Dead Roots (The Analyst) (7 page)

“Keda, get control. You need to
stop
this.”

“
I will consume... I will consume this body. Succumb to me, Thomas Bell. You will die a thousand deaths in the darkness.
”

One of Keda's hands fell from Tom's wrist. Tom watched it rise up slowly to point at the thick glass ashtray lying on the ground, the last thing in the car that had come with them to this world. Tom turned back to face Keda again. He hesitated for a long moment.

“
The tree, Bell. The tree still haunts you. It still follows you.
”

Tom let go of Keda. For that few moments as he made for the ashtray, he lost his balance and saw Keda's arms fly out to the sides again. The eye erupted forward from his throat, red vein-like protuberances emerging from the sides of Keda's mouth, and creeping across his cheeks. The eye stuck out further with a sick, wet noise.

Tom gripped the ashtray in one hand and threw his weight up and forwards, like a drunk trying to make it over a viciously spinning fence. He landed against Keda and leaned back. He swung his arm forward and the ashtray collided with Keda's temple. Tom heard a horrible, guttural noise, like the scream from a torn throat. The eye retracted back into Keda's mouth. The tendrils spread out farther.

“
Tremble… Tremble… Tremble…
”

Tom swung again, hitting Keda in the jaw. The eye retreated further, and this time, so did the red veins. Tom heard Keda make a sound like he was choking.

“You're going back where you
belong.
”

Tom discarded the ashtray and swung hard at Keda's jaw with his bare fist. There was a meaty crack: Keda's jaw had dislocated. He swung again. Blood tinted Tom's knuckle, making him cringe to see that he had knocked one of Keda’s teeth loose. A solid uppercut to Keda's loose jaw caused the eye to finally recede completely into Keda's throat, and disappear from view. The tendrils followed suit. Keda's body went limp, except for his head, still twitching back and forth.

Tom felt his sense of balance return to him. Sunlight slowly but surely returned outside the car. The danger had passed, at least for now.

Tom gingerly peeled himself off the floor of the car, and sunk heavily back into his seat. He clutched his stomach and forced himself not to expel the contents of his stomach. He briefly reached for a cigarette but then stopped. It would only make it worse.

He looked over at the driver. Behind the glass he was completely oblivious. His eyes were still on the road and the car was still plodding along through the morning traffic.

Keda was slumped back in his seat. Tom leaned forward and put a hand on his friend’s jaw, looking him over. No bruises, no loose teeth. Keda groaned, swatting Tom's hand away.

“I still feel it,” he said in a dopey voice.

“Everything okay?”

“I'm sorry, Tom,” Keda said, curling up on the seat. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

Tom sighed and lowered his head. He reached to his right and opened the mini-fridge. Inside was a shelf of beer, two bottles of wine and several sealed bottles of water. He took one of the water bottles and opened it, handing it to Keda. Keda took it and looked at him with wounded eyes.

“Hard part's over,” Tom said quietly, sitting back. Keda took several gulps from the bottle. “Is it going to happen again?”

“No... maybe. No. I don't think so. But we have to get him away from you. He is feeding on you.”

“Okay. Is the hotel far?”

“Not far now. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty in this traffic.”

“Do you need me to stay somewhere else?”

“No... no. I will handle it. I'm sorry, Tom.”

Tom got his own bottle of water from the fridge and took a long gulp. He reached for his pack of cigarettes and lit a new one. He pulled the ashtray off the floor and set it to his right, slumping forward with his cigarette hand cradling his forehead and rubbing the skin.

“Tom. What is the tree?” Keda inquired after a long silence. Tom frowned defensively.

“I'm not ready to talk about that yet.”

“Okay.”

Tom finished his cigarette, and the rest of the drive to the hotel, in silence.

3

“Harold”

Dr. Robin Fisher

Child and young adult psychiatrist

104 Rosepark Cres. Modesto, CA

Psychiatric evaluation

Name: Thomas Christian Bell

D.O.B.: 05-28-83

Evaluation date(s): 10-6-93

EVALUATION TOOLS:

1.
               
