We Are Monsters (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Alex had sweated through his second shirt, but not from the humid summer heat. He had been in his air-conditioned office most of the morning, preparing for the arrival of Bob Bearman and the rest of the board members for their biannual review meeting. In less than an hour he would be forced to face Eli, whom he had hardly spoken with since their confrontation over Randall's guitar. He knew that Eli had already been informed of his pending dismissal, and that Alex was to assume the role of Chief Medical Director in his place. Apparently, it hadn't gone over well. Alex hadn't expected that it would. And now that it had already happened, he saw all the things he wished he could have done differently.

Eli deserved better. Especially from him.

There was nothing to do now, however, but press forward. He had wanted to talk with Eli one-on-one before the board meeting, before the change was officially announced, but he had been too busy overseeing Crosby's recovery, which by all accounts was phenomenal.

He knew that his career may well have hinged on how Crosby reacted to his formula, and he couldn't have asked for a better outcome. All the delusional symptoms of schizophrenia had dissipated. What remained was a man with a history of major trauma who was now coherent and able to confront the psychological damage inflicted upon him during childhood. The schizophrenia had been a defense mechanism to dissociate himself from the child being traumatized—a way for him to deflect the pain by externalizing it and assigning responsibility to others. It was no wonder he saw shadow demons in regular people. It was a way for him to excuse the actions of his mother.

Now, however, he saw through the illusions created by his psychosis and accepted his situation for what it was. Without his mental defense mechanism, he could begin the healing process. It was sure to be a major breakthrough in the field of psychiatry. It was everything Bearman had hoped for. And it had all been conducted behind Eli's back. But the board meeting would be more like a direct slap across his face.

Alex reached over his shoulder and tried to peel the soaked shirt away from his sweaty back, but it was plastered down. He sighed, wishing he had brought a spare.

Bearman had met with Crosby personally a couple of days before and had deemed him fit for release from solitary confinement, not that it was his call to make. He had then instructed Alex to have him brought into the board meeting. Alex had discouraged the idea. Crosby's condition, while drastically improved, was precarious. It was not the nearly overnight transformation that had taken place with Jerry. Crosby had more extreme emotional scars that he was just beginning to work through. It was not the time to begin parading him in front of others as an example of psychiatric success. Bearman had reluctantly agreed, but Alex was skeptical.

Someone knocked on his door.

Alex lifted his arm and scowled at the large sweat stain under his armpit, then clamped his arms down next to his sides. “Come in,” he said.

The door opened and Angela stuck her head through. “You got a sec?”

Alex began to raise his arm to wave her in, then caught himself and nodded his head.

“Okay, so I'm completely freaking out,” Angela said, although her beaming smile suggested otherwise. She sat down on the opposite side of Alex's desk. “What do you think he's going to do?”

For a second, Alex thought she was referring to Crosby and his heart began to stutter. “Who? Eli?”

“Right…like you're not thinking the same thing. Have you talked to him yet?”

Alex looked at his lap and shook his head. “Haven't had time. Been too tied up with Crosby.”

“God, this is going to be so weird.” Angela's sparkling eyes suggested that she meant exciting.

Alex bent forward. Her phony tone had touched a nerve. “Give me a break. Don't act like you couldn't see this coming. He refuses to embrace the precepts of contemporary psychiatry, he refutes modern medicine, he was hospitalized for a riot that happened while on his watch. As were you, by the way. And one of the orderlies has been arrested for murder. For fucking
murder
. Of my fucking
brother
.” He somehow refrained from screaming. But his face was on fire, and his heart was fighting to burst free from his chest. “Let's not act like it's beyond comprehension that the board felt it necessary to make a move. If Eli's upset, that's fine, but it shouldn't be with me. The man did it to himself.”

Angela raised her hands in surrender, but she still couldn't wipe the smirk from her face. “Hey, I totally agree. I'm just saying, it's going to be weird. I don't understand why it has to be made into some spectacle during the meeting. He should just be allowed to leave with his dignity. Especially after all he's done for this place.”

“Jesus, Angela. You think I have anything to do with this? I don't. I don't agree with how it's being handled, any more than you do, but what do you want me to do about it? Turn down the promotion? Say that they're being unfair? That a man who seems to be slipping in the twilight of his career should be given another chance while I wait patiently in the wings?” He clasped his hands together and squeezed to quell the tremor that was threatening to take hold. “Besides, what does this have to do with you? All you have to do is sit on the sidelines and enjoy the show.”

