Elixir

by Charles Atkins

  He drove past the barb-wired perimeter, turned down the drive, and as he walked from his car – a 2012 maroon and black Honda Element – he collected items from his pockets, wallet, keys, Chapstick, cell phone.

  He dropped them along with a bulging Manilla envelope, the type without a metal closure, into a plastic bin and walked through the detector. He stood motionless as a guard patted him down and leafed through the envelope. Another scanned a computer log to verify that he was expected.

  ‘Conference room C?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Yes.’ The guard replied. ‘You know your way?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘They’re running late. You can wait in the chairs outside until the judge is ready.’

  He nodded, ‘Sure.’ He walked the dingy hall and sat on a bolted-down oak bench. He was not alone. His mother’s social worker smiled, ‘Hi Frank.’

  He said nothing. Forty-five minutes later the door opened and a group exited including a distraught older couple. The woman was in tears. ‘They don’t understand.’ She turned back. Her husband urged her forward.

  ‘We’ll get a lawyer,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a way.’

  ‘They don’t understand. How can they think he’ll be all right? That he won’t …’

  Frank gripped his envelope. As he listened to the drama he faced his greatest fear. That could be me.

  A clerk now stood in the doorway and called out. ‘Garfield hearing.’

  Frank, the social worker, a doctor in a lab coat with his name across the pocket, a woman in a navy skirt suit, and two others filed in.

  Frank took his usual seat at the oval table across from the probate judge, a woman in her fifties. She presided and to her right a clerk typed on his laptop.

  As two guards escorted his mother into the room, Frank kept his gaze fixed on the table. Rather than look at her he listened to the shuffle of her feet. The voice in his head stirred. You come from my brain, you are only thoughts. It would not quiet. Worse, images, sounds and raw fear from the night she killed his father and came after him, roared to life. Like a dentist’s drill hitting a nerve. Do not freak out. Not here. I watch my breath come in. I watch my breath go out. He stared at the table and counted the whorls in the wood. It didn’t help. He smelled her crazy and the ramble of her thoughts. Because although the horrible thing had happened when he was eight, he’d endured a whole childhood of her delusions and abuse. Don’t look at her.

  The clerk read off the case. ‘Candace Garfield, found not guilty by reason of mental defect for the murder of her husband Dr Edwin Garfield and attempted murder of her son Francis Xavier Garfield committed to Croton Forensic Hospital on April fourth 1994.’

  When Grandpa Henry was alive it had been less awful, but now it was just him and an envelope of insanity. He sat motionless as one by one a state psychologist, the social worker, and a patient advocate testified. The judge addressed his mother. ‘Ms Garfield, do you understand what we’re doing here today?’

  ‘Yes, this is my semi-annual evaluation.’

  ‘Do you know the function of this evaluation?’

  ‘It’s to see if I can be safely discharged to a less-restrictive setting, like a group home or supervised apartment.’

  ‘Correct.’

  Her voice made it hard to breathe. So normal. So convincing.

  ‘And how have you been doing?’ the judge asked.

  ‘Well, thank you.’ Candace replied. ‘I take my medications religiously. I haven’t heard a voice in years. And it’s so good to see my son, who never visits me. Though I understand, Frank.’

  He felt her gaze, but would not look.

  ‘I’m so sorry for what I did,’ she continued. ‘You have no idea.’

  Her words burned; he’d heard them before. All lies. The only remorse she felt, was that she’d not murdered him too.

  The judge turned to the social worker and doctors and reviewed the treatment plans for any signs of troublesome or dangerous behavior. In the past six months there had been none reported.

  The patient advocate, an attorney with a legal rights project, spoke, ‘Your honor, based on Ms Garfield’s exemplary progress I strongly advocate that a release plan be put forward.’

  Frank looked up.

  Finally, he glanced at his mother. Her graying hair was long and tied up in bun. Instead of hospital pajamas, they’d let her dress in street clothes. Their gazes met, and beneath the veneer of normalcy he saw that thing in her eyes. The hint of a smile formed on her lips.

  The judge spoke, ‘Unless there’s testimony to the contrary, I agree. It’s time to draft a release plan.’

