THE PSYCHS OF MANHATTAN

by C. C. Harris

  ‘That’s laughable, Curtis. In fact, you’re funny. You continue to recycle your life, drifting from one job to another and getting nowhere, resulting in maladaptive outcomes. Your capacity development is…mm…let me see…innately limited. That means you’re a catastrophic failure. An imbecile who has abnormal brain connections. That’s why your visual and auditory skills are somewhat defunct. You came into this world as nothing and you’ll leave it as nothing. Your life is meaningless. It won’t be long before I’ll put you out of your misery.’

  ‘If you kill me you’ll end up pissing in a jail cell.’

  The doctor gave a sadistic smile and stepped closer. ‘In case you don’t know, Curtis, a dead man doesn’t talk. Besides, I’m very well known in New York. I’m the one who’s going to be the hero for killing a criminal. I write articles for the Psychological Society. I’m in the helping industry, Curtis. Do you know what that means? It means that people trust me. I’m also on the New York Ethical Review Board and assist in disciplinary matters of professional misconduct. Think about it, Curtis. You’ve lost, now turn around. I want to see the fear in your eyes. I want to see how brave you really are.’

  ‘You’re a deranged asshole?’ I spat.

  ‘Did your parents say they were proud of you? I’ll tell you the truth, Curtis. They abandoned you emotionally. They rejected you because you’re a goddam failure. In fact, your life is a dead end. Just like this alleyway. You’ve achieved nothing. You had this delusional ideal of being the hero, but your actual self is the loser. Funny that. This discrepancy must be quite traumatic for you Curtis. You see, my historical hero, Alfred Hoch, would classify you as a mental defect. Someone worthless who wouldn’t be missed. This means, I can destroy you.’

  I had nothing to lose. I had to go out with a fight. I jumped for the gun. It was enough to force it from his hands. It landed out of his reach.

  Suddenly I was immobilized. I saw his evil sneer and a twitch in his cheek. I didn’t understand. Why was I standing still, unresisting? I felt a cold sensation.

  I instinctively gripped my stomach. It was wet, and I looked down at my bloodied fingers. The gun had been a diversion. He had plunged a knife in my side. There was no struggle. My legs buckled.

  ‘Well, well, well, Curtis, you failed to notice the obvious. You’re not only inattentively blind, your capacity to evaluate danger is also severely impaired. Obviously, you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed,’ the doctor stated with a sardonic smirk. ‘If all the losers in the world were put together, you’d be the shining example. You’re the perfect prototype of a loser. Being a loser has one payoff. The last thing you will hear and see before leaving this world will be me. Such a soul inspiring way to die, don’t you think? Die a slow death, Curtis, and don’t take it to heart, you were just a means to an end.’

  I slid down the wall until I was on the ground. I slumped sideways and cradled my stomach. He was holding the bloodied knife, his eyes cold and detached. The bastard had won. I was done.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe my parents weren’t proud of me and I deserve this.

  Death by a dumpster was not what I’d imagined, but my will was fading.

  FORTY-THREE

  If Only

  The vagrant averaged two hours’ sleep at a time. He was cradling his bottle like a baby, hoping that tonight the drink would numb his pain. Every second of every day he relived the horror. Overwhelming guilt was his constant companion. His nightmares left him shaking and breathless.

  It had been two years since his life had changed in a burning flash. He had been driving his family to Montauk for the weekend when another driver, high on drugs, crashed into his vehicle with such force that his wife, son, and daughter were killed. Miraculously, he survived the accident along with the family dog Molly. His only physical scars were third-degree burns to his hands but when hospital staff said he was lucky to be alive, it only deepened his trauma.

  He mumbled the same words every night as he stared at his scarred hands. ‘Why did I insist on a family outing. If only I’d seen the vehicle coming. Why couldn’t I take their place? I deserve to live among the trash.’ The week after the accident he’d walked away from his triple-figure job and his extended family to set up home in the alley.