Finally, Angela forced herself to appear sufficiently cowed. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to set you off like this. I'm just full of nerves. You're right. You haven't done anything wrong.”

Alex felt like he was close to breaking his fingers, so he relaxed his hands. He glanced at Angela and noticed that her face still bore light-brown bruise marks from Crosby's fists.

“It's fine. I'm just ready to get it over with.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “And I must admit I've got a case of the nerves too.”

“Yeah, right.”

Alex lifted his arms. They were drenched underneath.

Angela cupped her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh. It muffled her voice. “That looks like me after hot yoga.”

“I have no idea what that is, but if it results in this, it can't be fun.”

His phone rang and he answered it, speaking briefly and nodding his head. He hung up the receiver, pulled his suit jacket from the coat hanger and put it on. “Showtime,” he said.

“They're here?” Her smile returned.

“They're here.”

She stood and straightened her black suit pants and checked her shoes.

Alex came around the desk and placed his hand against her lower back, pushing harder than intended as he ushered her towards the door.

“Let's get this over with,” he said as they exited the office. The door slammed closed behind.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Alex could hear Bearman's booming laughter echoing down the hallway. It didn't matter how many times Eli had told him that strange voices and loud noises disturbed the patients, he always preferred to make his presence known. And he became visibly angry when, inevitably, he encountered a patient who had become agitated by his boisterous behavior. He viewed it as a sign of ineptitude on the part of the hospital staff.

Up ahead was the door to Eli's office. Angela and Alex exchanged a glance. They both quickened their steps as they scurried past. Angela looked in while Alex kept his head down.

“He's not in there,” Angela informed him. “Maybe he's not coming.”

“Not a chance. He's got too much pride. He'll be there.”

And he was. But he was not sitting in his customary place of prominence in the middle of the long, U-shaped conference table. Instead, he had picked the more discreet spot where Alex normally sat off to the side. He was the only one in the room. The door clanged when it closed behind them and Eli looked their way.

“Eli!” Angela shouted exuberantly, as if being reunited with a long-lost friend. She hop-skipped on quick, nervous feet over to where he sat and embraced him from behind.

“Nice to see you too, Angela,” he said, patting her arm. The heft of his hand felt soft, insubstantial, like a baby bird, and his clothes hung loose from his gaunt body. His attempt at a smile seemed to strain him and leave him short of breath.

“Mind if I join you?” Angela said.

“Sure, be my guest.” He tried to pull the seat out for her, but it hardly moved an inch.

She helped him scoot it away from the table and sat down.

Alex was still deciding where to sit when he heard Bearman's booming voice approaching the door behind him. It burst open and he walked through, accompanied by Steve Price and the only female on the board, Linda Sykes. She was a tall, slender lady in her early sixties with an absurd wig of wavy, blonde hair that sat perched above a tight, shiny face that had been lifted twice and tucked. Her stretched lips looked as though they were constantly smiling, but Alex had never met her in a pleasant mood. It was as if she thought the only way to project importance was by pointing out others' flaws.

Bearman nearly bumped into Alex as he barreled through the door. He gargled the eternal deposit of phlegm in his throat and stuck out his hand. “There he is,” he said, gripping Alex's hand and pumping it as if cracking a whip, “the man himself.”

Alex began to reply, but Bearman pushed past him and started towards the table. Eli and Angela both stood.

“Eli,” Bearman said, “I'm not sure they should have let you out of the hospital. Good Lord, son. You look like shit.”

Eli gripped his chair's headrest with white-knuckled hands. “You've always had a gift for pleasantries, Bob.”

“Look, with the condition this hospital's in, I don't blame you. But we're going to get that straightened out, now, aren't we?”

Linda snickered, and Steve was quick to pipe in, “That's what we're here for.” He patted Alex on the back as he walked past.

The conference room was the largest, most formal space in all of Sugar Hill. It could accommodate up to seventy-five people, but it had never held more than fifteen at a time. The table was positioned in the center of the room. The rest of the room was wasted space, resulting in poor acoustics and a sense of self-consciousness for each speaker. Except for Bearman, he seemed to love the way his voice filled the air.