  Not breaking his gaze from his mother, he spoke, ‘I have something to say.’

  Her smile vanished.

  ‘Go ahead,’ the judge said.

  Frank emptied the contents of his stuffed envelope onto the table. Inside were dozens of hand-written letters. ‘Six months ago, at the last one of these, my mother’s mailing privileges were restored. I don’t know how she got my address.’ He looked at the social worker, and then at the doctors, it likely had been one of them. ‘The restraining order that’s been in effect since I was nine has never been revoked. And she’s been writing me … as you can see, a lot. I’ve kept the envelopes so you can verify when they were sent. Here’s one from last week.’ He picked it up and read it.

  Child of Satan:

  Number your days. Count the seals as they dissemble and shatter. One, two, three, my avenging arms will reach for you. Four, five, six, your rancid blood will stain the floor, seven, eight, nine, salvation will be mine. From the father’s seed that polluted me. To the vile taint of his demon progeny. Back to hell, back to hell. I will send you back to hell …

  He read on, needing to readjust the page into the light, turning one hand-written side to the next. The letters tight and small, like she’d tried to conserve on size to get it all down.

  ‘Demon!’ his mother screamed. And before the guards could stop her, she leapt across the table and launched herself at Frank.

  Just as with Tuesday’s early a.m. mugger, Frank fended her off. Years of training, mostly Aikido, held her back. Even so, she savagely raked her nails across his forearm and then his cheek.

  An alarm sounded. The room filled with guards. She did not go down easy. Her fingers, like talons, slashed and drew blood.

  ‘You must die,’ she shrieked. ‘Don’t you see? We are not free as you walk the earth. You must be put down. Dog! Devil! I abjure thee Satan, back to hell, back to hell! Back to hell!’

  Winded and bloody Frank stood with his back to a wall as she was restrained. Two guards on each limb as they strapped her to a gurney with padded leather straps.

  The doctor ordered a powerful tranquilizer.

  Candace screamed and sobbed. ‘You know not what you do. He is Satan given flesh.’

  A male nurse entered with a drawn-up syringe.

  ‘No!’ Candace writhed. ‘You mustn’t weaken me. I am God’s true purpose. I am his flaming sword.’

  A second nurse pulled down her pants as two guards twisted her up enough for needle nurse to get a clear shot at her buttock.

  They were brutal and efficient. As the drug went in, Candace gasped and prayed. Her words shuddered forth. ‘The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. I shall seek vengeance. It is mine sayeth the Lord. The angels weep as Devils …’

  She lost speed and clarity.

  ‘Another ten milligrams of Haldol and two of Ativan,’ the doctor gasped.

  ‘Got it.’ From his lab-coat the nurse produced a second pre-filled syringe.

  ‘He maketh me to lie with demons, so that I may give flesh, and then destroy that flesh.’

  And then she was out.

  Frank stared at her. Her mouth hung open. She snored. He looked from her face to her hands, now bound tight by buckled leather straps. Her fingernails were filthy. She’s a germaphobe. He felt a trickle of blood on his cheek where she’d scratched him. Even here. Fuck! He spoke through
a clenched jaw and turned to the judge. ‘My mother has a fixed delusion. She believes that she gave birth to a child of the devil … me. It’s why she killed my father and tried to kill me when I was eight. Nothing has changed. Other than she’s learned to hide her delusions. And just because she’s insane does not make her stupid. If you ever release her, her single aim will be to find me and to kill me.’

  ‘Point made, young man,’ the judge said as they rolled Candace out. ‘Candace Garfield remains at Croton. A release plan is premature. We will re-evaluate in six months.’ She glanced at Frank. ‘We should also curtail her mail privileges.’

  ‘No, don’t. She fooled her treatment team. Let her write.’ He turned to the doctor and tried to keep his voice neutral, while rage burned. ‘I need alcohol, wipes, and bandages. Please culture whatever is under my mother’s fingernails and instruct anyone who’s been scratched by her to get their wounds cleansed immediately … and thoroughly.’

