“Have I given any indication that I—” Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. He turned to Malachai with a sardonic smile. “Caught my little speech to Ydrel, did you?”
The psychiatrist looked away as if embarrassed. “I overheard some of it while passing in the hallway,” he said.
So that’s what you look like when you lie. Joshua filed the look on Malachai’s face into his memory. He’d been very careful to keep an eye on the door while he was talking to Ydrel. The only way anyone could have heard the conversation unseen was to have snuck up and listened from the wall beside the doorway. Even then, he knew he had not spoken loud enough to be heard in the hallway. A sensitive microphone might have picked it up, however, which would also explain why Dr. Malachai waited until Monday to bring this up instead of hauling him in immediately afterward. Aloud, he said, “I’m sorry you had to hear that, sir. Mother’s Speech Number Three is really only meant for its immediate recipient.”
“Mother’s Speech what?” Edith laughed.
Joshua turned toward her with a smile; in his peripheral vision, he could see Malachai trying to cover his own confusion. Clearly, Joshua’s answer had caught him flat-footed. Joshua’s smile broadened and he hoped they would think it had to do with his explanation. “You know how your mom always had the same themes she used on you over and over when she was mad? Well, when I was thirteen, I numbered them. Mother’s Speech Number Three was, basically, ‘I’m doing all this extra work because I love you, but if you really don’t care, fine, throw your life away and I’ll find something more productive to do with mine.’ She used it a lot when I was surly and didn’t want to do my assignments, so when Ydrel turned that attitude on me...” He shrugged expressively.
Edith was torn between shock and amusement. “You used guilt?”
“It worked a lot better on him than it ever did on me.”
“And this is your idea of sound psychology?” Dr. Malachai cut in disapprovingly.
Joshua answered, his voice completely deadpan. “I was told not to practice psychology without a chaperone, sir.”
“I see. Well, that clears things up, and I’m relieved to know things are indeed well between you and young Ydrel. If there’s nothing else.” Dr. Malachai pushed himself off his desk.
“Actually, sir, there is something. I happened to meet Mr. McDougal, who’s in the room next to Ydrel’s. He’s bi-polar, I understand?”
“Yes. We moved him to the basic care ward over the weekend.”
Here goes. In for a penny. “Sir, he’s not taking his medication. He was pinging—agitated, having a tremulous hold on his emotions—so I asked him how his medication was helping and he lied about taking it. Frankly, I doubt he’s been taking it for a while.”
“Indeed. And this is your conclusions based on, perhaps, two minutes’ evaluation?” Although his voice and expression were neutral as always, there was a spark of menace in the senior psychiatrist’s eyes.
Joshua refused to be intimidated. “I am very good at spotting liars, sir.”
“Be that as it may, Joshua, Mr. McDougal has been my client for several months. I believe I am a bit better qualified to judge his state of mind. However,” he added magnanimously, “I shall take your comments under consideration when I see him this afternoon. That will be all, Joshua; I believe Dr. Hoffman expects you. He seems quite impressed with your peculiar talents. Edith, if you’d remain a moment.”
Dismissed, Joshua left alone and headed down the hall. When he came to the junction, instead of heading toward the common rooms, he started up the patients’ hall.
“Hey. Where are you going?” Sachiko intercepted him as he passed the nurses’ station. “Dr. Hoffman was asking after you. I told him you were with Dr. Malachai and—oh, oh. What happened?”
“There’s a manic-depressive in the room next to Ydrel’s.”
She sighed. “I know. I don’t like it, either, but as long as he’s on medication—”
“He isn’t.” Joshua started again down the hall. She slipped around the desk to follow.
“What do you mean he isn’t? How do you know—”
A howl of rage and the crash of furniture interrupted her question and together, they dashed to the source of the sound.
“Meddling little prick! Dare tell me what to do! I’ll teach you!”