Post Rotary Nystagmus Test.

2.
               
Clinical Observations which assess neurosensory skills and behavior manifestations.

3.
               
Rorschach ink blot test and free association exercises.

PRESENTING PROBLEMS: Schoolwork suffering; patient's sleep patterns are suffering; social withdrawal.

History:

Thomas is a 10 year, 4 month old boy referred for a psychiatric evaluation by his pediatrician Dr. Lee Matthews due to difficulties in the above areas. Thomas' mother relates some medical history as follows: Mother's pregnancy was complicated by toxemia the last 5 months. She was apparently pre-eclampsia. At the time of delivery, she had been taking phenobarbital due to elevated blood pressure. Apparently, she went to the hospital after the rupture of membranes; where 2-3 hours later there was no activity (including no labor). At which time an emergency C-section was performed. Thomas weighed 7 lbs., 12. oz., and apparently did fine. Mother described Thomas' development as ok; he was always active and he seemed to have no real problems.

Mother describes Thomas as an outgoing child, but with very clear-cut boundaries for himself and others in social situations. Describes him as a “little control freak”. Had some difficulties in preschool but these were apparently “ironed out” within the same year; no elaboration given. Thomas has no siblings.

Session analysis

Thomas endured the tests given him with little interest; claimed he had “done them all before”. Gave half-hearted answers to the free association exercise, and seemed keen to blow through the Rorschach blots as quickly as possible. However, Thomas became quite disturbed late in the test, seemingly when faced with a particular blot, and asked for the cards to be put away.

Thomas and I spoke about his recent difficulties in his studies and he put to me that his mind was “somewhere else”. He added that he could not concentrate in school when he was getting so little sleep. When inquired about his trouble sleeping, Thomas described to me what I can only call a “monster in the closet”. Thomas complained of a recurring image in vivid detail. In his closet he says he sees what he calls a “devil tree”, which displays the face of his mother and often attempts to trick him into thinking it is her.

Thomas was very adamant that these were real images, and that there is in fact a creature living in his bedroom closet; suggestions that he was suffering a recurring nightmare were swiftly rebuked. At this point I attempted to inquire about Tom's home life and what the images meant to him. He quickly diverted the topic back to the tree, explaining that he was “losing his mind” because no one would believe him and he could not call the police. He accused me of not believing him either.

He asked me directly for help, begging me to believe him. I attempted to console him and explained to him that these things he described were impossible; that his complaints matched the symptoms of night terrors, in which an individual, especially a young child, may experience extremely vivid nightmares that are difficult to differentiate from reality. At this point he used profanity towards me and attempted to end the session prematurely. I explained to him that a regimen of medication may assist in regulating his sleep cycle and went on to elaborate on some techniques his parents could employ to help him, but at this point I had regretfully lost his attention and was forced to allow him to leave.

Summary

In my professional opinion, Thomas' psychological development shows signs of being several years behind the expected age level. While his communication and reasoning skills are above average, he regrettably seems to have trouble differentiating between fantasy and reality, shown by his adamancy to prove the existence of his monster, and frequent insistence that he could no longer tell what “was real” or not. He is also showing signs of depression; his speech regarding most topics was uninterested and bleak and parents describe withdrawal from social situations and schoolwork.

In layman's terms, Tommy is a very bright young man but he still seems to suffer from very early childhood fears. Many children describe monsters under the bed or in the closet, but these fears are usually resolved by the time the child reaches early adolescence. Should this emotional immaturity be affecting other areas of his life, it could severely impair his social and academic development in the future if he does not receive proper assistance.

It is difficult to pinpoint whether these issues arise from a hindrance in his neural development or from difficulties in his upbringing. His unwillingness to speak about his home life left me to go on the word of his parents, from which I gleaned no abnormalities.