  ‘You don’t think …’ the psychiatrist stammered. His face blanched as he realized how deeply he’d been duped. And worse, the danger they’d all been exposed to.

  Frank’s shoulders sagged. This will never fucking end. He tried to remember all the doctors and psychologists he’d faced through the years. Each one greener than the next, thinking they had the key to unmake Candace Garfield’s crazy. In the past he’d argue with them, and worked to hammer home the point. But now, he just wanted to wipe off whatever poison she’d just tried to infect him with. ‘I need to wash these cuts, now. Your staff needs to do the same.’

  ‘Right.’

  A nurse led him to a staff bathroom and gave him alcohol wipes, a bottle of peroxide, cotton swabs, and several packages of an iodine compound. ‘Thanks.’ He locked the door and examined his face – his right cheek had three tracks of drying blood where she’d landed her strike. Nothing needed sutures, but she’d broken the skin. He wondered how long she’d planned it. Possibly since the last six-month review. He unwrapped a sterile cotton pad, blotted it against his wounds, resealed the bloody cloth in its original package, and put it in his pocket. He mused, if this doesn’t kill me, it should get me through the next one of these. He had no faith that the Croton doctor would do as he’d asked. And knowing his mother, at the first possible instant, she’d scrub the evidence.

  For ten minutes he sterilized, and pried each of his wounds open to ensure that the soap, the iodine, and the peroxide worked. He reflected on what just happened. ‘Sometimes Dr Stein,’ he said aloud, ‘there really is a tiger in the room. And that’s my problem. How the fuck do you know?’

  He retrieved his belongings from the guards, and walked back towards his car. He glanced at his cell; he’d missed several calls. One was from Grace checking up on him. There was another from a number he didn’t recognize, they’d left a voice message. He clicked on it.

  ‘Hi Frank, it’s Leona Lang. Dalton filled me in on last night’s yes and a handshake. I’m so pleased. We’re both working like mad to make certain you don’t regret it. To be fair, I’ve not been this excited about a project in … well, in a long time. Call me when you get this. We’re getting the Hollow Hills facility in Litchfield cleared out for you. It would be best for you to come up, check it out, and whatever you want and need we will get … Seriously, anything.’

  Frank stopped and stared back at the maximum-security hospital. He pressed the return call icon. He expected voicemail, but Leona picked up.

  ‘Hi Frank. Please tell me it’s still a yes.’

  ‘If you can make good on what your son promised.’ His words rambled in his head. He heard them like they were being spoken by someone else. Someone whose mother hadn’t just tried to kill him … again. ‘A human trial with terminally ill children. The ones at St Mary’s.’

  ‘Not a problem. Though the study design with non-heterogeneous tumors will raise eyebrows.’

  ‘It’ll work,’ he said. He thought of Jen, Ben … Lakeesha. ‘But a month is too long to wait.’

  ‘Understood. Let me give you the address so you can tour the facility. It’s spectacular and we can rent as many additional homes as necessary for the families. We’ll foot the whole thing. Hell, Dalton even cut a deal with the neighboring farm for equine therapy. Whatever you need Frank. Just think of me as Santa.’

  He parroted something his mother said when he was four and was told there’d be no Christmas or presents. ‘That’s an anagram for Satan.’

  ‘I’m aware. There’s something dead wrong about that fat man breaking into all those homes. And why mothers let their children sit on a strange old man’s lap at malls, seems … But I digress. We are going to do great things you and me. You will make a huge difference in those children’s lives. And I’m honored to be a part of it. And seriously Frank, whatever you need, ask and it’s yours. If you get any pushback, you will have both my and Dalton’s direct lines. I certainly understand the time crunch. Those children don’t have time. We will make this happen. You do your part and we’ll do ours.’

  Frank typed the Connecticut address into his phone and hung up.

  His cell rang again. He was about to ignore it, probably another recruiter, but he was on a roll with Dr Stein’s do the opposite thing, so he picked up.

  ‘Frank?’ A man’s voice.

  ‘Yes, who is this?’

  ‘It’s Sean. Sean Brody.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You just called me,’ Sean said. ‘I was returning it.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ Frank checked his cell’s memory.

