The Rasner Effect

by Mark Rosendorf

  Trouble was, he had no clue how to answer. “I…I guess I don’t,” Rick said.

  “That’s what I thought!” Miller clapped her hands together, as if she had just achieved some sort of victory. “Dr. Obenchain, however, recommended you. That’s why I agreed to hire you.” Her tone said, and the only reason.

  “I appreciate that.” Rick’s eyebrows rose, thinking about how bizarre his response must have sounded.

  Miller glared at him, her lips tight. Rick sensed anger, which made him sweat. It popped out on his forehead and underarms. In a minute, it would trickle down his temples. Then she would see it. He opened his mouth intending to further the conversation, but he still didn’t know what to say. The seat beneath him rocked suddenly. That’s when Miller laughed. It sounded more like the bark of a hyena, and if he hadn’t been looking at her, he would’ve missed how she regained control of herself and returned to her angry stare.

  “These children are difficult,” she explained, “and should most likely be handled differently from how you did so in your New York school. When the school you were in has children they can’t handle, and their families can’t handle them, we get them. The buck stops here, do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Rick responded, recognizing the fact he was being ridiculed.

  “If you wish to be successful here, see your patients and do as I tell you at all times. Follow my lead.” Her voice rose. He imagined her poking a thick index finger in his chest and leaning in his face. He could almost smell the vanilla coffee on her breath. “I run a tight ship, but it’s necessary that I do so. I’ve worked at this institution for many years. There was a time when the handling of these children was lax and informal. Believe me when I tell you they ran wild, like animals in a jungle.”

  “One very psychotic girl even managed to escape from the facility, but not before she killed a staff member.” Miller folded her hands on the desk, straightening her spine against the back of her seat. “That will not happen again—not while I am in charge.”

  “Wow, how long ago did this happen?” Rick asked.

  Miller gave Rick a nasty glare as the sound of a growl came from her throat. Apparently, his new director did not like to be asked questions.

  “I underst—”

  “Do not question my decisions…ever,” Miller snarled. “Letters or phone calls regarding any of our patients must be approved by me. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Good, then we should get along.” Miller reached for the phone and poked buttons. She stopped and glanced across the desk, looking surprised to see Rick still there.

  “You are dismissed.”

  Rick launched to his feet and made for the door, unable to get out of that office fast enough. In the main office, the secretary stopped typing and looked up from her computer screen. “So, how was it?” she asked with a sarcastic grin.

  “It was…interesting.”

  The secretary laughed. “I love watching new people after that first meeting. You all have that same ‘deer in the headlights’ look on your faces. Usually soon after that you quit.”

  Rick scurried past the secretary and out of the office.

  There was a commotion in front of the sixth and seventh grade classroom. It sounded like sobbing. Rick hurried over to investigate. Clara Blue sat on the floor, back against the wall, thin legs folded up to her chest. One arm was wrapped around the legs, the other braced itself on the floor, as if keeping her from tipping over. Officer James and Sharon Hefner stood over her. Clara stared straight ahead, stoned-faced. The only movement or sound was the sobbing that came from deep in her throat.

  Hefner had both feet planted on the tile floor and both hands on her hips. “You are not staying on the floor or in this hallway, girl. It’s back in your classroom or Seclusion, make a choice, right now!”

  Clara’s entire body shook. Her second arm snaked around to clench her legs. She teetered a second as if she might topple over, then caught her balance and glared up at her accusers. “I’m sick of Mister Royal. I’m sick of that classroom!”

  “Hey, you don’t like the classroom, that’s fine. We can do the padded room instead!” Officer James shouted. He maintained about the same stance as Hefner, but the walkie-talkie at his hip wiggled in reaction to his anger. For some reason, Rick found this comical. But the seriousness of the situation prevented laughter.

  “I’ll get the jacket and the doctor, and he’ll stick you in the ass.”

  The toe of Clara’s right sneaker tapped the floor, with quick feverish movements. Rick was overwhelmed with disbelief at her treatment.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to go in seclusion again,” Hefner had lowered her voice to explain in a calm, yet imposing manner. “But this is your classroom and that is where you belong, not here in the hallway!”

  “No!” Clara tried to yell, but it came out more like a whine.

  “I have really had enough of this.” Officer James reached down and grabbed Clara by the arm, yanking her to her feet. The big man put so much strength behind the move that her skinny body flew off the floor. At least two inches of space appeared between her sneakers and the cement. Once James let go, however, Clara plunked back down against the wall.

  Rick had to intervene. He approached Hefner, placing his hand on her arm to gain her attention. “Excuse me. May I take her? Maybe I can calm her down.”

  A flash of irritation crossed her face. Then she waved an arm at Clara. “You think you can fix this? Fine.” Hefner motioned James to step back. “Clara, this is your new therapist, Mr. Rasner. Get with him, get with the program, and get back into class.”

  “Kid needs another needle, if you ask me,” James muttered, loud enough and clear enough for everyone to hear. “She don’t need no therapy, just a good kick in the ass.”

  Clara’s body shuddered. Her eyes glazed over and sweat dripped down her brow. She’d gone back to staring at the far wall.

