The Rasner Effect (6 page)

The craters in her cheeks made Rick wonder if he had ever met anyone uglier than this woman sitting before him. With his lack of memory, he could not be sure. The rare evil thought in his mind made him want to chuckle, but he managed to contain himself.

As Miller stood up from her chair, Rick realized she was shorter than he originally expected. The heightened chair she sat in behind her desk gave her an appearance of being much taller. Rick was able to get a quick glance at the document in her hand. He recognized it as the resume he faxed to her a few weeks ago.

“Sit down,” she said in a deep and loud voice, which had more demand than request.

Rick’s eyes widened as he did what was asked of him. Upon placing his rear against the seat, he noticed the chair teetered off-balance. One of the legs must’ve been slightly shorter than the other three. He figured now wasn’t the time to bend down and find out what was going on, so he attempted to keep his balance so the lopsidedness wouldn’t be obvious. He realized Miller was observing his behavior with the chair.

Miller went to examining his resume like it was the first time she had ever read the document. Rick’s throat tightened. At one point, she glanced up, gazing at him through her thick glasses. Her shoulders remained stiff, formal. Her eyes flashed back to the resume.

What was she thinking? Was there some discrepancy?

“You’ve worked with this population before.”

“Yes,” he said, stifling a sigh of relief. “I worked last year in a school for troubled youth in New York.”

“Why did you leave there?”

“Budget cuts. I was new and had no seniority, so they had to let me go, but while I was there, I worked with the kids—”

“You really haven’t worked with the population we deal with here,” she interrupted again. “You have no idea what our children are about, do you?”

Miller lifted her head up and stared at Rick. He was unsure how to respond, but he picked up on the annoyance written across her face. Her eyes narrowed, the longer he made her wait.

Trouble was, he had no clue how to answer. “I…I guess I don’t,” Rick said.

“That’s what I thought!” Miller clapped her hands together, as if she had just achieved some sort of victory. “Dr. Obenchain, however, recommended you. That’s why I agreed to hire you.” Her tone said,
and the only reason
.

“I appreciate that.” Rick’s eyebrows rose, thinking about how bizarre his response must have sounded.

Miller glared at him, her lips tight. Rick sensed anger, which made him sweat. It popped out on his forehead and underarms. In a minute, it would trickle down his temples. Then she would see it. He opened his mouth intending to further the conversation, but he still didn’t know what to say. The seat beneath him rocked suddenly. That’s when Miller laughed. It sounded more like the bark of a hyena, and if he hadn’t been looking at her, he would’ve missed how she regained control of herself and returned to her angry stare.

“These children are difficult,” she explained, “and should most likely be handled differently from how you did so in your New York school. When the school you were in has children
they
can’t handle, and their families can’t handle them, we get them. The buck stops here, do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes,” Rick responded, recognizing the fact he was being ridiculed.

“If you wish to be successful here, see your patients and do as I tell you at all times. Follow my lead.” Her voice rose. He imagined her poking a thick index finger in his chest and leaning in his face. He could almost smell the vanilla coffee on her breath. “I run a tight ship, but it’s necessary that I do so. I’ve worked at this institution for many years. There was a time when the handling of these children was lax and informal. Believe me when I tell you they ran wild, like animals in a jungle.”

“One very psychotic girl even managed to escape from the facility, but not before she killed a staff member.” Miller folded her hands on the desk, straightening her spine against the back of her seat. “That will not happen again—not while I am in charge.”

“Wow, how long ago did this happen?” Rick asked.

Miller gave Rick a nasty glare as the sound of a growl came from her throat. Apparently, his new director did not like to be asked questions.

“I underst—”

“Do not question my decisions…
ever
,” Miller snarled. “Letters or phone calls regarding any of our patients must be approved by me. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, then we should get along.” Miller reached for the phone and poked buttons. She stopped and glanced across the desk, looking surprised to see Rick still there.

“You are dismissed.”

Rick launched to his feet and made for the door, unable to get out of that office fast enough. In the main office, the secretary stopped typing and looked up from her computer screen. “So, how was it?” she asked with a sarcastic grin.