They found McDougal in his room, shouting obscenities and swinging a chair at a figure lying curled in the fetal position on the floor. Ydrel. Joshua dashed in to grab at the chair before McDougal could land another blow on the boy’s back; McDougal swung backward and it hit Joshua across the side of the head. He saw stars, but somehow managed to grip the chair and wrench it free. Sachiko flew in after, and in a few deft moves, had the raving client on the floor, his arm twisted and her knee positioned so that any move would cause great pain. It didn’t stop him from doing his best to dislodge her or from his mad ranting. “Get off me, yellow bitch! Interfering nigger! You have no right to tell me what to do! I’ll be fine once I remove this poison from my sight! Let me go!” He surged upward, nearly succeeding in throwing her off. He howled with pain and fury.
“Josh! Get Monique—tell her I need—!” McDougal twisted furiously, trying to get out from her grip. What she needed was drowned out in his roaring profanities.
Not that it mattered. “I’m not leaving you alone!” Josh replied. He didn’t add that he was still dizzy and didn’t think he could get up anytime soon. He settled for throwing himself on McDougal’s legs.
“I’m here!” Monique shoved past Joshua, a syringe in her hand. Joshua did his best to immobilize the wild client’s legs. He kicked sharply, catching him under the jaw, but he held on, trying to use his weight to pin him down. He could hear, almost from a distance, McDougal’s yells and Sachiko’s harried directions.
McDougal’s screech told Joshua the meds found the right recipient’s arm, but he continued to lean until a couple of orderlies bearing restraints took over. He didn’t bother to stand up—he still felt a little dizzy from that kick—but turned around to check on Ydrel.
The boy still lay curled up in the fetal position, his arms crossed about his waist, his torso jerking spasmodically, his eyes tightly shut. Joshua shook his shoulder and spoke his name. He didn’t respond. He shook a little harder. “Ydrel!”
Still no response. Joshua pried open an eyelid, the one that wasn’t blackened from the attack. His eyes, staring ahead yet focused on someplace deeply inward, didn’t even react to the change of light. With a sinking feeling of expectation, he sat the young man up. Like one of those dolls that closes its eyes when it’s laid down and opens them when upright, Ydrel’s eyelids snapped open, his eyes still unresponsive. He began to rock.
“Oh, my God, what happened?” Edith appeared at the doorway, accompanied by Malachai. She hurried through the door and knelt before the rocking boy, speaking softly and examining him.
“We heard yelling, and found Mr. McDougal wailing away at Ydrel with a chair.” Joshua tried to stand, but sat down on the floor again quickly as an unexpected wave of dizziness swept over him. “Whoa!”
“Stay still. Your forehead is bleeding,” Malachai said distractedly as he pushed past him to where orderlies were finishing putting the restraints on the raving client. With a tap on Sachiko’s shoulder, he dispatched her to look to Joshua.
The restraints and sedatives were stopping McDougal from struggling physically, but he continued to yell and rant. “You!” he exclaimed when he saw the psychiatrist. “This is your fault! You promised no interference! I should kill them—all of them. No interference! I’ll see to it they’re dead and it’ll be on your head! Your fault!” His ranting dissolved into indistinct murmurs and howls as the sedative finally took effect.
Sachiko, meanwhile, had given Joshua gauze to press against the gash in his head while she checked the T-shaped bruise along one side of his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked. Behind them, McDougal struggled to consciousness long enough to yell
a few obscenities, and Malachai instructed them to take him to the advanced care ward. Edith continued to talk to the rocking Ydrel.
“Three, but they’re blurry with this eye,” Joshua answered, closing first the right eye, then the left. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine in a minute. But I don’t think he got like that from missing only one day of his meds,” he added loudly as the orderlies dragged McDougal out of the room and Dr. Malachai joined Edith, standing behind her. Dr. Hoffman walked in at that moment and knelt next to her.
Malachai ignored the intern. “Well, Edith?” he asked softly.
“He’s driven himself into a catatonic state.”
Hoffman sighed. “Great. The last time, he was like this for two weeks. We never did figure out what triggered his recovery. Remember, Sachiko?” he said to the nurse, who was applying a bandage to Joshua’s forehead. “You’d just started working here when it happened.”
