The Cursed Man (24 page)

“I'll let the director know you were here, Dr. Lee,” Jennifer said. Her hair was in a ponytail and it swayed with the movement of her head.

“Thank you.”

Jennifer smiled, and Anna continued to watch her. She was a Barbie doll—pretty with a body to die for, which she showed off with her tight-fitting suit-skirts. But Anna couldn't figure out how because she sat all day long behind the desk. Her butt should be as flat as a pancake and her belly decorated with a few rolls of fat.

“The director is ready for you,” Jennifer said, her words prompted Anna's heart to pound.

“Thank you.” She stood, grabbed her briefcase and tried to steady her legs. She drew a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “I can do this without crying.”

“What?”

Anna shook her head. “Nothing. I was talking to myself.”

Anna entered the director's office, and he was standing behind his desk. A concerned look creased his brow, and his eyes were fixated on her. He offered her a seat with an extended hand.

“Please.”

There were two nailhead leather chairs in front of his large mahogany executive desk. The chairs were angled slightly and stiff to the touch. The quality was meant to impress family members of patients as well as investors.

“Thank you.” She chose the chair to the director's left because it was closest to where she stood.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” She placed the briefcase on her lap. She popped the locks and gathered files. She held them out for the director to take. “You will find everything is in chronological order. I've included all prescribed medicines and treatment methods as well as a detailed log of the interactions we had. If there are any questions with my treatments and or diagnosis, I will be more than happy to offer the board an in-depth written or oral presentation.”

“Thank you, doctor,” the director said as he sat down. He placed his elbows on the desktop and leaned forward. “You are always very thorough. Your accomplishments with the Kunkle patient haven't gone unnoticed. I'm sorry for the loss.”

Anna's eyes welled with tears. She looked away and choked back a whimper.

“I know I don't need to ask if you're going to be OK,” the director said, and he handed her a tissue. He sat back and studied Anna.

Anna tried to fight the tears away, but they'd become relentless. “I'll be fine,” she said.

The director smiled. “I'm going to give you two weeks off, full pay. I want you to take that time to gather yourself and come back fresh.”

Anna wiped her tears and looked at the director. “I appreciate that. I really do, but—”

The director shook his head with resolution. “Forget it, Dr. Lee. I'm not taking no for an answer. You're taking the time off and that is it.”

“But I have so much work to do.”

“I said forget it.”

“There are other patients that rely on me, and I know how close I am to a breakthrough with them.”

The director rocked in his chair and clasped his hands together. He rested them on his chest. “Your patients and work will still be here when you get back.”

Anna sighed. She knew she could lose herself in her work, but at home the silence would allow her plenty of time to mull the signs she had missed along the way—signs that might have saved Alister's life.

“I know how much you cared for Alister, and his death was a terrible tragedy,” the director said.

“Maybe I pushed him a bit too hard.”

“Don't question yourself like that. It's not fair. You're a good doctor. You need time to mourn the loss.”

Anna looked away. Her bottom lip quivered.

“If you find that you need more time than that, just let me know.”

Anna shook her head. Her tears tasted salty. “He was a good man, and I think I was beginning to get through to him.” She looked at the director with reddened eyes.

“You achieved great results with the patient, but you should know how sick he was more than anyone.”

Anna sniffed. “I can't get away from the feeling that I missed something. There had to be a sign along the way. Maybe if I had spent more time trying to figure out what he was trying to say.”

“Even you have to sleep sometime, Anna. You should leave here today knowing you provided him with the best care possible.”

“Should I?” Anna shook her head. She closed her briefcase and locked it. “I still believe there had to be a sign somewhere along the way that I missed. And that thought is going to haunt me for a long time to come.” She stood. “Thank you, director. I appreciate you talking with me.”

The director stood. “You call me if you need anything.” He lowered his chin. “And I don't want to see you here for two weeks.”

Anna exited the room. The surprise of Alister's death followed her out the door and continued to walk with her stride for stride. Alister had shown signs of moving outside the arcane madness of his mind. He had acknowledged his son, asked how his wife was and even wondered where he was. It was like something inside his mind shut off, and he was only able to turn it back on for a minute—just long enough to say good-bye to his son.

“Dr. Lee?”

Anna withdrew from her reverie and faced the voice that summoned her. Michael, Alister's son, stepped forward and hugged her.

“I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me and my family,” Michael said.

Anna was speechless. She failed him and here he was, thanking her. His regard for her filled her chest with a tangible ache.

“Normally people don't care enough about someone like my father. But you put forth effort and I never doubted your concern,” Michael said. “I know all that abuse he took as a child had something to do with what he did as an adult. But because of you I got to spend one last moment with my father and not that monster that lived inside his head and made him kill my mother and little sister. I wanted to let you know that all of your hard work over the years has given me one last joy I will never forget. I believe he was able to step out of whatever world he had created for himself long enough to say good-bye to me. You've given me something positive I can take with me for the rest of my life. I have peace knowing that the good side of my father was still in there fighting to get out.”

Michael placed a gentle kiss on Anna's cheek, and she watched him walk away through eyes that cried for both her successes and failures.

 

 

 

The past
.

 

Young Alister was in his backyard engaged in play. He ran a toy car through mapped-out streets carved inside his mother's rock garden.

He imagined he was a police officer in a high-speed car chase. Two violent bank robbers shot at him as he swerved and dodged their bullets. A variety of sounds added to the drama.

“Alister,” his mother said. She was in the kitchen and shouted through an open window. “Come inside for dinner.”

