The Blessed - By Tonya Hurley Page 0,60
interrogations masquerading as therapy, the stark white room, the ECT machine, Dr. Frey’s poker face, the orderly’s powerful grip.
“Am I keeping you from something?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why you are here?”
“You’re the doctor. You tell me.”
“Mania, delusion, depression, paranoia.”
“All lies.”
“Denial.”
“I don’t belong here.”
“Where do you belong?”
“With them.”
“With who? The priests? Father Piazza?”
“No, he didn’t believe me either. You know that. He sent me here, didn’t he?”
“He just wanted what’s best for you. As we all do.”
“You mean what’s best for you.”
He remembered how Dr. Frey’s face tightened. He wasn’t used to being challenged, let alone doubted. His irritation was palpable, unlike the calm and cool demeanor he regularly wore as he strolled through the hospital corridors and awards dinners. He was used to being treated with respect, with deference. He’d earned it. Degrees in medicine, psychology, sociology; he was a scientist, as credentialed as they come. And a humanitarian. He barely had enough shelf space in the lobby for the honors he’d been granted. Sebastian was paraded by them with the other patients every day. Taking Frey’s victory lap for him. The first stop on the psych ward tour.
He had not been in much of a mood to take any lip from this punk kid with a messianic complex. He had tried to maintain the analytical cool for which he was renowned, but Sebastian was getting to him.
“You arrived with only these three sets of beads when you were placed here. Removed from the old chapel beneath Precious Blood.”
“Souvenirs. The place was shutting down. What’s the problem?”
“Stolen property. Isn’t that a sin?”
“I didn’t steal. I took only what I needed.”
“Needed?”
“They took them away from me. Afraid I’d hang myself, or stuff them all in my mouth and suffocate.”
“You don’t present as the suicidal type, Sebastian.”
“Then give them back.”
“Why do you want them so badly?”
“Why do you care?”
“Perhaps it will help me to understand you better.”
“Haven’t they told you, Doctor? I’m the spiritual type.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Is that an illness now?”
“All depends, Sebastian.”
“If you want to help me, let me have them. Might just chill me out. Isn’t that what you want?”
“We could change that if you wouldn’t continue to refuse medication.”
“I’m fine with who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
The orderly was taking notes for some reason but not for Sebastian’s official medical file. Frey was keeping two sets of records on him.
“Not enough in there to condemn me yet? To lock me away for good?”
“I’m not here to judge you. The courts made their decision.”
“On your authority, your testimony, Doctor.”
“And Father Piazza’s. He referred you here to begin with.”
“Had me arrested and committed, you mean. At your recommendation.”
“For your own good.”
“You’ve got people everywhere, don’t you? Even the clergy.”
“He knew you as a boy. Saw you steal the relics from the chapel, Sebastian. Need I go on?”
“I wanted to be heard.”
“He heard you. Your ravings. Your delusions. There was no choice but to put you here. I didn’t seek you out.”
“No fingerprints, isn’t that right, Doctor? You didn’t convict me and you aren’t here to judge me.”
“More delusions. You are sick, Sebastian.”
“That’s how it works, isn’t it? No secret handshake, no clubhouse, no uniforms. Just a confederacy of the like-minded in positions of power and those they can use for their evil purpose.”
“Seems you have it all worked out.”
“I know all about you. It was revealed to me. Everything.”
“You’ve been here three years, Sebastian. Don’t you think it’s time you shared that revelation with me? Or are you afraid?”
“I’m not the one who’s afraid.”
“Unburden yourself and we can stop this. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because you know. Don’t try to make a fool out of me.”
“I’m not here to mock you.”
“No, you’re here to eliminate me.”
“No, to help you.”
“It doesn’t matter. There will be others.”
“Others? Who? Where?”
“Closer than you think, but why would I tell you?”
“You can talk to me. Anything you say will be kept in confidence.”
“Forgive me for not believing a damn thing you say.”
“The doctor-patient relationship is sacred, Sebastian.”
“Sacred? That’s funny. Father Piazza said the same thing.” Sebastian’s face twisted up in loathing at the very thought.
“You’ll feel much better when this is over.”
“Do you always do these procedures so late at night, Doctor? On a weekend, when no one is around? With a patient in street clothes?”
“Take hold of him.”
“Why are you so threatened by me? Is it because you believe me? Is that it?”
The doctor nodded at the attendant to begin.
“Is this your idea of treatment?”
“We’ve tried everything else.”
“Trying