“It was my first day, in fact. What was Ydrel even doing in here?”
“Probably trying to convince McDougal to take his medication,” grumbled Joshua. His head was starting to pound in time with his pulse, and he could feel his temper going. He rested his head gingerly in his hands, fingers seeking the pressure points that might help alleviate the pain.
“The important thing,” Malachai interjected, “is what we should do about Ydrel’s current state.”
Edith’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her voice was calm and professional. “Lorazepam?”
Dr. Malachai grimaced slightly. “I’d rather not. He reacts so unpredictably to chemical treatments.”
“We could just let him be,” Hoffman suggested. “He snapped out of it himself last time.”
“Let me work with him.”
All eyes turned to Joshua. Hoffman laughed shortly. “Work with what, exactly?”
Despite the aching behind his eyes, Joshua forced himself to meet the gazes of each psychiatrist as he spoke. “This is classic NLP. I find his rhythm, use it to get to wherever he is, then I lead him out.” He looked directly at Dr. Malachai. “I’ve done it before; ask my dad.”
“I don’t need to; I’ve read the case study. I am not the proponent of Neuro Linguistic Programming that your father is.”
“I understand that, sir, but what have you got to lose?”
Now everyone looked at the senior psychiatrist, waiting, hoping. He frowned slightly, never taking his eyes off Joshua. Joshua kept his own gaze steady. Finally, Edith spoke. “Randall, let him try.”
“All right, then, but you’ll do this under observation and with recording equipment running. And I want commentary.”
“No can do, sir. If I break rhythm to comment, I’ll have to start over again.”
“Indeed. You’ll debrief later, then. Edith, will you see to the arrangements? I think the Small Room is available.”
“I’ll make a few cancellations and meet you there in a few minutes,” Hoffman said. “I want to see this.”
“It could take a couple of hours,” Joshua warned.
“I’ll bring some reading.”
“I’ll get you some.”
“Joshua, are you up to this right now?” Edith asked as she rose. A couple of orderlies had been waiting at the door and came in with a wheelchair and started to load Ydrel into it.
“I’m fine,” he said as he started to stand up, then winced as the motion brought a fresh stab of pain. He turned it into a sardonic smile. “I could use a couple of Tylenol.”
“Come on.” Sachiko led him out and toward the nurses’ station. She took out her keys, unlocked the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of analgesics.
“Let me have three.”
She frowned, but did as he asked. “This may sound callous,” she said, “but Ydrel isn’t going anywhere. No one would think less of you if wanted to wait until tomorrow, or even just a couple of hours.”
Joshua resisted the urge to shake his head. It was pounding enough already. “No. I’m not giving Malachai any chance at going back on this. I’ll be fine, promise. Besides, I don’t think I could go to sleep tonight with the thought of Ydrel rocking like that.” Or the haunted looks on Edith’s face, and yours, he added silently.
She had that look again now. “Can you really do this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.”
He walked to Edith’s office to grab some of the articles he had on using NLP on catatonic or autistic people, including the case study he and his father had written for a psychiatric quarterly magazine. It also gave the painkillers time to work. When he got to the observation room, they had set Ydrel up on the floor on a couch cushion with his back to the door and his profile to the one-way mirror that lined one wall. He continued to rock, completely unaware. Another cushion lay on the floor opposite him. The observation room was actually four rooms: the room where the action took place, a small bathroom that led off of it, the room behind the one-way mirror where observers sat, and a smaller room that held the recording equipment. Edith and Dr. Hoffman were waiting for him at the entrance; Dr. Malachai, apparently, had more pressing matters.
“Here’s some reading,” Joshua said to Dr. Hoffman. He handed him a folder as he slipped off his shoes.
“Part of the therapy?” Hoffman asked wryly.
“I may be at this a couple of hours. I’d just as soon be comfortable. Edith, is there any way I can record something before I go in?”