  Hefner met Rick’s gaze with stunning earnestness. He straightened his spine so he’d appear confident.

  “Go do your therapy thing. But if it don’t work, she’s going into Seclusion!”

  Rick bent toward Clara and touched a hand to her shoulder. For several long seconds, she didn’t move and he wondered if getting involved had been the right decision. The girl blinked twice—two huge tears tumbled down her cheeks—and she looked up at him. He removed his hand from her shoulder and gestured for her to stand up, careful to keep his posture and facial expression calm and accommodating.

  “Will you come with me?”

  For a moment, Clara seemed about to refuse. Rick saw Officer James out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the door of the therapy suite, arms crossed, waiting for Clara to balk so he could stick her in Seclusion.

  “Yes,” the girl whispered, choking back a hitching sob. She stood up, pushing with her feet and sliding her spine up the wall. She inched forward and waited for him to lead her away.

  Officer James waited a second for them to catch up, and then used his key to open the door. Clara walked in. Rick followed, pushing the door closed behind him.

  Oblivious to their entrance, Janet sat at her desk, reading from her Bible. Clara took a seat in front of Rick’s desk. He passed the room divider, still Janet didn’t look up. He sat in his chair and made a big deal out of moving it close to the desk, giving Clara time to acclimate herself. She planted her feet flat on the floor and rocked side-to-side, her hands in her lap, palms rubbing together.

  “Take a few deep breaths. That always helps me when I’m upset.”

  After almost a full minute, Clara gave Rick a look, signaling she was ready to talk.

  “Are you all right?” Rick asked.

  “I think so,” she replied, eyes darting toward the room divider. Had she heard something? As far as Rick knew, Janet had been totally silent. Probably she was just worried about being overheard.

  “Your file says you’re from New York. I used to live t
here. What part of New York are you from?”

  “Brooklyn.” She looked at him, sort of. Actually, her eyes focused somewhere around his chin. “That’s where I was born. I lived there most of my life.”

  A little at a time, the rocking stopped and Clara flattened her hands on the thighs of her off-white slacks. She still seemed very nervous and unsure, understandable under the circumstances. He’d probably have to work with her for months before she would totally trust him—if ever.

  “You’re from Brooklyn too,” she said. “Were you born there like me?”

  “I…” Rick truly wished he could answer her otherwise simple question. “What makes you think I’m from Brooklyn?”

  “I hear it in your voice. But only a little.”

  In over seven years, no one had ever suggested an accent in his voice that would offer an idea toward his origin. Clara was hardly an expert on the subject, but her guess was as good as any other. He was glad she was at least talking. Her posture had become less tense and she crossed her feet at the ankles.

  “So, what happened earlier?”

  Clara took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “I was in my seat minding my own business. Kevin threw his pencil at me. It hit me in the head. I got up and told him to stop, and then Mr. Royal started yelling at me! He said he didn’t see Kevin throw the pencil but I don’t believe him. He always just…it’s not fair!”

  “I saw him speaking to you. You went back in the classroom. What happened afterward?”

  “He kept bringing it up! He wouldn’t stop. He never stops.” Clara clenched her hands in her lap. “I wanted to get out of there so I went to the door before he could lock it. Ms. Hefner was in the hallway and she started yelling at me. Then Officer James comes over and he was yelling at me, too! Yelling is all anyone ever does here. I hate this place!”

  Rick wondered if this level of excitement was a permanent condition for her, as well as many of the Brookhill residents. Either way, not a good sign. He switched to another subject before his young client lost her cool altogether. “How long have you been here?”

  “I think two years, maybe longer. I’m not really sure, there’s no calendar or nothing like that. And no vacation like in real school. I just know I don’t belong here. I’m not like those other kids. They don’t care about getting out but I do. I used to bang out my work and still Mr. Royal keeps holding me over. The other kids don’t do none of his stupid work. They don’t like him either, but they keep moving to the next grade. It’s not fair. I’m fifteen! I should be in the ninth or even the tenth grade, not in a class with a bunch of stupid twelve and thirteen-year-olds!”

  “I understand your frustration. What I don’t understand is, if you’re doing all he asks of you, what would keep Mr. Royal from promoting you?”

  “He keeps telling me I don’t have enough work done because I’m always in Seclusion. But he’s always yelling at me and cutting me down. It’s not my fault I’m always in there. Every single day, he calls me psychotic and stuff like that! I can’t help getting mad.”

  Clara answered his question before he could say the words. “A month after I was put in here, Mr. Royal made a play at me. He said my life would be easier if I kept my mouth shut and did what he said.” Clara paused to collect her thoughts. “I think that’s how it happened. I’ve been drugged so many times, I’m not sure of nothing no more. It was something like that.”

  Rick watched her mannerisms, her demeanor, assessing whether the story was factual, a delusion, or a mixture of both. Her personality file referred to her as a child who fabricated the truth. Then again, many patient files said the same thing. One thing Rick was sure of, based on her level of frustration, Clara believed every word she said.

