Expanding his images beyond what he saw, beyond simple recordings of the world around him, was something new. Sometimes he liked it. Now, picturing the whale under the water, he felt his body relax. He would not have known how to describe it, but anyone else would have said that they felt happy. Sometimes these images made him uncomfortable, however. His body tensed when they happened. Occasionally, his head ached. Those were the things that he drew in his sketchbook, hidden away. He put them there so that they would get out of his head.
With this Auntedith person, he relaxed. He did not understand that her dominant personality protected him, but somehow he felt it. He glanced over at her. She was still talking, her brow knitted into tight wrinkles. He would paint that when he got back.
“… so I guess I’m here for the duration,” Edith continued, knowing she was talking to herself. “I’ve travelled so much, seen so much, I supposed it would be good for me to settle down for a while. I should probably go to the doctor and get a checkup. Haven’t had one in years. Haven’t seen the dentist either although these pearly whites seem to be holding up quite well.” She clicked her teeth together as if to demonstrate. This made her think of food. Edith was a robust woman; she liked her food. “You must be getting hungry, Xander. Let’s get back to the house and see what Giselle has in the kitchen.” She rubbed her hand back and forth across his shoulders briefly, the most demonstrative sign of affection that she ever gave to anyone, and stood. He stood too and followed her back, looking over his shoulder one last time at the whale.
#
Dulcie wasn’t certain how to proceed. She wanted to hire a professional to video Xander, but did not want to overwhelm him, or anyone in the family, by showing up with a whole film crew. She knew that he certainly would not paint someone on cue. Besides, it would seem too much like a stunt if he did that. The whole point of this exhibit was to show how people’s minds could work differently at the very core, creating in ways that others would not have normally considered.
“Maybe it’s a stupid idea,” she muttered aloud.
Rachel came in at that moment. “What’s a stupid idea?” she asked sliding into the chair opposite Dulcie’s desk.
Dulcie frowned. “This whole idea to video Xander Bellamy while he’s painting someone’s portrait. I’m just afraid it’s going to look like a stunt. Or worse.”
“Not if you do it right,” said Rachel.
“What do you mean?”
“What if you treat it like a mini documentary? Maybe have a psychologist explain how they think Xander’s mind works. I mean, it’s pretty unbelievable what he can do.” She glanced over at the portrait of Dulcie leaning against the wall.
Dulcie sat back in her chair and looked at the painting as well. “You know Rachel, that’s actually not a bad idea,” she said.
Rachel stood. “Yeah. That’s why I get the big bucks!” she grinned. She was effectively moving up in the ranks at the museum, now that she was Dulcie’s assistant.
Dulcie laughed. “Is that your way of asking for a raise?”
“Who, me?” Rachel said, tossing her curly hair, her eyes widening with mock innocence. “But for now, I have very important work to do. I’m going to run to the post office. Need anything?” She was already heading for the door.
Dulcie thought for a moment. “No, can’t think of a thing. But thanks for asking. And for the great idea!”
“Anytime!” Rachel called out from the hallway.
The more Dulcie considered the idea, the more she liked it. She had been looking at the entire exhibit from the perspective of a museum curator. This was a different kind of exhibit, though. She had known that from the start. She needed to look at it from a psychologist’s perspective.
The difficulty was, she wasn’t a psychologist. She needed to find one who would work as a consultant. She rapidly did a search on her computer for local psychologists. The list was very long. “Ugh,” she said. “This could take a while.”
She thought of Xander again. Since he was quickly becoming the focus, perhaps she should start with him? He must have been diagnosed originally by someone. He may have had a doctor working with him at some point as well. It was worth a try.
Dulcie looked up a number and dialed.
“Halooo? Bellamy residence,” the woman’s voice said.
From the lightness of it, Dulcie knew the voice was Giselle’s and not Edith’s. “Hello, Giselle. This is Dulcie Chambers at the Maine Museum of Art. I have kind of an odd question. Do you know if a psychologist has ever worked with Xander? He must have been diagnosed originally by one,” she paused.
“Yes,” Giselle said. “Yes,” she said again more softly. “There was one. I cannot think of the name. It was some time ago. Let me look through some things. Can I call you back?”
Dulcie could detect the traces of her French accent even through the telephone. French-Canadian, she decided. Quebec. She pushed the thought aside. “Yes, of course, Giselle. Let me give you my cell phone number,” she replied.
Moments later, after she put down the phone, she thought, “Bellamy. Hmmm. I think that’s French. I wonder if the father was from Quebec?” Not that it mattered, but Dulcie’s mind couldn’t help but attempt to solve a puzzle, even when it wasn’t necessary.
Giselle slowly replaced the phone. She knew exactly who the doctor was. She knew how to reach him immediately. The trouble was, he also knew a few things about her. Facts that she preferred to keep secret. Perhaps he would not say anything. After all, wasn’t there doctor-patient confidentiality? Yet, she had not been his patient. She had been his lover. And as such, she had confided in him far too much.