She led him in and showed him how to operate the equipment. He sat in the chair, turned on the microphone and spoke the date, his name, and Ydrel’s. Then he gave a brief description of Ydrel’s condition and what he planned to do.
“This afternoon, Ydrel was complaining about feeling overwhelmed by the thoughts and emotions of others. He claimed that the proximity of a client with bi-polar one disorder—a client who he believed was not taking or responding to his medication—had broken down his defenses. He did not feel he had either the energy or the focus to rebuild those defenses in light of the onslaught he perceived. With this as his frame of reference, it’s probable he’s retreated into himself to someplace where the thoughts of others cannot touch him. Because of this, he will either be very easy or very difficult to draw out. A lot will depend on whether he feels this time inward has helped him renew his strength, and whether or not he trusts me to protect him while he rebuilds his mental shields.”
He switched off the microphone and turned to Edith. “It’s really important that no one disturb me while I’m doing this. It wouldn’t ruin anything, but it’d make the process longer. I don’t want anybody to come in after us, either. This afternoon, he expressed a lot of paranoia and feelings of defenselessness. He may have to work through some of that before he’s ready to face anyone. We’ll come out when he’s ready. And Edith, thanks.”
“Just help him if you can.” She sounded more like a mother than a counselor. He gave her an encouraging smile and went in.
He sat down on the cushion facing Ydrel and spent a few minutes studying him. He was rocking at a steady 48 beats a minute; his breathing regular, as if he’d left his body in some kind of holding pattern. Joshua reached out and placed a hand against Ydrel’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’d make this easy on the both of us and just tell me what’s going on?”
The boy stared through him, unseeing. He continued to push against Joshua’s hand at a steady 48 beats per minute.
The rocking made things both easy and hard for Joshua. He didn’t have to match Ydrel’s motions to reach him; matching breathing and other less obvious signals would probably be enough. On the other hand, it might be the one key to reach him. Either way, it provided easier access, if Joshua could keep it up long enough.
In the end, the cameras decided for him. They probably wouldn’t pick up the subtleties of breathing well enough to show what he was doing. He took a deep cleansing breath, arranged himself comfortably, and entered uptime. First, he began rocking, easy and small, in counterpoint to Ydrel. It took a few minutes to m
atch him, and too soon, he felt his abdominal muscles start to protest. To pull his attention from them, he began to work on breathing. It was no easy task to perfectly match another person’s breathing pattern, but Joshua had been learning and practicing this since he attended his first seminar with his father at the age of eight. He was soon in synch with Ydrel’s pace; a few minutes later, he matched its depth.
This much established, he simply kept pace until he thought they had rapport; occasionally, he’d introduce a subtle change in the pattern, to see if the client would follow. Twice, Ydrel started to break rhythm to follow, only to fall back into his own pattern.
Fine. Be difficult. I’m not giving up on you yet. Joshua now concentrated on the patterns of Ydrel’s eye movements. Eyes were always harder for him—he seemed to need to blink more often. He usually avoided this step by sitting at an angle to the client, so that he wasn’t in their direct line of sight. For some reason, however, he felt the need to be facing Ydrel. It took several minutes to get it right. He became very aware of the ache in his left eye and had to concentrate beyond it.
Rock, rock, breathe, rock, rock, breathe, rock, blink. Try a variation; return to the pattern when it failed to hold. Rock, rock, breathe, rock, rock, breathe, rock, blink. The ache in his side reached a crescendo and faded from awareness. His focus narrowed to just Ydrel. Rock, rock, breathe, rock, rock, breathe, rock, blink.
He had lost track of time when the world began to go gray around him, and he felt himself enveloped in a kind of cottony fog. This was something that had never happened to him before, but he merely filed his surprise away and continued to concentrate on Ydrel and his patterns. Rock, rock, breathe, rock, blink…
For a moment, even Ydrel faded from his awareness, but he couldn’t seem to feel concerned. He felt secure in the clouds around him, like a child wrapped up in a big downy comforter. He followed the feeling, and the rhythm. Rock, rock, breathe, rock, blink—
Mind Over Mind Page 18
