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  John nodded once.

  “Very well. Be seated.” The judge turned to the prosecutor. “Are you ready to present?”

  “I am, Your Honor.”

  “Then let’s get to it. It looks like we have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “Yes, sir. Let me start by saying that on October 3, of this year, Mr. Edges was found in a state of semi-consciousness from being physically assaulted. After being brought into...”

  Listening to the list of charges was hard. He’d never been a violent person, and to hear how he’d hit the nurse, and then attacked the policeman, sent an unexpected wave of dejection through him. Who had he turned into?

  When the prosecutor finished, his attorney, a public defender stood. “Your Honor, we do not contest the validity of the charges. And, as the court has ordered, Mr. Edghes was placed in the Brookville Psychiatric Facility for observation under the care of Doctor Elyse Lowenstein. Doctor Lowenstein’s credentials are—”

  “—I am well aware of Doctor Lowenstein’s credentials. Have the clerk enter them after. Continue,” ordered Judge Gallagher.

  He looked at the prosecutor and then the judge. “I call Doctor Lowenstein to the stand.”

  The prosecutor nodded at the same time as the judge.

  John watched her rise and go to the witness stand, where she took the oath and sat. He was surprised when, as the lawyer asked the first question, the judge interrupted, “Let’s not waste any more time, counselor.” He turned to Lowenstein. “Doctor, please give the court your findings.”

  She nodded, looked at John for a moment, and then turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, after a month of observation, I have found several issues that together, have combined to alter Mr. Edghes’ awareness of his surroundings and himself, as well as that at the time of the incident, Mr. Edghes was suffering from delusions induced by both his intoxication and the beating that sent him to the hospital. I believe he had absolutely no awareness of what he was doing when he hit the nurse and the policeman. He was in a dissociative state, as I believe he had been for a long time. My recommendation would be for a course of intensive therapy, perhaps three to four months—if not longer, followed by a placement in a rehabilitation facility to prepare him to reenter society. I believe this to be more beneficial to both society and Mr. Edghes, than penal incarceration.

  “Mr. Edghes was an accountant of some note, and a constructive participant in his Bay Shore community until the death of his wife. He is suffering from several issues, which are all treatable. In the thirty days Mr. Edghes has been under my care, he has withdrawn from the use of alcohol, and has been active in his therapy.”

  The judge looked from Lowenstein to the prosecutor, raised his eyebrows and said, “Does the prosecution have anything to add to this?”

  The prosecutor looked down at the sheets of paper before him. “I have read Doctor Lowenstein’s report and have no objections to her professional recommendations. I would request a follow-up hearing when Doctor Lowenstein considers the defendant to have completed the therapy and is ready for release.”

  “I think that’s a reasonable request.” With that, the judge turned to John and his attorney. “The Court orders John R. Edghes to be placed under the care of Dr. Elyse Lowenstein, assistant Director of the Brookville Psychiatric Hospital, until the time Doctor Lowenstein considers the defendant capable of caring for himself. If this does not come to pass, then the court will look further into the matter at that time.

  <><><>

  “Today went well. We’ve got a third of the battle done,” Lowenstein said to John after they’d settled into the chairs in her office. “What comes next is the hard part.”

  John looked at his left wrist, at the jagged angry red line left by his attempt at suicide. Then he looked at his right arm, and the scar from the surgery to reset the break. He turned back to Lowenstein. “Hard? After the last month?”

  Elyse Lowenstein smiled. “As the saying goes, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Tomorrow you’ll move to a new room. You’ll have privileges in the common areas. You will also have two sessions daily. A private session with me in the morning, and a group session in the afternoon. The times between the two sessions are yours to do with as you want. You can join with the other patients, take classes, and, or, work out in the gym, which is something I believe will greatly benefit you. Take the next few days to explore your options and discover what you need to move through each day. Take a week to figure it out, if you need.”

  “If I can’t figure it out?”

  The left side of Lowenstein’s mouth curled upward in a sneer. “Don’t be a jerk. You are an intelligent and highly educated man. Do try and remember the judge’s words if you don’t. John, you will figure it out. I’ll see you in the morning. Be here at 9:30.”

  John stood. He gazed down at her for several seconds. “Thank you for what you have done for me. I’ll do my best.”

  She started to respond, then stopped. As she stared at him, her left eyebrow rose. “Did Claire tell you to say that?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then, you are welcome.”

  <><><>

  Alone in the room where he’d spent the last thirty days, John sat on the chair and looked out the metal screened window. He saw in the corner of the top sill, a single drop of dried blood lingered after the cleanup.

  “That was foolish,” Claire said.

  John nodded. “Yes, it was; too bad it didn’t work.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  He looked over his right shoulder, to where Claire floated. “Me? I think you’ve got that wrong. And stop telling me not to be stupid! I think you’ve used up that particular phrase.”

  Claire laughed. “Really? Who’s stupid enough to get stuck in the loony bin? Not me.”