“It was…interesting.”

The secretary laughed. “I love watching new people after that first meeting. You all have that same ‘deer in the headlights’ look on your faces. Usually soon after that you quit.”

Rick scurried past the secretary and out of the office.

There was a commotion in front of the sixth and seventh grade classroom. It sounded like sobbing. Rick hurried over to investigate. Clara Blue sat on the floor, back against the wall, thin legs folded up to her chest. One arm was wrapped around the legs, the other braced itself on the floor, as if keeping her from tipping over. Officer James and Sharon Hefner stood over her. Clara stared straight ahead, stoned-faced. The only movement or sound was the sobbing that came from deep in her throat.

Hefner had both feet planted on the tile floor and both hands on her hips. “You are not staying on the floor or in this hallway, girl. It’s back in your classroom or Seclusion, make a choice, right now!”

Clara’s entire body shook. Her second arm snaked around to clench her legs. She teetered a second as if she might topple over, then caught her balance and glared up at her accusers. “I’m sick of Mister Royal. I’m sick of that classroom!”

“Hey, you don’t like the classroom, that’s fine. We can do the padded room instead!” Officer James shouted. He maintained about the same stance as Hefner, but the walkie-talkie at his hip wiggled in reaction to his anger. For some reason, Rick found this comical. But the seriousness of the situation prevented laughter.

“I’ll get the jacket and the doctor, and he’ll stick you in the ass.”

The toe of Clara’s right sneaker tapped the floor, with quick feverish movements. Rick was overwhelmed with disbelief at her treatment.

“I’m sure you don’t want to go in seclusion again,” Hefner had lowered her voice to explain in a calm, yet imposing manner. “But this is your classroom and that is where you belong,
not
here in the hallway!”

“No!” Clara tried to yell, but it came out more like a whine.

“I have really had enough of this.” Officer James reached down and grabbed Clara by the arm, yanking her to her feet. The big man put so much strength behind the move that her skinny body flew off the floor. At least two inches of space appeared between her sneakers and the cement. Once James let go, however, Clara plunked back down against the wall.

Rick had to intervene. He approached Hefner, placing his hand on her arm to gain her attention. “Excuse me. May I take her? Maybe I can calm her down.”

A flash of irritation crossed her face. Then she waved an arm at Clara. “You think you can fix this? Fine.” Hefner motioned James to step back. “Clara, this is your new therapist, Mr. Rasner. Get with him, get with the program, and get back into class.”

“Kid needs another needle, if you ask me,” James muttered, loud enough and clear enough for everyone to hear. “She don’t need no therapy, just a good kick in the ass.”

Clara’s body shuddered. Her eyes glazed over and sweat dripped down her brow. She’d gone back to staring at the far wall.

Hefner met Rick’s gaze with stunning earnestness. He straightened his spine so he’d appear confident.

“Go do your therapy thing. But if it don’t work, she’s going into Seclusion!”

Rick bent toward Clara and touched a hand to her shoulder. For several long seconds, she didn’t move and he wondered if getting involved had been the right decision. The girl blinked twice—two huge tears tumbled down her cheeks—and she looked up at him. He removed his hand from her shoulder and gestured for her to stand up, careful to keep his posture and facial expression calm and accommodating.

“Will you come with me?”

For a moment, Clara seemed about to refuse. Rick saw Officer James out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the door of the therapy suite, arms crossed, waiting for Clara to balk so he could stick her in Seclusion.

“Yes,” the girl whispered, choking back a hitching sob. She stood up, pushing with her feet and sliding her spine up the wall. She inched forward and waited for him to lead her away.

Officer James waited a second for them to catch up, and then used his key to open the door. Clara walked in. Rick followed, pushing the door closed behind him.

Oblivious to their entrance, Janet sat at her desk, reading from her Bible. Clara took a seat in front of Rick’s desk. He passed the room divider, still Janet didn’t look up. He sat in his chair and made a big deal out of moving it close to the desk, giving Clara time to acclimate herself. She planted her feet flat on the floor and rocked side-to-side, her hands in her lap, palms rubbing together.

