ‘cuz I was blowing them. That’s all I was good for. And if one of the team did get injured, they’d probably die, because I’d be hiding out behind some rocks somewhere. When I heard that--that he called me a coward--I snapped.

  “That was it. That prick could call me a loser or say I was gay; I didn’t care. But that fuck calling me a coward… ME! That was it. I mean after everything I’d done, all my training… I know my guys didn’t believe it for a second. I mean, who would? Right? Damn straight!

  “But I had to do something about it.

  “I wasn’t afraid of him. He was a pretty big guy, six-two, 220-225. In the gym a lot. He always worked out when I wasn’t there; or he’d leave if I showed up. I think he was afraid of me. He talked behind my back, but was afraid of confronting me. So this one day, not long after the IED mess, I’m in the gym trying to put my mass back on after being sick. I’m on my last set, and in walks Nelson with two other guys: Richter and Price--both kind of douches too. They followed him around like puppy dogs. I finished my last set and I’m sittin’ on the bench drinking my post-workout drink. The three of them walk over and surround me, like they were trying to intimidate me or something. Then Nelson says, ’I hear you fucked up on the supply run and you’re tryin’ to tell everybody what a hero you are.’

  “I didn’t say anything at first. I mean, what a joke. I had witnesses.

  “Then he says, ’I hear they cancelled the sniper team ‘cuz you’re such a fuck-up. Can’t put on a simple tourniquet? Yeah, Mobley told me he had to do it. And then Slater the other time; you couldn’t even do a goddamn stick without breaking--what was it?--five, six needles?’

  “I saved them, I told them.

  “‘Bullshit!’ he yelled at me, and knocked my drink out of my hand and shoved me on the bench.

  “I kinda saw red, I think. There was a dumbbell next to me on the bench and I picked it up and kinda swung it to get him out of the way. He backed up… and he must have tripped ‘cuz he fell back and hit his head on the quad machine.

  “Richter grabbed me and tried to hold me down and then Price tried to take a swing at me. But I got away from them. They came at me but I was ready for them. All my training came into play and when they started throwing punches I--”

  “Mr. Banner--” said an older man sitting directly in front of him.

  “It’s Sergeant Banner, sir. And I’ll take questions after.”

  “No, Mr. Banner, we’ve heard enough.”

  “I’m not done--”

  “Yes, you are. Now please, let us talk. Otherwise, the attendants will be forced to take you back to your room.” The man removed his glasses and looked at Banner. “Do you understand, Mister Banner?”

  Banner nodded meekly and squirmed a little in the straitjacket confining him.

  The man confronting Banner spoke to the three other gentlemen seated at the long table. “Dr. Kent, Dr. Geetay, you have heard from Mr. Banner over these past months of his residence here at the hospital, but Dr. Hunter, this is all new to you and we felt it best if you had no foreknowledge of the patient’s case in hopes that you could shed, perhaps, a new light on the situation. Banner has not improved--if anything he has gotten worse and regressed into his own world. If you choose to accept his case, we will, of course, provide you with all of his records, documentation, therapy sessions etc. Now, I know this protocol is a bit unusual and we thank you for indulging us, but we are at our proverbial wit’s end with Banner. If you would, indulge us a little further, and please, give us your initial assessment.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Scolini, I will be happy to and I would like to thank you all for entertaining my idea to join your staff. I hope I can prove my worthiness. With that being said…” He cleared his throat. “From a purely analytical standpoint, I would say this man suffers from delusions of grandeur--I’ve always enjoyed that term--and it is certainly apt here.” He smiled before continuing. “In addition, he has acute paranoia and a severe case of phobophobia, the fear of being afraid. For example, this phobia, as many other phobias demonstrate, manifests itself in sweating, nervous energy, tics, nausea, tendencies to overcompensate. Here, Banner’s excessive need for firepower--three or four weapons at all times. His fanaticism with marksmanship is obviously for self-preservation, and the false sense of feeling that having those said weapons on him will make others fear him, so that he, in turn, won’t be afraid. This phobia drives every action he makes, I’m going to assume, throughout his life. I would need to see his history to learn of the emergence of the phobia, the catalyst, and for how long it has existed.

  “To continue, his joining the National Guard, so as not to be deployed but still maintaining the outward appearance of being a “hero” and defending his country. Being in the military is as insular a vocation as he can get. It is a group of its own--an exclusive society. A brotherhood. It gives a sense of belonging to something. And it is a society that protects its own. Vastly important to someone with this fear. It gives him more control, only having to deal with other military personnel. Becoming a medic--an admirable and heroic duty, saving others’ lives. Yet a medic is a revered position and one that is more apt to be protected by others. And is most unlikely to see combat, made more so by always needing to be at the ready, but if he does see combat, he knows he will be protected more so than anyone else.