  She placed her left hand on the side of her head, grabbed some of her hair, and kneaded the flesh. “I kicked him in the balls and got away. I went to Miss Hefner. I went to everyone, but no one believed me. They only believed him. That was my first time in Seclusion. They said it was because I attacked my teacher. Ever since then, he keeps failing me and I’ve been in that goddamn class with him getting shit ever since.”

  “Is Miss Miller aware of the situation?”

  “She hates me.”

  “She hates you?”

  “I hate her, too.”

  “Why does she hate you?”

  Clara’s head dropped with shame. “I guess it’s kind of my fault.”

  “You’re okay in here, Clara, you can talk to me,” Rick said softly, thinking about Janet on the other side of the barrier. “Why does she hate you?”

  “My first day here, I got mad and OD’ed on her,” Clara said just as softly. Did she worry someone was listening? That perhaps there was a tape recorder somewhere? “I did it in front of everyone in the cafeteria, but she screamed at me first for not standing in line to get lunch.”

  “What exactly did you do?” Rick asked, not entirely sure the meaning of her terminology.

  “I called her an ugly dyke who needed to get some…from a man.”

  Rick stifled a grin. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Everyone knows it. It’s not like a big secret or nothing.”

  “I assume that didn’t go over very well.” Rick’s statement of the obvious brought a hopeless laugh out of Clara.

  “I really hate that bitch!”

  “How did you end up in here in the first place?” The urge to take notes hit him but he erased it. She’d opened up a little; he didn’t want to take chances with her.

  “My behavior in school. Then I made a mistake.”

  “What sort of mistake?”

  “I stole something and got caught. I was taken away from my grandmother because the family workers and my school said she was too old to look after me. I’d lived with her since I was six, since my father went to prison.”

  “What did he go in for?”

  “They said he killed someone,” Clara answered with little shock or emotion in her voice. “He was in jail before…when I was really little, but this time he’s not ever coming out.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “I don’t want to talk about her,” Clara snapped.

  “Okay, another time. So, what happened when they took you from your grandmother?”

  “The workers watched me in my bedroom while I packed.” A tear ran down Clara’s left cheek. She swiped at it with the back of her hand. “I threw whatever I could fit in a backpack and,” she pulled in a breath, “then they walked me out of my own home.”

  “Where did they take you?”

  “To a group home. The girls were bad, really bad. I was the youngest one there and they didn’t like me at all. The few who didn’t try to fight me or rob me were gay and wanted to have sex with me. They all kept taking my stuff.”

  “What about the adults running the place?”

  Clara snorted. “They didn’t give a shit. So long as they got their check…”

  Rick leaned across his desk, putting his weight on his elbows. She looked at him now, curious more than anything. Probably assessing whether he believed her stories.

  “I have a mark right here,” Clara jabbed an index finger at the side of her head just above her left ear, “where a girl slammed me against the living room wall. The worker walked out of the room when it happened. She said something about not getting paid enough to break up fights.”

  From where he sat, Rick peered at the side of her head. If there was a mark, it was covered by her thick black hair. She saw him peering at her but didn’t lift the hair out of the way.

  Rick was experiencing great sympathy for this girl, a familiarity with her he didn’t understand. Had she somehow triggered a long-buried memory in him? If so, what sort of recollection could be triggered by such a violent story? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he would have to discuss this with Doctor Obenchain.

  He shifted back to her story. “So what happened?”

  “One of the girls said she was gonna kill me for spilling soda on her ja
cket. She said she was gonna come to my room that night and kill me while I slept.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I knew she was for real ’cause none of my roommates were around.” She shrugged. “I don’t know where they all went, they just weren’t around. I had to protect myself, so I stole a knife from the kitchen. I waited for her by my door and when it opened…” Clara stopped mid-sentence and looked up at Rick. Her eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch and he realized he’d been listening with amazement.

  He prompted her to continue. “So?”

  “It wasn’t her. It was Miss Wesson. She worked there in the evenings, and she was coming to check on me, to make sure I was okay. She was the only one there I liked, I didn’t want to hurt her…but I did.”

  “Did you kill her?”

  Clara shook her head hard. “She didn’t die. But she went to the hospital. They sent me here the next day.” She spread her hands wide. “Now, this is where I am.”

  Rick did not respond; frankly, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Finally, Clara let him off the hook. “I’m ready to go back to class.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, once I stop being angry, I’m usually okay for a while.”

  Rick pushed back his chair and stood up. Clara stood also and allowed him to lead her out the door where they found their path blocked by Katherine Miller. She stood like a brick wall, her arms folded and an annoyed expression on her face. Hefner stood behind her, a soldier following her commander. Officer James stood nearby, his arms folded across his chest. Clara rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

  “I understand Clara was disrupting Mister Royal’s classroom again,” Miller growled.

  “Everything’s fine now,” Rick offered, wondering how she could enunciate with her teeth ground together that way.

  Miller let off a sarcastic, “Hah.” Then, “I will not have a patient in this institution wasting my staff’s time and energy. If she wishes to waste our time, she can waste it until tomorrow morning in Seclusion.”