Alister groaned in protest. “Just when I was about to get ‘em.” He hopped to his feet and got a whiff of the homemade meal.

“Meatloaf,” he said. It was a guess. “And mashed potatoes.” He moved with haste. The growl in his stomach was sudden and painful. “Corn and some gravy.”

He brushed the dirt off his pants and ran to the back door. With eager energy, he pulled open the screen door, and the hinges whined.

“Wash up,” his mother said. She was still in the kitchen.

“OK.” He headed toward the bathroom.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Alister froze and cringed. He looked at his mother. Her eyes were bright with rage and her hands were on her hips. She held a dishtowel, and an apron was wrapped around her body.

“Is it too difficult for you to wipe your feet before you come inside?”

 Dirt footprints trailed behind him.

“You don't think, do you?”

The dishtowel whipped him and he flinched. The fabric end snapped like a giant rubber band. He yelled and jumped back. The sting instantly throbbed.

“Don't you dare move away from me, you disrespectful little bastard!” She whipped him again. “Do you think I clean all day long just so you can screw it up?”

“I'm sorry,” Alister said, raising his hands in defense.

His mother moved nose to nose with him and pointed in his face. “Lower your hands.”

Alister complied.

“Why can't you be courteous and wipe your damn feet on the mat outside instead of on my floors? Does my hard work mean that little to you?”

“I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

“You're sorry?”

She cocked her fist back, and Alister took a step away.

“What are you so afraid of?” she said. “You're a wimp. Now get a towel and clean up your mess.”

 Alister went to step past his mother and she shoved him. He fell to the floor and hit his elbow on the way down.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” his father said. His speech was slurred and his legs wobbled. A half empty beer bottle occupied his left hand and a lit cigarette sat loosely between his pointer and middle finger in his right hand.

Alister rubbed his elbow.

“I'll tell you what's going on,” his mother said. “Your son has been in the house for two seconds, and he's already gone and screwed things up. Everything I've worked on today has already gone to shit.”

Alister stood. His elbow pounded with pain.

“Damn kid,” his father said as he took a drink.

“Well, he's the bastard you wanted, so you deal with him,” she said, and she threw her towel down. “I can't keep going through this day after day. That boy is going to be the death of me. I swear it.”

“Alister,” his father said. He teetered and finished his beer.

Alister backed away.

“And now look,” his mother said. She removed burnt food from the oven, dropped it on the stovetop and slammed the oven door shut. “Dinner is burnt.” She stomped off.

His father lunged forward and slapped Alister on the back of his head.

“Ow!”

He pinched the skin on the back of his arm and twisted it.

“Now I have to listen to her all night long. Now clean up after yourself and go to your room.”

Alister rubbed his arm. The pain in his elbow was gone.

Alister watched his father go to the refrigerator and grab another beer. He collided off walls as he retreated to a room in the back of the house.

“I'm leaving,” Alister said, but he dared not say it too loud. His mother might be around, and the last thing he wanted to do was get her angrier than he already had. “And I'm never coming back.”

He got on his hands and knees and cleaned the floor. The thought of his departure was squashed by the painful memory of his mother standing over him. Spit flew from her mouth as she screamed how useless he was and how he would never amount to anything.

“She's right.”

Where would he go?

“Nowhere,” he said, and he wanted to cry but didn't dare.

He wasn't allowed to have any friends, and he barely knew his way around the neighborhood.

“I'm stuck here forever.”

He returned the cleaning supplies to their proper places.

“Alister?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. That was his mother, and it sounded like she was upstairs. He walked to the bottom of the steps and looked up at her.

“Yes, mother?”

“You do understand there will be no dinner for you tonight?”

“Yes,” he said. “Father already told me.”

“Good.”

Her voice was calm, and her hands were behind her back.

“I cleaned up my mess,” he said. “I was going to my room.”

“Come upstairs for a minute. I would like to have a word with you.”

Alister hesitated but knew he had to go. He kept a watchful eye on her as he climbed each step. She remained still and revealed nothing in a blank stare.

He arrived at the top step and kept his hands by his side.

“Yes, Mother?”

“You know once I decide on a punishment, I can't go back on it.”

Alister nodded.

“Because if I do, that makes me weak and a liar, and I am neither.”

“I know that, Mother.”

“And you understand what you did was wrong?”

Alister swallowed hard. “I disrespected the hard work you did for me and Dad.”

“You meant to say Dad and I?”

“Yes, Dad and I.”

“Very good, Alister. I'm sorry.”

He wavered. “Thank you, Mother.”

She sighed. “You really don't understand, do you?”

Something inside told Alister to move away from his mother, but he resisted it. He knew if he were to move without being dismissed, it would only provoke her.

“I can't keep going through this; I feel like I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

She swung something shiny and heavy out from behind her back, raised it over her head and pulled it downward, aiming it at Alister's head.

Alister raised his hands to deflect the blow. The tip of a clothes iron crashed into his hands. Skin, cartilage and bone were damaged, and he screamed. He lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs. The wall, ceiling and stairs whipped past him as he painfully pounded each step.

 His momentum halted when he hit the landing. His hands hurt and flaps of bloody torn skin hung open like a gutted fish. Something that rumbled down the steps caught his attention and forced his eyes wide. He saw his mother skip steps two at a time, bounding down after him.

“Get up,” she said. “You're bleeding on my floor.”

Alister jumped to his feet. A sharp pain that stemmed from his hip nearly toppled him over. But he fought the pain and ran out the back door.

“Get back here, you little bastard!”

He heard her shouts but ignored her. The instinct to survive didn't allow him to look back.