  �
�The superficiality of the extensive workouts to, ostensibly, make him stronger for ‘his soldiers’ is, in and of itself, another intimidation tactic in order to ensure that no one will, as he puts it, ‘mess with him.’

  “When one has a phobia this severe, the victim of it will go to any lengths--any lengths--to avoid confronting it. The perfect example of this being Banner’s reaction after the second incidence of the IED explosion. Not only did he crumble under the pressure, he subsequently was ill afterwards, supposedly from food poisoning, but I’m certain it was from the realization that it could have been his own vehicle which was blown up.

  “I am certain I have merely brushed the surface here. This man is deeply disturbed. Dr. Scolini, gentlemen, I have dealt with many cases--”

  “Dr. Hunter, that is the express reason for asking you to meet with us. Almost to a word, Banner’s story is pure fabrication. And we believe that after the months we, and several other doctors, have been working on this case, that perhaps as a doctor with your credentials and experience dealing with phobia cases, you might be our last resort to helping Banner come back to some degree of normalcy. I’m sure you are not aware of this, but the altercation between Banner and Sgt. Nelson was not an accident--”

  “Yes it was! It was!” Banner screamed and threw himself from the chair, sending the small table in front of him flying as he hit the floor. The larger of the two attendants held Banner on the ground, while the other attendant pulled out a syringe from his coat pocket and injected it into Banner’s neck.

  Banner struggled for a few moments, while the drug took effect.

  Banner stopped moving. The attendants released him and stood to either side of him.

  “We knew at some point he would snap, which is why we let him remain,” Scolini said. “We wished you to see this and know exactly his potential for violent behavior. Banner will be out for a few minutes now, allowing us time to discuss his case.”

  “Exactly how did Sgt. Nelson die?” Hunter said.

  Dr Geetay spoke, his Indian accent surprisingly pronounced. “If I may…”

  “Of course, Doctor,” Scolini said.

  “Mr. Banner was indeed finishing up his workout; the other two soldiers there gave corroborating testimonies to this. It seems that Sgt. Nelson was impugning Banner’s capabilities as a medic and as a man. Banner’s phobia came to the fore. He was surrounded by three soldiers and being confronted. It proved to be too much for him. I am thinking it was similar, but on a more pronounced scale, to what you just witnessed. Banner swung the dumbbell and hit Sgt. Nelson in the temple. He then proceeded to pounce on Sgt. Nelson and bash his skull in with the dumbbell before the other two soldiers could even move. They said they were both so dumbstruck and that it happened so fast; I believe Private Richter said that Banner was like the ‘Tasmanian Devil’ from cartoon lore, a blinding whirlwind of action, and they did not have time to react before it was too late. When they did finally try to stop Banner, he turned and tried to attack both men. On interviewing the two soldiers, I got the impression that both men were very frightened of Mr. Banner’s crazed actions and were hesitant to react initially.

  “We do not expect a miracle here and we understand what we are asking, and your undoubted reticence to take on this precarious case, But to be honest, Doctor, we are receiving pressure about several cases at the hospital--this being one of our most difficult--that show no progress. If you cannot help, there is a great probability of Mr. Banner being institutionalized permanently.”

  Hunter sat in silence for a few moments. “I have a couple of more questions.”

  “Of course, please,” Dr. Scolini said.

  “His family,” Hunter began, “Have they been forthcoming with any information?”

  Dr. Kent, a short balding man in his fifties, raised his hand and spoke. “Banner’s father passed away while he was in Afghanistan. His mother is hesitant to speak of her son’s childhood, other than to say that Banner was a quiet child with no friends. He read a lot and kept to himself. He left home at seventeen and joined the Marines; she having no problem signing off on his being underage. They had little contact, no visits. She has not been to see him here and from my inference from our conversations, she seems to be relieved that he is here--locked away so to speak. She knows more than she is willing to tell, and I fear she will never tell.”

  “That sounds ominous,” Hunter interjected.

  “Indeed. From what we have gleaned from his school records,” Dr. Kent continued, “he was an average student, showing some aptitude in mathematics and computers, but nothing exceptional. His father dabbled in the computer area before he became ill. There may be some link there, but with his father being deceased, it is another dead end. Sociopathism is Doctor Geetay’s and my conclusion, and combined with his phobophobia, Banner becomes an enigma. A dangerous one.”

