Mind Over Mind

by Karina L. Fabian

  With all the internal dialogue, he lost track of the final comments and found himself blinking in surprise as people shut their organizers and started getting up.

  “You ready?” Dr. Hoffman smiled. “You’ll be joining me in group this morning.”

  Joshua stifled a groan. He hated group therapies in institutions. Let’s toss a bunch of strangers together and see if they can solve each other’s problems without infecting each other with their own psychoses. Well, at least he’d learn more about the patients, and Dr. Hoffman.

  I am feeling hostile. What’s the matter? Too much caffeine? “OK if I hit the john first?” he asked as he stood and picked up his coffee cup. Only ice-cold dregs left.

  “Sure.” Hoffman jerked his chin toward a mahogany door at the far end of the room.

  Joshua ducked into the bathroom and took a quick look around. Swanky. Private. Soundproof.

  Joshua hissed and paced, walking off his anger. “Sanctimonious, self-serving, pompous—! Where does he get off? I did good work, made a real connection, and he has the nerve to call it ‘tricks’?!” When he found his thoughts circling, he stopped and took a long cleansing breath, then faced the mirror, and reality. “You’re an intern. You’re here to learn what you can. Put it behind you.”

  Nonetheless, he took a childish pleasure in imagining Malachai’s smug face in the toilet bowl as he emptied his bladder.

  *

  Hoffman had been a therapist before getting his psychiatric degree, and he loved group therapy sessions enough to keep leading them even though they no longer fit his job description. Patients were given their choice of session times, so the resultant groups had little in common except an affinity for 9:30 or 10:30 meetings.

  Carter Doleson preferred the second session. He sat in the cushioned but not particularly comfortable chair, arms crossed, with his expression even more cross as his eyes roved from the six people in the semi-circle to Dr. Hoffman and Joshua, to the walls, windows and ceiling. The more Mr. Starke talked about the pressures he’d felt working on Wall Street, the more agitated Doleson got—not that Joshua blamed him. Personally, he was feeling more sorry for the stock broker’s clients. Joshua tried to follow Doleman’s gaze, but it never focused on anything in particular but seemed to be searching instead.

  “So, I’d have something when I got home—to relax, you know. But then I needed something in the morning to give me back that edge. It just became a cycle—”

  “Will you shut up?” Doleson snarled. “They are listening!”

  Five other clients groaned and shifted in their seats, and Starke exploded, “Dr. Hoffman, do we have to put up with this every week?”

  “Carter,” Dr. Hoffman chided, his voice calm, but his body language showing signs of barely contained annoyance. “You may wait your turn—”

  “What turn?” a young woman in pajama bottoms and a sequined tank-top asked. Joshua tried not to look at her too often because when he did, she’d smile at him in a way he would have enjoyed under different circumstances. “He never talks. He just comes to tell us to shut up.”

  “Because they’re listening. Why can’t I make you people understand that? They are listening and you people go on with your trivial weaknesses and your—”

  “It’s not your turn,” Hoffman repeated. “You may share your thoughts then.”

  “They can’t hear my thoughts, thank God! But they are listening—”

  “Why don’t you shut up, then?” the girl growled.

  “Roe, that’s not very helpful…”

  “None of this is helpful—except maybe to them!” Doleson responded and kept talking over the renewed protests.

  Joshua cleared his throat and cast a “may I” glance at the psychiatrist, who shrugged indulgently.

  “Why are they listening?”

  Carter stopped mid-tirade. “What?”

  “Why are they listening? What do they want?”

  He looked at Joshua as if the intern were crazy. “They’re studying us.”

  “Why? What are they going to do with this knowledge?” Joshua leaned forward. “C’mon. This is important information. Share it with us.”

  Carter leaned forward, too. He shrugged, yet his eyes had lost some of their nervous jitteriness. “They…they just want to learn about us. It’s their job, to learn. We’re their experiments, their subject of interest.”

  Joshua nodded. “So what happens when they think they’ve learned everything they can about us? What then?”

  Carter’s eyes grew wide, and he actually trembled as he spoke. “They’ll kill us. All of us. The study ends. The experiment is over. The subjects disposed of.”