It was his way. Somehow he was able to manipulate conversations so that people would talk, open up, confide. He asked the right questions, but they never seemed overly personal. Yet, before long, one found oneself telling him things that had not even been told to the closest of friends.
Giselle did know one thing about him that could work to her advantage, however. It was his Achilles’ Heel. Dr. Raymond Armand was a very ambitious man. He had already gained some notoriety within the New England medical community for working with autistic patients. Giselle knew that he would not turn down an opportunity to promote himself.
She quickly looked up his number and dialed. The phone rang several times. She was considering if she would actually leave a message for him or just hang up, when he answered.
“Ah, Dr. Armand! We have not spoken in quite some time. It is Giselle,” she said quickly, her slight French accent becoming more pronounced through nervousness.
Silence on the other end. Had he forgotten who she was?
“Giselle!” she could tell he was smiling. “It has been too long! And how are you?”
“I am quite well, thank you. But I have not called socially, I am sad to say.” She wasn’t sad at all, of course. She wanted to get to the point quickly. “I am calling on behalf of another. The director of the art museum in Portland. She wishes to speak with you.”
“Well, certainly,” he replied, somewhat confused. He knew of Dr. Chambers, of course. She had an excellent status within the community. Then he sighed. She probably wanted to talk with him about a donation. If that was the case, however, why would Giselle be calling?
“It is somewhat delicate,” Giselle continued. “You see, it concerns Xander. The museum is exhibiting some of his work. I know that you cannot reveal the medical confidences,” she pronounced the word in the French way, “but I think she wishes to know about his condition generally.”
“Well certainly, I can be of assistance,” he replied. He was still unclear as to why Giselle was calling instead of Dr. Chambers.
“Good, good. But speaking of confidences, I would like to keep any that are between us private? Although I know the Bellamy family well, I do not believe that any personal information that I shared with you should be known. I, in turn, would not share any personal confidences of yours, either.”
Raymond Armand thought fo
r a moment. He had not recalled sharing any personal confidences with her during any of their interludes. In fact, he never shared his personal confidences with anyone. He chose to remain silent regarding this small fact for the moment however. Nothing could be gained by it at present.
“Of course, Giselle. This is a professional matter, and will certainly remain so,” he said.
Giselle sighed in relief. “I thank you, Raymond. I will contact this Dr. Chambers and provide your telephone number. I believe she will be calling you shortly,” Giselle concluded in a businesslike voice.
Raymond nearly laughed at her obvious attempt at curtness. “I’ll look forward to it. It’s very good to hear from you again, Giselle,” he added softly.
“Yes, that is nice. Good bye, doctor,” she said.
She put down the phone with a hand that was shaking slightly and began dusting a bookshelf that was so spotless, she could see her uneasy reflection.
To create one’s own world
takes courage.
― Georgia O’Keeffe
CHAPTER 3
Dr. Raymond Armand stood in Dulcie’s office looking at the portrait of the woman standing beside him. “It is astonishing what he can do,” he said at last. He leaned forward, holding up his wire-rimmed reading glasses and peering through them to see detail.
Dulcie eyed him thoughtfully while he examined the painting. “Quite good looking,” she thought. Thick dark hair, dark eyes, a somewhat brooding Mediterranean appearance. He was wearing a white linen shirt with the collar open under a light tweed sport jacket. In spite of herself, Dulcie thought she might possibly be attracted to him, although he wasn’t exactly what would be considered her type. Still…
He stepped back beside her, jarring her from her less-than-professional meditations. Her cheeks reddened slightly. “Dulcie stop it! He’s just a psychologist, not a mind reader,” she thought.
Raymond had, in fact, read her mind in this case. He was quite used to the reaction. He knew that he exuded a certain sex-appeal, and used it to his full advantage.
“What was your first reaction?” he asked.
Dulcie nearly stammered thinking that he was referring to her thoughts on himself. She realized quickly that he meant her reaction toward Xander. “That’s an interesting question,” she said to cover her momentary confusion. “Actually, my first reaction was that he appeared to be very thoughtful,” she said.
Raymond nodded. “He is. Of course, as my patient, there are certain things that I cannot share with you, but I can tell you that although he does not speak, he certainly understands the world around him. In his own way.”
“In his own way,” Dulcie repeated. “That’s what confuses me. What way is that?” she asked.
“He is what we believe to be a visual processor. His mind works almost entirely on visual knowledge. Verbal communication, which all of us in the hearing world understand very well and have since birth practically, he does not process. And it is not simply a matter of speech. If you were to attempt to teach him sign language, reading, any sort of advanced communication, you would fail utterly. Our language, any language, is actually a code. His brain does not process code. He can, however, connect specific images with specific actions. It’s probably quite similar to the way some animals or birds process the world around them,” Raymond explained.
“Animals?” Dulcie said, surprised. “That sounds like he doesn’t have as much intelligence.”
“That’s how many see it, but how do we define intelligence, exactly? Animals and birds have a great deal more understanding than we do regarding many things. We just believe that we’re superior, but are we really?”
“Good point,” Dulcie said. She was silent for a moment. “I wish we could know how he thinks.”