  ‘Maybe you butt dialed. Regardless, when’s your next game?’

  ‘Thursday, unless it’s raining. Or …’ I’m no longer at MIT. I think I just quit my job. What have I done?

  ‘What about coffee?’ Sean asked.

  ‘This about Jackson?’ Frank asked.

  ‘No. We’ve got that tied up. Like I said, it was a robbery and the guy who fenced the jewelry OD’ed, probably fentanyl, but can’t say for sure till the final toxicology comes back. That seems to be the motive, money for drugs. Though I’m still pulling at the threads you raised. Something doesn’t fit. You were right. A lot of people hated Jackson, and why am I rambling on like this? So, coffee?’

  ‘Like a date?’ Frank asked, having misjudged similar situations in the past.

  ‘Yeah, like that.’

  Bonus points for Dr Stein. ‘Yes.’ And not used to good things happening to him, he thought of Leona’s promise to give him everything he wanted. ‘Think of me as Santa.’

  ‘What are you doing now?’ Sean asked.

  Frank sorted through possible replies. From finishing up with my psychotic and homicidal mother to getting set to make a huge change in my life. ‘I just accepted a new job and am going to check out my lab.’

  ‘That’s a big deal. One of those recruiters finally get through to you?’

  ‘Offer I couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘You want company? I’m off today.’

  ‘It’s in Connecticut and right now I’m in Croton New York.’

  There was silence. ‘You still there?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Yeah. I don’t mind the drive, unless you don’t want the tag-along.’

  He gave Sean the address for UNICOs Hollow Hill Labs.

  ‘See you in a couple hours,’ Sean said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Frank managed, and hung up. He stood in the parking lot, cell phone in one hand, keys in the other. In the space of minutes, he’d been assaulted by his mother, set on a new career trajectory, and made a date. What the fuck just happened?

  His cheek tingled and two male robins in a beach-rose bramble fluttered around a drab female. He watched them, the contrast of their bright orange chests and the pink flowers, which someone had bothered to plant outside a hospital for the criminally insane. Is this really happening? He looked at the address for the Litchfield facility. Pressed on it, and listened to Siri say, ‘OK, navigation started. Proceed to the highlighted road.’

  He got in the Element and turned th
e key. I’m really going to do this. They don’t have to die … if it works. He pictured Caesar and Lavinia, they were rats not children. It worked for them, but …

  He drove off, and once on the highway voice-dialed Grace.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

  ‘Bad … good, they’re not letting her out. I’ll explain later. How do you feel about leaving Cambridge and coming to work with me in Connecticut?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Start talking.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Frank slowed as he approached the gates of the Hollow Hills address. Parked on the side was a black Jeep Wrangler and … Sean. In jeans and flannel shirt. So out of my league. His chest tightened as Sean waved and jogged towards him.

  ‘They won’t let me in without you,’ he said, as Frank rolled down his window.

  ‘Get in.’ As an uncontrollable smile at seeing Sean ripped open his mother’s handiwork, he popped the locks on the passenger door.

  ‘Big day,’ Sean remarked. ‘What happened to your face? Scratch marks? Heavy date?’

  ‘Long story and no,’ Frank said, not wanting to start things with an explanation of his crap childhood that led up to the crap morning at Croton.

  ‘I’ve got time. You OK? Looks like those just happened.’

  ‘I’m OK, and …’

  ‘And you don’t want to talk about it. Well then,’ Sean said, ‘I can take a little mystery, you did wash those out? The stuff under people’s fingernails you would not believe.’

  ‘I would,’ Frank said, not wanting to voice his suspicion that they’d been a murder attempt by his mother. ‘Hey, I’m a doctor, I disinfected the hell out of them.’ He drove up to the guard station and pulled out his wallet. Sean did the same.

  ‘You’re on the list, Dr Garfield,’ he said to Frank. ‘You’re not.’

  ‘He’s with me.’ Frank wondered if that carried weight.

  ‘Let me check.’ The guard, whose nametag identified him as Brett Condon, vanished into his steel-barred hut.