Bearman walked to the apex of the table and took a seat, the squeaky chair bemoaning his weight. He slapped his large palms down on the tabletop as though proclaiming his territory. Steve and Linda sat on either side of him.

“This everybody?” he said, drumming his fingers while assessing the empty chairs. He stopped when he saw Alex still standing by the door. “Hell, son. You joining us or what?”

“Yes, of course. Where should I…” Alex hadn't meant to say the last part out loud. He knew it made him appear weak and indecisive. But his nerves were thrumming and the excessive sweating was making him dehydrated. In an attempt to overcompensate for his show of weakness, he walked straight to where Linda was sitting, to the right of Mr. Bearman, and asked her to scoot down.

“What? No,” she said.

“Why the hell should she move? Just sit the hell down, already,” Bearman said. He grumbled far back in his throat and his face turned a deep shade of red. “Christ almighty! Is this whole place filled with a bunch of loony tunes? If so, we may be in deeper shit than I thought.”

Alex and Angela were the only two who offered a commiserative laugh. Eli looked like he was attempting to count the fibers in the carpet.

As Alex eased down into his chair, it occurred to him that Eli was the one who usually opened these meetings, often with a charismatic greeting that provided the perfect blend of professionalism and grace, establishing his position of authority and disarming Bearman and the rest of the board. In the space of a second, Alex realized how much preparation Eli must have put into making these meetings flow so effortlessly, and how little he himself had prepared.

Silence descended as everyone settled into their seats. It persisted for far too long.

They're waiting for me to say something,
Alex decided, looking around, desperate for someone to break the silence. And then his own mouth sprang open against his will and began making noise.

“Okay then. Well, thank you all for coming. We've had—”

“Just what the hell are you doing?” Bearman interrupted. “This is my meeting, and we ain't your invited guests. You really are making me wonder if we've done the right thing, you know that?”

“Okay, go on then,” Alex said, trying to act defiant, but the room devoured his voice.

Bearman scowled. He attempted to clear his throat. “Look, I'm just going to cut to the chase here.”

Both Steve and Linda pursed their lips and began nodding their heads in earnest as if this were the most prudent decision ever made.

“And it ain't like this is going to come as a surprise for anyone here. The hospital's started to attract some negative attention that we frankly can't afford. If allowed to continue for too long, funding will be cut. This, I can assure you. If funding gets cut, it undermines our ability to properly care for our patients. The whole thing begins to unravel, and it ain't going to happen on my watch.”

Both Alex and Eli were aware that Bearman's bonus was based on the hospital's operating margin but they kept it to themselves.

Bearman rubbed the bridge of his nose as though what he was about to say pained him. Instead, it just looked like he was stifling a sneeze. “Eli, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but you should be commended for the way you've run this hospital for as long as you have. And for many of those years you did a fine job. But these are different times. Medicine has made advancements, and, frankly, you've been slow to keep up. We—”

Eli straightened in his seat. A slight glimmer sparked in his dull eyes as he turned them towards Bearman. “Psychiatry has been making
‘advancements'
for as long as I've been practicing medicine. We began with bloodletting and swiftly moved to lobotomy. There has yet to be a form of medical intervention that has demonstrated consistent effects across a broad range of patients, or that has provided sustainable improvements over a significant period of time. The more holistic protocols practiced at this hospital, however, have consistently delivered some of the country's highest recovery rates with the lowest percentages of relapse.

“I understand that you are determined to make a move, but I won't allow for the facts to be misrepresented.”

Linda swiveled in her seat. It was impossible to read her expression through the placidity of her surgically flattened face. “Ha!” she cried out as a mockery to Eli's statement. It sounded like the mating call of some predatory bird. “The modern array of psychotropic therapies is a far cry from the barbaric days of lobotomies, Dr. Alpert. To even offer such a comparison is itself an admission of ignorance.”

Steve Price chuffed and chimed in, “Seriously, how can you even compare the two? It's like saying aspirin is the same as using leeches to thin the blood.”

Eli shook his head, a look of sad resignation on his face. “We use certain antipsychotic medications in our treatment of patients. It depends on the patient and is just one component of a holistic plan.”

“You don't utilize them nearly enough. Not nearly as much as is advised. Not only by the standards of modern psychiatry. But by the members of this board, concerned constituents of the state and senior members of this hospital staff,” Bearman said and then paused for effect, “Dr. Drexler included.”