  Roe made a rude noise, but Joshua ignored her, and with his focus on Joshua, so did Carter.

  For a moment, Joshua reflected the client’s fear, then turned thoughtful. “So the key to our survival, then, is to keep them interested? Make them think there’s always something more to learn about us?”

  Carter opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He leaned back into his chair, his eyes up and to the right, lost in thought.

  The rest of the session went pretty smoothly.

  “Carter has never taken to anyone like that before. You’ve got a gift for reaching people,” Dr. Hoffman said afterwards, on the walk back to his office.

  Joshua smiled his thanks. Yeah, I got tricks, Malachai. “Sir, could I join you in Carter’s private sessions? We planted a seed today and I’d like to help it grow.”

  “I like that idea. We might make a good team, eh?”

  “Think fast!” a voice called as a brown object hurtled toward them. Dr. Hoffman ducked, but Joshua, who had just spent the last year living in the dorms across the hall from a quarterback-wannabe, instinctively caught the football before it hit the wall.

  Ydrel whistled, leaning against the open doorway of his room. “I’m impressed.”

  Dr. Hoffman unfolded himself with as much dignity as possible and turned sternly. “Deryl, you know better than to throw that thing inside the building.”

  Ydrel did his best to look chagrined. “I’m sorry, sir. So...can Joshua and I go out to play?” He looked at the psychiatrist pleadingly through his long lashes.

  The older man’s expression softened and he glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s almost lunchtime, anyway. Just get me your notes by morning, Joshua, and remember to be in Dr. Weaver’s office by 1:30 this afternoon. And don’t forget what Dr. Malachai said at the staff meeting.”

  “Yes, sir!” Ydrel answered for him. “Yippee. You’re the best!” He grabbed Joshua’s sleeve and dragged him toward an exit that led to an inner courtyard.

  Joshua pulled his arm free once they were outside and handed the ball back. “‘Yippee. You’re the best’? I thought I was going to be sick watching you.”

  “It worked, didn’t it? Hoffman thinks he’s some kind of indulgent uncle to me or something. Where’d you learn to catch a ball like that, anyway?”

  “What? You think that’s a new trick? Live in the dorms a year and you get used to it. Whoa! It’s HOT out here!” Joshua stripped off his jacket and laid it and his tie carefully on a chair before following Ydrel out to the open grass.

  “What? Doesn’t it get hot in Colorado?”

  “It’s a drier heat. Besides, you’re not dressed in a professional monkey suit.” Ydrel had on an oversized jersey and long loose shorts, and looked enviably comfortable.

  “It’s just for a few minutes. We need to talk.” He tossed Joshua the ball and backed up.

  “Why can’t we talk inside under the air conditioning?”

  “Because they’re monitoring us.”

  What is this? Theme du jour? “Well, let them monitor this.” He tossed the ball as hard as he could, so that Ydrel had to jump for it—and even then, it slipped through his fingers. He landed, stumbling, then retrieved the ball.

  He moved closer and gave Joshua a dirty look before throwing the ball. “I’m not talking about Carter’s fantasies. I mean that
Malachai has turned on the surveillance equipment in my room. We can’t talk there anymore. And if you’re going to be so cranky, I’d suggest you lay off the double lattes.”

  “How’d you—?”

  Ydrel just rolled his eyes. “Malachai is not going to let you really help me get out of here. He’s going to keep you—and me—under observation to make sure you get back safe to ‘dry heat’ Colorado and I stay trapped here.”

  “And there’s surveillance equipment in your room?” Joshua couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.

  “Don’t believe me. Ask Sachiko. It’ll give you an excuse to talk to her. Alone, even.”

  “Speaking of,” Joshua again tossed the ball, this time an easy throw that kept them within conversation distance. “Dr. Malachai showed us your sketches. I take it you talked to the Miscria last night. By the way, what’s TASMAE mean?”

  “That’s her name. The Miscria is like a job title or something.” Ydrel caught the ball and tossed it back. “Yeah, we talked. That’s why Malachai is so mad at you. You managed to do in one hour what he couldn’t accomplish in five years.”