I recommend a referral to Dr. Isaac Bale's clinic for an electroencephalogram and polysomnography to gather further information. I have enclosed his details in the parents' copy of my evaluation. I have also prescribed Tommy a low amount of the SSRI Fluoxetine, to be taken once daily, and a script of Alprazolam for the parents to give him in case he has any emergencies; however, I stress that these are to be short-term solutions and I strongly recommend that another appointment be made for Thomas to assess his needs and tailor for him a therapy program.

As a side note, I took the liberty of examining the Rorschach cards and located the one which seemed to cause Thomas some amount of distress. In retrospect (and personal opinion), the problem card mentioned in the analysis bore a resemblance to a tree or shrub, though Thomas did not confirm this interpretation.

********

The world was still darkness.

Tom could hear heavy rain lashing against the windows of the hotel room. The blinds were drawn, and for now, he remained in bed.

Through his barely open eyelids he took in the room. Closed maroon blinds and nice wooden furniture. Really quite Western in appearance, all things considered. He was on a queen bed facing a flat screen television. Everything was off-- lights, TV, he'd even unplugged the hotel phone. He looked over at the clock. It was 6:49 p.m. He could still sleep another two hours.

*

Suddenly two hours had passed. His phone was blowing up on the dresser.

“God damn it.”

He sat up. The cool air hit his naked form, causing him to wrap the blanket over his back. The LCD lit up and Tom had two new messages: one from Margaret, one from Artie.

Tom stood up and threw on one of his new undershirts and the same dirty pair of boxers. He cursed himself for not picking up a fresh pack. He made his way to the kitchen, navigating to his messages while making a cup of complimentary coffee.

You can probably handle him. Just be ready to keep up,
Margaret had written helpfully. The timestamp said it had been sent at some point during the incident in the limousine.

Getting ready now. How much coffee do I need?
He wrote back playfully.
Sorry for the late reply, had a fracas on the ride over.
He'd need to report the incident to Margaret later, but paperwork could wait.

Artie had sent him a message about an hour ago.
What are you doing tonight?

Tom muttered to himself. He punched back a reply.

I'm in Tokyo, remember? Meeting Keda's boss. Can't make it back to drink tonight. Sorry.

He set the phone down on the counter and poured the boiling water into a mug. The coffee aroma rose up into his nose as he added sugar and milk, then took a sip. It wasn't bad. He could make a decent mug of coffee out of just about anything, when he needed one. He made his way to the couch and sat down in front of the TV. Switching it on and sipping his mug, he flipped through some channels idly. Most of it was in Japanese. A couple of anime, some sports, some news. He managed to find an American news network and let the TV stay there. At least it was English.

“--In headlines tonight, more missing person reports have come in from Orchard, West Virginia. Police from the town of eight thousand say they are now searching for as many as four missing individuals. The disappearances are believed to be in relation to the disappearance of Susan Bailey, the fifteen year old that was taken from her home in early February...”

Tom groaned. He'd heard the Susan Bailey story before. He was simultaneously baffled, and yet soberly disdainful of the fact that it was getting so much coverage. He wondered privately if it would have been such a media circus if the kid had been black, or a Muslim. Or both. Some fat, mustached cop turned up on the TV to give a statement and Tom was already bored. He stood up to go to the bathroom.

Tom's phone buzzed again on the counter. He idly picked it up and continued into the toilet. He unlocked the keypad while sitting down to relieve himself. Another text from Keda. Going back through them chronologically, Keda had been reminding him each hour since five that their meeting was at ten o'clock. It was just about nine now. Tom needed to be downstairs.

Waiting in the lobby. Where are you?

Shaving. Be down in ten.

He stood up from the toilet, and unwrapped a single-use razor from in front of the rectangular mirror. He leaned forward and examined himself. His angular cheeks were ridden with stubble, giving him a fledgling beard. He regarded his short bangs and the hair hanging around his ears and wondered if he should get a haircut. Taking the razor, he scraped off some of the stubble, but left enough to give his jawline and lip some definition. Ashley had always liked the beard, and back then, so had he. Maybe he could grow to appreciate it again.