  “No, you are one thousand percent correct, my dear,” John agreed. “You’re not stuck in the loony bin, you’re in a much worse place, you’re stuck in my head, and I’m stuck in the loony bin. The biggest difference is that you have much less room to get about.”

  Claire turned away from him, her lips pursed in silence.

  “It’s true. You’re stuck. Trapped inside of me.”

  Claire refused to look at him.

  John stared at her, waiting for his wife to speak, but when she continued her stony silence, he said, “I’m sorry. Please, Claire, talk to me.”

  “How can I talk to you if I’m trapped inside your head? Doesn’t that make you a crazy person?”

  “Claire, I said I was sorry. You’re not trapped inside my head. You are free to leave whenever you want.”

  “Am I, John? It certainly doesn’t feel that way.”

  “Trust me, Claire, you can leave whenever you want.”

  “Oh, how I wish that was so—no, my freedom is in your hands.”

  “In my hands? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, either you’ll eventually understand, or you won’t. If you don’t... Well...” Claire shrugged, looked around at the four walls, and suddenly disappeared to let John work on her words.

  Alone, John glanced around the room again. He would be moving to a new room later. And although it would make no difference, he wondered if it would be nicer than this one.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  November, Brookville Psychiatric Hospital

  A half hour into the morning session, Elyse Lowenstein asked, “Are you familiar with the saying, ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life’?”

  John studied Lowenstein for several seconds. “When I graduated high school, my father shook my hand. He said, ‘John, you will have many opportunities to shape your life, but understand one basic thing. Today, is the first day of the rest of your life. You are no longer a boy. In a few months you’ll start college, and the decisions you make now and during school will affect your life in the future, absolutely’.”

  Lowenstein nodded. “A wise man. So now, you made a promise—a commitment to me. You promised you would move forward; you woul
d work on making things better.”

  When she fell silent, John nodded.

  “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. If you honor your commitment, if you work at getting better, then you will. So, again, what happens from this point on is completely up to you.”

  John smiled. “I know. Claire told me the same thing, in different words.”

  Lowenstein’s eyebrows arched. The left corner of her mouth tugged slightly down. “Really, what did she tell you?”

  “To stop being stupid, and that her freedom...” He paused to take a breath. “Her freedom is in my hands.”

  “And?”

  John’s brows knitted together. “And?”

  “And what do you need to do?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  Lowenstein remained silent for a short time before exhaling softly. Her hands came together, fingertips pressing on fingertips. She looked from John to her hands and then at John again. “When Claire speaks to you, whose words does she use?”

  John’s brows tugged together again, three vertical grooves carved the skin between his brows. “I don’t understand.”

  “Is it your words she speaks?” When John continued to stare at her, she elaborated, “Does it sound like she’s speaking with her voice, but using words you would use rather than the ones she would use?”

  John took a moment before shaking his head. “No. She sounds like Claire, like she always has.”

  “Okay. If you speak with Claire between now and when we meet tomorrow, would you ask Claire to join us in the next session?”

  John cocked his head to the side, wondering if her request was as strange as it sounded. “You want to shrink Claire?”

  Lowenstein laughed. “Hmm. I didn’t think of that, but no, I want her to be a part of the conversation. Perhaps in that way, we can find out how to help you and help her.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good. I think we’ve done enough for this morning. I’ll see you at the group session, later.”

  <><><>

  John returned to his new quarters after lunch. No longer in the high security section overseen by the Nassau County Sheriff’s Department, he had a small room in the regular section of Brookville. It was still secure, as was the entire mental facility but the individual rooms were not locked, and he had the freedom of the common areas.

  As rooms go, it was better than any he’d spent time in over the last two years. He looked around as he sat on the bed. Beneath the window was a small desk, its chair neatly tucked to it. There was another bed across from him, but for now he was the beige and white room’s only occupant.

  He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. A moment later he sensed Claire’s presence.

  “She wants you to join my sessions.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know. She asked me to ask you.”

  “Is she playing a game or is she fixing you?”

  “You could always ask her.”

  “She can’t speak to me, only you can do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m yours. I always have been.”

  “But you’ll come?”

  “Maybe.”

  John frowned.

  <><><>

  The psychiatrist was in her chair when John entered the office at nine thirty. It had been a restless night. Sleep had come and gone, and he felt more tired now than he had last night.

  “Morning, John,” Lowenstein said.

  “Morning,” John replied, padding softly across the room to the seat across from her. She looked different this morning, less formal. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back and twisted behind her head, secured with what looked like two chopsticks. She had no makeup on, other than lipstick. Her hazel eyes were clear and focused on him.

  “You were very quiet during the group session yesterday, any reason for not participating?”

  He shrugged. “I...wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t know any of them.”

  “And they didn’t know you, yet they spoke about themselves and their efforts to get better.”

  “I know. I need some time to adjust. I...I don’t like interacting with other people. I like being alone.”

  “Oh, is that it now? Okay, John, as long as you understand, your time here is governed by how you use it. The longer it takes to become involved in your own therapy, the longer it takes to get back to the real world.” She paused, tilted her head slightly, and added, “Unless, of course, you want to spend your life here or in prison.”