  “Really? So she’s going to leave you alone from now on?”

  Ydrel caught Joshua’s return, then held the ball between both hands, studying the laces. “She, well, she promised to knock first.”

  “Knock.”

  “Yeah, so to speak. Sort of a psionic check to see if I’m asleep or busy or whatever. It was kind of funny, actually. All this time, she’s thought I was some kind of cross between angel and supercomputer. She was awfully surprised to discover I’m flesh and blood like her.”

  “‘Flesh and blood,’ huh? So, what else did you do?” Joshua asked with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

  Now it was Ydrel’s turn to scowl and throw the ball hard—at Joshua’s stomach. “Things don’t work that way for me, so just put it out of your analysis. Got it?”

  “Hey, easy! Now who’s uptight?”

  “Why is it psychiatrists always think there’s a sexual motivation to everything?”

  “Oh, and you didn’t make a similar if less pointed suggestion to me a few minutes ago? Besides, if your sketch is accurate, she’s kind of attractive, if you like muscle-bound Xena types.”

  “You mean xeno, like xenophile.”

  “I mean Xena, like Xena, Warrior Princess.” He paused to study Ydrel’s blank expression before throwing the ball. “You don’t know Xena?”

  Ydrel caught the ball. “No.” Toss.

  Catch. “You don’t know about Star Trek?” Toss.

  Catch. “No.” Toss.

  Catch. “Piers Anthony? Harry Potter? Sherlock Holmes? Really, you’ve got a library here. Don’t you ever cruise the fiction section?” Toss.

  Catch. “Why?” Toss.

  Catch. He stopped to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “Brother, we’ve got to broaden your education. Listen, you may be cool, but I’m not dressed for this. Can we get back in under the A/C?” Catching Ydrel’s disappointed look, he added, “I’ll bring some shorts, and next time we can even schedule it in. I think Edith would approve. And we’ll find a way to talk away from prying ears.”

  “Yeah, OK.”

  “Cool.” Joshua tossed the ball sideways to him. Ydrel winced as he caught it. “You all right?”

  “Uh, yeah. I must have slept wrong or something. Let’s go.”

  They headed back to where his jacket and tie waited, with Ydrel walking so slowly that Joshua had to concentrate on holding back his pace. The young patient seemed to be gathering his nerve to say something, so Joshua let the silence build until Ydrel had to break it.

  “I. I— Look, I don’t know what you did yesterday, but you’re the first person who’s really helped me in a long time and I, well, I want you to do it again.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” He slid the tie back on, but decided to wait on the jacket until they were inside and the fabric had a chance to cool off some, too.

  “It’s not that easy. Malachai’s watching us now. You’re a threat to his pet project. He’s a dangerous man, and there’s not a person in this facility who’ll stand up against him.”

  Yeah, I noticed that. “Tell you what. Let me think on it.” Then he shrugged in the same manner he had when he’d built Ydrel’s confidence the night before. “We’ll find a way to work it out.”

  The anchor was still in place. Ydrel relaxed into a smile, which he kept even after they were back inside the building and among the surveillance and scrutiny.

  “OK. Hey, can you bring a Frisbee? They don’t have one here, and since you’re so good at it, you can teach me.”

  “How did you know?”

  Ydrel rolled his eyes, and Joshua mimicked the gesture and laughed.

  CHAPTER 7

  Joshua peered into the nurse’s lounge and smiled. Sachiko was eating dinner and studying. Alone.

  Earlier in her shift, he’d spent about half an hour with her and Monique, learning about their routine: shift change procedures, when and how they made their rounds, how they handled emergencies, what they did for dinner breaks. He’d asked Rita Sanchez similar questions about the housekeeping staff and planned to get to know the orderlies tomorrow or the next day. His father had impressed upon him the importance of meeting the support staff and learning how they worked. Today, though, he had to admit to an ulterior motive.

  “Mind if I interrupt?”

  He took her preoccupied flick of the head as assent and sat down across from her with his tray. It was already 6:30 and the smells from the cafeteria had enticed him to try the “institutional” food. Besides, it gave him a good excuse to join Sachiko.