“Take a few deep breaths. That always helps me when I’m upset.”

After almost a full minute, Clara gave Rick a look, signaling she was ready to talk.

“Are you all right?” Rick asked.

“I think so,” she replied, eyes darting toward the room divider. Had she heard something? As far as Rick knew, Janet had been totally silent. Probably she was just worried about being overheard.

“Your file says you’re from New York. I used to live there. What part of New York are you from?”

“Brooklyn.” She looked at him, sort of. Actually, her eyes focused somewhere around his chin. “That’s where I was born. I lived there most of my life.”

A little at a time, the rocking stopped and Clara flattened her hands on the thighs of her off-white slacks. She still seemed very nervous and unsure, understandable under the circumstances. He’d probably have to work with her for months before she would totally trust him—if ever.

“You’re from Brooklyn too,” she said. “Were you born there like me?”

“I…” Rick truly wished he could answer her otherwise simple question. “What makes you think I’m from Brooklyn?”

“I hear it in your voice. But only a little.”

In over seven years, no one had ever suggested an accent in his voice that would offer an idea toward his origin. Clara was hardly an expert on the subject, but her guess was as good as any other. He was glad she was at least talking. Her posture had become less tense and she crossed her feet at the ankles.

“So, what happened earlier?”

Clara took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “I was in my seat minding my own business. Kevin threw his pencil at me. It hit me in the head. I got up and told him to stop, and then Mr. Royal started yelling at me! He said he didn’t see Kevin throw the pencil but I don’t believe him. He always just…it’s not fair!”

“I saw him speaking to you. You went back in the classroom. What happened afterward?”

“He kept bringing it up! He wouldn’t stop. He never stops.” Clara clenched her hands in her lap. “I wanted to get out of there so I went to the door before he could lock it. Ms. Hefner was in the hallway and she started yelling at me. Then Officer James comes over and he was yelling at me, too! Yelling is all anyone ever does here. I hate this place!”

Rick wondered if this level of excitement was a permanent condition for her, as well as many of the Brookhill residents. Either way, not a good sign. He switched to another subject before his young client lost her cool altogether. “How long have you been here?”

“I think two years, maybe longer. I’m not really sure, there’s no calendar or nothing like that. And no vacation like in real school. I just know I don’t belong here. I’m not like those other kids. They don’t care about getting out but I do. I used to bang out my work and still Mr. Royal keeps holding me over. The other kids don’t do none of his stupid work. They don’t like him either, but they keep moving to the next grade. It’s not fair. I’m fifteen! I should be in the ninth or even the tenth grade, not in a class with a bunch of stupid twelve and thirteen-year-olds!”

“I understand your frustration. What I don’t understand is, if you’re doing all he asks of you, what would keep Mr. Royal from promoting you?”

“He keeps telling me I don’t have enough work done because I’m always in Seclusion. But he’s always yelling at me and cutting me down. It’s not my fault I’m always in there. Every single day, he calls me psychotic and stuff like that! I can’t help getting mad.”

Clara answered his question before he could say the words. “A month after I was put in here, Mr. Royal made a play at me. He said my life would be easier if I kept my mouth shut and did what he said.” Clara paused to collect her thoughts. “I think that’s how it happened. I’ve been drugged so many times, I’m not sure of nothing no more. It was something like that.”

Rick watched her mannerisms, her demeanor, assessing whether the story was factual, a delusion, or a mixture of both. Her personality file referred to her as a child who fabricated the truth. Then again, many patient files said the same thing. One thing Rick was sure of, based on her level of frustration, Clara believed every word she said.

She placed her left hand on the side of her head, grabbed some of her hair, and kneaded the flesh. “I kicked him in the balls and got away. I went to Miss Hefner. I went to everyone, but no one believed me. They only believed him. That was my first time in Seclusion. They said it was because I attacked my teacher. Ever since then, he keeps failing me and I’ve been in that goddamn class with him getting shit ever since.”

“Is Miss Miller aware of the situation?”