  John blinked a rapid half-dozen times. “No.”

  “Good. What about Claire? Will she join us today?”

  John nodded.

  “Good. When?”

  John looked over Lowenstein’s shoulder at where Claire smiled at him. Her bouncy short hair framed her face. Her eyes glowed, and the smile gracing her mouth made his heart beat faster. She was wearing black slacks and a red top. “She’s here, behind you.”

  Lowenstein didn’t turn. “How does she look, John?”

  “Look? She looks the same as always.”

  “How old was she when the cancer took her?”

  John tore his eyes from Claire to look at Lowenstein. He started to reply but stopped, his throat suddenly too dry to speak. He cleared his throat and moistened his lips with his tongue. “She was thirty-seven.”

  “How old does she look now?”

  He lifted his eyes to where Claire floated behind the shrink. “She looks like she did when we were first married.”

  Lowenstein nodded. “I’ve seen photographs of Claire, she was very pretty.”

  He gazed at Claire. “Yes, she is.”

  “Would you ask Claire a question for me?”

  “You can ask her yourself.”

  “Really? Excellent. Claire, what do you need from John?”

  John stared at Lowenstein. Then he looked at Claire, who smiled sweetly and said, “Nothing.”

  “Did you hear her?”

  She shook her head.

  “She said, ‘nothing’.”

  Lowenstein’s brows furrowed. “She wouldn’t answer?”

  “No, her answer was nothing. She said she doesn’t need anything from me.”

  “Then what does she need?”

  John blinked and Claire disappeared. “She’s gone.”

  “That’s very interesting. Did she leave because I asked what she needs? What do you think?”

  His eyes darted back and forth. “How would I know?”

  “You know Claire better than anyone. I’d like you to think about Claire’s reasons for leaving our session. But for now, tell me how you like your new room? Is it comfortable?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Leave.”

  “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “It’s like she said, think about it. Why am I here? Why do you see me?”

  “Because I’m crazy. I’m insane!”

  Claire pursed her lips and shook her head. “Insane isn’t a diagnosis. Neither is crazy. Just think about it, John. For me, if not for yourself.”

  “I suppose you want me to ‘participate’ as the doctor says.”

  “Your choice. Everything is your choice, John. It always has been.”

  “It’s always my choice...really? My choice is to be with you, not for you to be dead.”

  He turned from her to look out the window. His view was of the central courtyard, which was surrounded by a three-foot stone wall. Paths led out from the center of the courtyard to the grounds surrounding the facility. He wondered if he would be allowed outside.

  The triple ding of the lunch bell sounded. He turned back to Claire, but she was gone. Shrugging, he went downstairs, through the food line, where he decided on a ham and cheese on whole wheat, and a chocolate chip cookie.

  Two hours later he was seated near the middle of the circle of occupied chai
rs. There were ten patients in the group, all men in various stages of presentation. Some looked like they had just woken, while others looked like they’d been awake for days. Lowenstein sat in a chair almost opposite him. To her left was another doctor.

  “This is Dr. Tarele. He is my new Psychiatric Resident and he will be observing for the next week, and then he will take over the group.”

  John looked him over. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. With brown eyes set beneath thick brows in an oval face, high cheekbones and a wide mouth, his nose was proportioned perfectly to his other features. Yet John saw something in the man’s eyes, something that said he had a history.

  “Who wants to start today?” Lowenstein asked.

  “I will,” called a twenty-something man three over from John’s left.

  “Go ahead, Samuel. Since Dr. Tarele hasn’t been here before, and we have two new men in the group, please give us a quick background.”

  The man, skinny, almost to the point of emaciation, nodded once. “As most of youse know, I’m an addict. I started when I was thirteen. I was in an accident. I was trying to do some tricks on my bike, I missed a ramp and fell about twenty feet. They told me I shattered three discs in my back. I had four surgeries, and was put on painkillers. The pills were like magic. My pain disappeared, but more important was the way I felt. I didn’t miss riding my bike. But, over time, it took more and more oxy to keep the pain down and my mood up.”

  He paused, took a breath, and then gave a lopsided grin. “By the time I had my last surgery, I was sixteen and completely hooked on opioids. When the doctors started to wean me off, I got my meds from some other kids. In order to pay for the stuff, I stole from my parents... That was the beginning of the end. I graduated from pills to heroin because the ‘horse’ was cheaper and easier to get.”

  Falling silent, he shifted on the chair, and looked at his hands. A moment later, Lowenstein prompted, “And what happened?”

  “The same thing that happens to all junkies. I stole from others, like the parents of my friends, until I didn’t have any friends.” He shook his head. “I got thrown out of school. When my parents woke up they sent me to rehab. I made it through three days before I snuck out and ran away. I robbed a store the next day, and got enough money to buy. The day after, I was arrested for the robbery. I spent six months in juvenile. When I got out I was clean. It lasted two weeks.”