  The vagrant was settling in for the night when he saw two men enter the alley. Living in the alley meant constant danger. Molly curled up on his lap as he squeezed further into a crevice and covered himself with cardboard. The voices of the men echoed along the alleyway walls. Something made him freeze. He recognized one of the voices. It was the voice that had saved Molly. The Good Samaritan. The other voice was menacing.

  He wondered whether the bottle was making him hear voices. Now, they were telling him to help the Samaritan. In his mind, he argued back. I couldn’t help my family so how can I help anyone else. I need to be here for Molly.

  He argued with himself until he finally stood upright and tucked Molly out of sight. He quietly left the alleyway and hurried to a local cabbie who was having a smoko break on the sidewalk. He begged the cabbie to call police and then hurried back to the alley. He stood still to catch his breath, then ran both hands along the brick wall as he edged closer and closer to the sound of the voice. He held his breath, fearing he would be heard. He peeped carefully around the corner.

  He could see a tall man wearing a suit. His black patent shoes were a sharp contrast to the surrounding gloom. The man’s voice was smug.

  ‘I forgot to tell you Curtis. I wasn’t always a psychologist. I was once a prison guard. People looked up to me and fuckin’ jumped when they knew I meant business. You see Curtis, to put it succinctly, behavior can be extinguished according to my rules. It’s all about punishment being swift and certain. Certain meaning death if necessary. Today is different though, I’m in no rush. I’m enjoying the moment.’

  The vagrant could see a small hand pistol on the ground. He hated guns and believed they were for cowards.

  A demanding voice in his head pushed the vagrant to act. ‘You’ve got to get to the gun. You have no choice. The Good Samaritan needs your help.’

  The vagrant moved towards the gun. He didn’t want to kill anyone. He noticed the Samaritan was on the ground and clutching his stomach. He was leaning forward, and his head was tilted to one side. Blood soaked his shirt.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The Human Spirit

  I saw shadows. I wondered whether they were the shadows of the doctor’s victims or if I was hallucinating.

  I noticed another shadow, but it was unlike the others. It was taller. Was this Death, or was I already dead? The shadow gently picked up the gun, his hands shaking. I realized it was the vagrant who lived in the alleyway.

  The doctor spun around, holding the bloodied knife.

  I could see the vagrant’s frightened expression. His hands were wobbling so much I was sure he would drop the gun.

  ‘You…you…stand still until the police arrive. They’re…they’re…they’re on their way,’ the vagrant stammered.

  The doctor decided he couldn’t be defeated. ‘I’m here to help. I’m protecting you from evil. See this man? He is evil, he’s lost his mind. Trust me.’

  I knew if the vagrant dropped the gun, it would be over. He would join me in the dumpster. Would he shoot? If he did, would his shaking hands make him miss the doctor?

  ‘You say he’s evil but you’re the one with blood on your hands. You’re the one holding the knife. I’ll let the police work it out. You stay right there.’

  I noticed the doctor stepping closer to the vagrant.

  ‘You’re imagining this. Give me the gun. My name is Dr Ellison. I am a well-known psychologist in Manhattan. Your stress is hijacking your emotional state and your intrusive thoughts are impairing your capacity to make sense of this. You are acting irrationally. The alcohol has poisoned your brain and you have a distorted sense of reality. I’m not the bad guy. This man here. He is evil. He is the one you should be pointing the gun at. If y
ou give me the gun, I will help you. I am a doctor. I can help free you of your addiction and your demons. Trust me.’

  ‘I just drink too much! You’re the demon. My hands shake but that doesn’t mean I’m imagining this. I know exactly what I’m seeing.’

  The doctor lunged towards the vagrant.

  The vagrant pulled the trigger. I heard the gun discharge. The doctor stood in disbelief, gazing downwards. He slowly landed on his knees, as if praying to an evil power. He looked angered by his own demise. He pointed his bloodied finger at the vagrant in a desperate last attempt to exert his control.

  ‘You’re a loser. A bum on the street. You’re nothing but a waste of space on this earth.’

  The vagrant stood taller.

  With blood trickling from the doctor’s mouth, he fell face down. As he lay in a crumpled heap, the wind swirled around him.