  Sachiko was reading a medical text, occasionally pausing to close her eyes and repeat something silently, committing it to memory. While he waited, Joshua bit into his venison stew and bit back a hum of appreciation. The staff could get their meals from the same cafeteria as the patients and, as with everything else, the patients were paying for the best.

  Sachiko came to the end of a section and used a napkin to mark her place, putting the book aside. “What are you still doing here?”

  “Writing up notes for Dr. Hoffman, studying up on a few cases.”

  “You a workaholic?”

  Yes. “No, just new in town and enthusiastic about the job. Besides,” he paused to pick at his food, “I have some kind of stupid questions…“

  “And you don’t want to look foolish to your mentors?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “But a nurse is OK?” Her wry grin took some of the venom from her words.

  “Actually,” Joshua grinned back, “I figured after last night, nothing I could say could make me look more foolish to you.”

  Her grin softened to a genuine smile and he felt his heart skip. “I like your honesty,” she said quietly.

  He was finding it very hard to look into her eyes and still breathe. He turned his gaze to her book instead. “What’re you studying?”

  She sighed. “Procedures in the Reproductive System.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You know—cancer screenings, Paps…” She smiled wickedly. “Vasectomies.”

  He gave the expected wince. “So is this continuing ed, or are you working on a medical degree?”

  Her smile disappeared. “An MD, but only if I pass this time. I’ve taken this stupid course three times already. If I fail again, I’ll have to drop the program.”

  Now Joshua’s wince was genuine. “Listen, if you want some help studying, I know a lot of memory tricks…”

  “Thanks. This is summer session. I’m hoping the change of professor and the faster pace will help.” She picked at her salad a moment, then said, “So, what are your questions?”

  “Ydrel made this comment today about Dr. Malachai having turned on some surveillance equipment in his room—”

  “Oh? There’s nothing in the logs about it.”

  “Really, I know it sounds paranoid, but he—what?”

  “
I said if he has, he hasn’t informed the nurses’ station.”

  “You mean it’s true? The rooms are bugged?”

  She glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “I take it that wasn’t in your orientation?”

  “I didn’t think it was even legal!”

  She shrugged. “Every client signs a release giving us permission to monitor them 24 hours a day if we have reason to believe they may be a danger to themselves or to others. Surveillance equipment in the rooms is more efficient than a 24-hour bodyguard, don’t you agree?”

  “But even in minimum care? I mean, these aren’t criminals.” He knew he was scowling and tried to force his face into a more neutral expression.

  “You met Dr. Weaver today. Notice the ugly scar over her eye? Years ago—before my time, before we had the system—a client came in for alcohol treatment. His wife warned the staff that he sometimes turned violent; nonetheless, he responded well to detox and treatments, so they put him in minimal care. Figured the violence was directly related to the alcohol, I suppose.

  “Dr. Weaver went to check on him one day when he didn’t show up for a session. He ambushed her in his room. Beat her with a lamp. She still gets dizzy spells from that head wound, I understand. Apparently, there had been clues about his abusiveness, but not enough to warrant transfer to medium care. If they’d had the equipment, though, we would have heeded his wife’s warning and he’d have been monitored—and Dr. Weaver would have been spared a great deal of pain.”

  Joshua didn’t say anything for a long time, and the two ate in silence. Finally, he spoke. “OK, but what did Ydrel do to mark himself as dangerous all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know. As I said, the nurses on duty are usually informed when the surveillance equipment is turned on.”

  Joshua noted that she didn’t suggest Ydrel might be lying or imagining things. “So why else would he bug Ydrel’s room?”

  She looked up in annoyance. “Maybe he found out about Ydrel’s birthday present, or maybe it’s because of what you did. I understand you got quite a dressing-down this morning in the staff meeting.”

  Joshua snorted. “What I ‘did’ was teach Ydrel to cope with a situation Dr. Malachai has spent the last five years unsuccessfully trying to repress. What I ‘did’ was sound psychiatry, and he took it as a challenge to his power base. Called it ‘tricks’ because I didn’t mother-may-I.” He stabbed at his meal viciously. “Who does he think he is, anyway?”