“I do to. But we can get a glimpse of it in his artwork. He sees everything, and that is what makes him wonderful. He sees what no one else can.”
Dulcie was mesmerized by the doctor’s speech. She simply stared at the portrait of herself. She had looked at it before, several times, but now she really looked at it. She saw a woman who looked confused. How had he been able to capture that? How had she missed it? Now she wanted to see more of his work.
“Dr. Armand,” she began.
“Oh please, please… Raymond,” he insisted.
The casual request seemed more like an intimacy. She felt self-conscious. “Raymond,” she began again, trying to sound as businesslike as possible, “I know something about the tragedy in Xander’s household. It was in the news so it would be hard not to know about it. Do you think that has affected him?”
“Most certainly. People that he has lived with for quite some time are now missing. I don’t know if he completely understands life and death. For that matter, I can’t say that I completely understand life and death,” he added somewhat self-deprecatingly, “but his surroundings, his companions, have changed quite suddenly. That has to affect him in some way.”
“I was told that he painted his father over and over again after he was sent to prison,” Dulcie said. She turned quickly to face Raymond. “Do you really think he did it? Do you really think Lawrence Bellamy pushed his father-in-law through the window?”
Raymond Armand chuckled. This is why the tabloid press would always have a place in society. People needed to talk about these things – the tragedies in other’s lives. “In my professional opinion, he does not fit the profile. To push someone out of a window would either be a premeditated act, or an impulsive act of rage. I have met Lawrence Bellamy on several occasions and he is neither a man who plans things out, nor is he impulsive. What I did see was a man who is soft. Perhaps gentle is a better word. He wants nothing more than to shut out the world and protect his son.”
“Then you must have known that his confession was wrong!” Dulcie exclaimed.
“Of course I did. Nearly everyone did. But he was so convincing that the court had no alternative but to believe him,” Raymond said. “I’m sure that was why he received such a light sentence for what would ordinarily be a heinous crime.”
“He thought that Xander did it,” Dulcie said quietly. “Didn’t he.”
“I’m sure he did. Why else would he have left the one person that he wanted to protect? It was the only way that he could protect him, in that case.”
“It can’t be true,” Dulcie said. “Xander couldn’t have done it himself. That doesn’t make any sense either. It must have been someone else,” she said. “But I remember reading that his father was the only one in the house at the time. Xander and the housekeeper were out on the grounds, although there was speculation that Xander could have gone back into the house…” Dulcie trailed off.
Raymond did not like the direction that the conversation was taking. He artfully switched focus. “For now it is best to consider Xander. I believe you brought me here to discuss a project that you’re working on? Showing a video of Xander at work during the exhibit? I must say it sounds very interesting!” He used his smoothest voice, calculated to flatter, and distract, Dulcie.
It worked. Her thoughts turned to her work. “Yes, but here’s the tricky part. I don’t want him to look like some sort of oddity. That’s where you come in. I’d like to have you as part of the project, to narrate and explain who Xander is and how his mind works.”
Raymond nodded, outwardly serious, but inwardly pleased. This was perfect! He loved the idea of being the expert for this project, especially if his work was on public display. Everyone would see him and hear his words directly. Several would be very wealthy and influential museum patrons, influential in directions beyond art. This could be the step forward that his career desperately needed right now. He took a deep, silent breath to steady his voice. “I’d be honored to help. What’s your next step?”
“My next step is to look at Xander’s work again, and to watch him work. Before I hire expensive videographers, I want to know exactly what they should be showing.”
“Very good. Why don’t I join
you while you’re with Xander and I can offer some insights.”
“Perfect,” Dulcie said happily. She felt relieved that the project was at last coming together. “I’ll make the arrangements and get in touch. Thanks so much for your assistance, Doct..., um, I mean, Raymond.” She stuck out her hand somewhat awkwardly to shake his.
He gently put out his hand and held hers for a moment. “The pleasure is mine,” he said.
#
Dan Chambers had scrubbed the decks and benches of the boat until they glistened. He always abhorred the task before he began, but by the time he was done, he was happy. It seemed to cleanse his thoughts, performing the mindless scrubbing.
His thoughts didn’t necessarily need cleansing; they were never of the horrific sort. But he did find himself thinking about too many things at once. His brain seemed to like tangents. He was lost in one as he tossed the scrub brush back into the bucket of sudsy water, and did not notice the man that had slowly walked up the dock and stopped beside the yacht.
“Looks good,” he said, jarring Dan from his thoughts. Dan jerked his head up quickly. He was looking directly at Detective Nicholas Black.
“Thanks,” Dan said, without enthusiasm. He wiped off his hands with a towel. “What can I do for you,” he added in a curt, businesslike voice.
Nick sighed and looked away. He had expected that. He and Dan had started off well, but Nick’s situation with Dulcie had quickly changed everything. He should have been honest with her. He should have told her everything. He hadn’t pursued her, but his developing feelings had become apparent, to the point where he knew she was interested too.
A Mind Within Page 3