  With great relief, I felt my head being cradled.

  ‘Help’s on the way.’

  My ‘thank you’ was merely a groan. I knew I’d lost a lot of blood, but the sound of sirens strengthened my will.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Wise Words

  I woke to see a nurse standing at the end of my bed holding a clipboard. She was easily sixty and she had a ‘don’t mess with me’ expression.

  ‘Welcome back, Mr Carter. It’s great to see you’re finally awake. Here’s a sick bowl and here’s your buzzer.’

  ‘Where am I? Is Buddy here?’

  ‘You’re in Hospital. You have lost three pints of blood and you have twenty stiches across your stomach. Not to mention that you’ve been in a coma for a week. Who is Buddy?’

  ‘Buddy…he’s my dog. Do you know where he is? When can I get out of here?’

  ‘One question at a time. You’re not going anywhere yet. You need plenty of rest. With the blood you’ve lost, you must have someone watching over you. I’ll call your lady friend and let her know your awake. She’ll probably be able to tell you where your dog is. I’ll be back soon to change your dressings.’

  ‘What lady friend?’ I asked.

  ‘Lieutenant Wilkins,’ the nurse said with a slight smile.

  ‘She’s not my lady friend.’

  The nurse replaced her clipboard on the bed hook. ‘She’s been here every morning and every night to check on you. I’ve been around long enough to know when somebody cares. People don’t fool me easily and from what I’ve read, you’re quite the hero. Rest up. I’ll be back.’

  I wondered whether it was Sarah’s job to check on me or whether she genuinely cared. I looked down and saw my waist was heavily bandaged. Several parts of my arms and hands were also taped. I was in no shape to see anyone.

  ‘Before you go, can I ask you a question?’ I asked.

  ‘Go ahead, I’m all ears,’ said the nurse.

  ‘Being romantic is not my thing. I don’t want to come across as creepy. What can I say that’s romantic?’

  ‘You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve been married for twenty years. If my husband does the dishes, that’s romantic. Just tell her how you feel. You missed her, right? You think about her wherever you go? You’d like to spend more time with her?’

  ‘Yep. That’s pretty much it,’ I said.

  ‘Well tell her that. You don’t have to recite Arabian poetry. There’s nothing wrong with being honest. She certainly doesn’t seem the type to bite your head off.’

  ‘Ok. Thanks.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. Anyway Curtis, you’re New York’s hero. Be proud of yourself. The people need someone like you. The bad news is relentless. Your story is uplifting. You’re a breath of fresh air.’

  I watched her leave the room, still scared shitless about expressing my feelings. My biggest fear was that Sarah wouldn’t turn up.

  FORTY-SIX

  Fear

  Sarah received the good news. Curtis is awake. She was relieved he was alive, but she hated the visits. The hospital smelled of disinfectant and death. Visiting the hospital twice a day to check on Curtis hadn’t desensitized her. It nauseated her to see people with tubes hanging out of their bodies, coughing up phlegm, and vomiting. It was worse than a murder scene.

  Whenever possible she took the stairs, but today she was in a hurry. She was desperate to see Curtis.

  The elevator filled with people. Great, she thought. Trapped with sick people with God knows what illnesses. Her worst fear was malfunctioning doors, her body getting caught as they closed and being decapitated when the elevator ascended. She knew it was an irrational thought, but her heart still raced.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened to the eighth floor, opposite room number eighty-three. She hurried out and stood still for several seconds to catch her breath. Curtis’s room was only two doors away and she was already wondering what to say to him. Should she hold his hand? Kiss him, or play hard to get? Maybe let him talk first? Or perhaps just a casual hug and a friendly smile?

  She straightened her shirt and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She was determined not to let him see her vulnerability. She especially didn’t want him to see she cared. She had never dreamed of falling in love with someone like Curtis. He was irresponsible and impulsive. Her heart had been broken too many times. She couldn’t cope with the pain of another rejection. But the problem was, the more she convinced herself she didn’t need a man, the lonelier she felt. Damn it! He has no money, no job, and probably no future.