  “And your conclusion, Dr. Scolini?” Hunter asked.

  “I was not going share my experience with Banner, but I feel you need to know the complete story,” Scolini said, massaging his square jaw before continuing, deciding what to say. “I was the first doctor to deal with Banner and it was not a pleasant experience, which was my reason for bringing in these gentlemen. Banner displayed an extreme dislike for me from the beginning, including violent vocal outbursts and several physical attempts as well, whereby he needed to be put in restraints on more than one occasion. I discovered the source of his anger against me to be his equating me with his father, something about my appearance or voice, I suspect. At the last session I had with him, a particularly violent one, he raged about being held here against his will and how he was a hero, and should be honored not imprisoned. During his rant, he called me by his father’s name several times, threatened me with bodily harm… and he threatened to kill me. I realized at that point further sessions with me would prove fruitless and likely injurious to his possible rehabilitation.”

  “So there is a definite paternal issue,” Hunter said.

  “That was my conclusion,” Scolini said. “As to the conclusions of our two doctors here, I concur. We are hoping that your expertise in dealing with phobias can shed some light and ultimately give us a useful course of action.”

  “Doctors, this is an unusual situation, granted. I have seen milder cases of phobophobia in my experience and have helped patients to deal with it. Banner’s is by far the most extreme, especially with the resultant murder of Sgt. Nelson. This heinous and evil act is, in itself, reprehensible. Banner will never be brought to justice for this: insanity or post-traumatic stress syndrome will be cited, I’m sure. As a case study, it is fascinating, and perhaps it will give us some insight into the workings of the phobic mind so as to prevent something as tragic as this from happening in the future; for there are definite warning signs with any phobia.

  “Unfortunately, with this particular phobia, the victim of it is reluctant to acknowledge it as it plays right into his phobia, by making him appear there is something wrong with him, making him feel weak and propagating the fear: a catch-22.

  “With past cases, I have found the best way to approach it is through a back door technique which never addresses the phobia overtly, but instead, addresses the symptoms and possible ways to avoid their manifestations. As soon as the phobophobic person feels these symptoms coming on, they trigger other symptoms, and tragically, as with Banner, the symptoms compound, until sedation or force is required. I have encountered one or two cases where the victim has caused bodily harm to himself but never to the extreme we are dealing with here.

  “I know you are dealing with pressures from higher up but this particular case may require quite a bit of time to see any results, as you doctors have witnessed. I would be willing to put together a possible treatment plan for Banner that you could present to the hospital board. Ultimately, we are dealing with the human mind, and I can’t promise a satisfying outcome, but if I am given the time... I am willing to try.”

  Dr. Scolini nodded and said, “Thank you, Dr. Hunte
r. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that your consideration and willingness to help is most appreciated. If you would put together your proposal, we will figure out a way to convince the board of its validity and urgent need. Once again, we thank you.”

  Kent and Geetay nodded their assents.

  Scolini said, “I see our patient is beginning to stir, gentlemen--”

  “If I may, Doctors,” Hunter interrupted, “I would like a few moments alone with the patient. I would like to observe his actions after this violent outburst. Having you all in here will cause him undue stress and anxiety, and, as I am unfamiliar to him, I will not pose as great a threat--something we wish to avoid. I assure you, I will be safe. You may leave the attendants outside the door.”

  Scolini looked at the other doctors. Both nodded. “The attendants will remain outside the door; call them if you require assistance and they will escort Banner back to his room when you are finished. We will leave a syringe of Haldol with you should you feel the need to sedate him again.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  The men shook hands, and with the attendants left the room.

  Banner was stirring and mumbling.

  Hunter approached him and knelt down. “Can you hear me, Mr. Banner?”

  Banner raised his head and nodded. Haldol was a powerful drug.

  “Good. I have something to show you and if you start to scream, I will immediately inject you again and have you removed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” It was barely above a whisper.

  Hunter reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small photo. He shoved it in Banner’s face. “This was my nephew, my sister’s pride and joy, the love of her life… and mine as well. She lost her husband right after her son was born. He was all she had, and between the two of us we raised him. He became a strong, intelligent, fine man. A man to be proud of. And you… you with your pathetic phobia. Your weakness, your lying… You are disgusting. A worm of a human being: selfish, arrogant, despicable. And yes, most decidedly, yes… a Coward!”