Alex blanched and averted his eyes, but Eli didn't flinch. “Based on what evidence?” Eli said. “These medications appear harmless because they come packaged in a pristine little pill that fits within our idea of what medicine should look like. But when you spend time with them, like I have, and observe their effects, like I have, you find that they often produce results that are indistinguishable from other, more archaic forms of therapy.

“You will find that they can turn people catatonic, void of emotion or personality. They can cause seizures and uncontrollable tremors. I have patients who claim that the side effects from their prescription medications are far worse than the mental illness that they're designed to fix.”

“And these patients, with their extreme impairments, are to be trusted? Taken at their word?” Linda said.

“Yes,” Eli said. “My God, these are people—daughters, artists, intelligent mothers and fathers—not a subspecies of human to be treated with suspicion and disrespect. They come here for help. To get better. To return to a life with meaning and purpose. They—”

“Okay, okay,” Bearman said. “Clearly we all want what's best for these people.” He smiled as he scanned the room, delighting in the supportive expressions of assent. Then his face turned stern. “Let me tell you what's not best for your patients, Doctor. Subjecting them to the dangers of a homicidal killer. Allowing hysteria to spin out of control and turn into a full-scale riot. Taunting violent and unstable schizophrenic patients with godforsaken football drills. That's not good for anyone. Not for you. Not for her…” he pointed towards Angela, whose face still bore the aftermath from her recent attack, “…and not for the reputation of this institution.”

“In Dr. Alpert's defense,” Angela said, “none of these incidents can be directly attributed to him. And while I'm not opposed to the use of antipsychotic medications, I would like to point out that they have contributed to thousands of deaths, which, by comparison to these outbursts, is the more serious offense.”

“Says the lady with the battered face,” said Linda.

Bearman stood up and raised his arms like a minister threatening his congregation with the wrath of God. “Look, enough of this talk about the merits of medicine.” He lowered his arms and pressed his palms against the table, leaning forward, addressing some imaginary audience absent from the oversized room. “It does us no good to sit here and argue about the past. What matters is the future, and how we plan to push forward.”

Again the room became a collection of bobbing heads.

Bearman raised himself upright, puffing up his chest and folding his arms across his protuberant belly. “Regardless of what you say, Eli, the best way to treat people with illnesses, mental or otherwise, is with medicine. I'm sorry that's not as plain and obvious to you as it should be.”

Bearman paused to gargle phlegm, pressing a football-size fist against his mouth. He swallowed heavily and then continued. “Hell, if you have such a problem with modern medicine, why not try to make it better? You ever think of that?”

Eli opened his mouth to reply, but Bearman charged on.

“Well, your protégé has. It's not enough to keep patients comfortable, Eli. Our job is to cure them. And it looks like Dr. Drexler is the only one in this hospital who understands that. His discovery will not only revolutionize psychiatric therapy, it puts this hospital on the cutting edge of innovation. That's the position we want to be in moving forward, Eli. Not holding on to the past.”

Eli looked at Bearman through glassy, uncomprehending eyes. “What discovery?”

“You mean you don't know?” Linda said, attempting to convey surprise without aid of expression. “You really have fallen out of touch.”

Eli looked at Alex for the first time. “What's he talking about?”

Alex lowered his head and addressed the top of the table. “Well, I've been working with a compound. It moderates the release of select tryptamines through neurotransmitters and relieves schizophrenics of their symptoms. Completely relieves them.” He raised his head and found Eli's eyes. “Cures them. We've vetted it through clinical trials. It works.”

Eli kept his eyes locked on Alex. “You've discovered a cure for schizophrenia,” he said deadpan. “Who are these test patients? Where are the results? Wait—” Eli's eyes went wide. He cocked his head to the side. “Not Jerry?”

“No!” Alex jumped in his seat. “No, of course not. It's all been conducted in controlled environments under careful regulations.” He grabbed the front of his shirt and pumped it to circulate air.

“We've seen the results, and they're nothing short of astonishing,” Bearman said. “But I don't blame you for being skeptical. Even I was at first. I guess there's no substitute for seeing something firsthand.”

Alex sucked in air. The cavernous room closed in until he felt crammed into his own body.
No,
he thought.
Don't!

“Alex, bring your patient in here. Do us the honor of a demonstration.”