  Her father’s words came to mind. ‘Don’t bother bringing home a stray dog. Find a nice Catholic boy who loves his parents and has a good job, not some lazy-ass.’ She knew her father would turn in his grave if he could see her now. She loved her parents and still felt the guilt of not meeting their expectations. Her mom had wanted her to marry Harold who lived two doors away from the family. ‘He’s such a nice boy, Sarah. He brings me flowers and his parents never miss church.’ Sarah remembered rolling her eyes, thinking that there could be nothing worse than dating the dork of the street. The thought of kissing him was vomit material.

  Sarah hesitated at Curtis’s door, wondering whether he also had feelings for her.

  ‘Ok, here we go,’ she whispered before entering the room.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Overcoming Evil

  I heard a gentle knock at the door and Sarah walked towards me. I couldn’t disguise my grin.

  ‘Hi Curtis. Thank God, you’re alive. You scared the living daylights out of us.’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t call, Sarah.’

  She positioned herself on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m relieved you’re ok. By the way, do you like the lilies?’ She pointed to the deep purple and yellow flowers sitting in a water pitcher on my side table.

  ‘Very pretty, just like someone I know.’ I was hoping I didn’t sound too corny.

  ‘I haven’t slept since you disappeared,’ Sarah admitted.

  Did that mean she loved me? I wanted to hold her tight.

  Sarah’s cell rang. ‘Yes, this is Lieutenant Wilkins. Yes, I’ll pay all charges. Call me when he arrives.’

  ‘That was a call from a county vet. A dog of yours called Buddy will be sent to the precinct this afternoon. Am I missing something here, Curtis?’

  ‘I found him in a bad way and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. I’m sorry, Sarah. You were the only person I thought could help.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘No need to apologize. But my apartment is small, so you owe me big time. Maybe dinner for two would be nice.’

  ‘It’s a deal. I’d love to.’

  ‘The name Buddy is original,’ Sarah grinned.

  ‘I was going to call him Lassie, but I thought Buddy was better. I’m just an original kind of guy.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘You have a sense of humor too.’

  ‘Any news on the psychologist’s victims?’ I asked.

  ‘He had a “business colleague” in Vegas. A pastor. The psychologist’s clients were couriered to Vegas and delivered to the pastor’s place called The Lord�
��s House of Therapy. There, the clients were tortured and killed. Our forensic optometrist compared the reading glasses found next to the body of Linda Maloney, the commissioner’s niece, to a photo of the pastor wearing glasses. It was a perfect match. Before we could get to him he’d shot himself. The bullet didn’t quite finish him off. He survived and is now a paraplegic. He’ll not only have his day in court, he’ll be incapacitated in a wheelchair and behind bars for the rest of his life.’

  ‘True payback,’ I said.

  ‘And that’s not all. A much-respected coroner who used to work for the Clark County Coroner’s Office in Vegas allegedly fell overboard on the family boat while fishing with the pastor. According to the pastor it was an accident. His body was never found and there was no evidence of foul play. Coincidentally, the coroner was replaced by a friend of the pastor’s. They falsified legal documents of wealthy trustees and then bumped them off. The pastor got sloppy. The falsified documents were found at his Therapy House and the replacement coroner has a rap sheet as long as my arm.’

  ‘Jesus, this pastor had his finger in many pies,’ I said.

  Sarah gave a knowing nod. ‘Definitely. Our pastor was a busy villain. He was also a kingpin in the Prince Casino. He operated a major heroin trafficking ring and laundering operation, with a strip club on the side. The strip club provided his perfect hunting ground for victims. God knows how many people walked into his trap. Not surprisingly we found a collection of military automatics in his cellar. We could’ve had one hell of a gun battle on our hands.’

  ‘He made it his business to know lots of important people,’ I said.

  Sarah grinned. ‘There’ll be nervous associates in Vegas hoping he doesn’t rat on them and wannabe informants putting up their hand to avoid doing time. That’s if they don’t get bumped off in the meantime.’