Chapter

61

The nearby college stadium was alive with exercise fanatics and runners of all shapes and sizes. Dr. Pressman gasped for air as his feet carried his body the last remaining twenty stadium steps. “Nurse Bowman’s monitors are not the answer.”

“Well...putting...those two...together...isn’t any...goddamn answer...either,” exclaimed Dr. Farnsworth, as he collapsed on the top step. “Jesus, you do this...every day?”

Pressman took a moment to lean over and catch his breath, and then was off and down the steps again.

“If you do put Mathews and Charlie/Charles together, you’re on your own, Doctor,” threatened the out-of- breath Farnsworth.

Pressman halfway down the steps yelled back, “Why? Afraid we’ll get caught?

C’mon. Two more sets, then I’ll time you.”

“You know...maybe Charles was right...maybe you are the one needing help,” yelled Farnsworth as he lifted his body and trotted down the steps muttering, “Time me. Guy’s nuts.”

Farnsworth tried to keep up as Pressman now led their workout through a wooded area. “So, you tell me, Dr. Farnsworth. What’s the worst that can happen? Reprimand? Censure?”

Farnsworth, still working to get his wind, tried to concentrate on missing the loose rocks as he answered. “Try...firing...loss of license...the streets, Pal.” Suddenly, he stumbled over a stone. “Jesus, Pressman...what you got against a neighborhood street for this insanity...even...the track, for Christ’s sake?”

Pressman came to a stop and took a water bottle velcroed to his waistband and handed it to the gasping Farnsworth. “Here.  Streets are a bore. Tracks are a bore.  Getting nowhere is a bore. I’m doing it and you’ll be with me because Mathews has you hooked no less than Charles has me hooked.  C’mon junkie. We’ll cool off in the ocean.” Pressman took the bottle back and was off.  “C’mon it’s only a couple of miles over the hills.”

Farnsworth sat another moment knowing Pressman was right. “To think it took me twenty-nine years to get this dumb,” he said to himself, as he stood up and pushed his legs to catch up with the monster-man he’d become partners with.

The first step was Charles meeting Mathews for the first time since the accident. Dr. Pressman and Farnsworth were both apprehensive over this first meeting. Pressman arranged for it to take place in the conference room adjoining his office. Unknown to Mathews and Charles, the conference room was rigged with a hidden video camera. Unlike the formal setup that Bowman managed, however, this was but a home movie setup that Dr. Pressman sometimes used in his office to study patient’s behavior. Videotaping was informal, off the record and strictly for private use...until today.

Today an anxious and somewhat frightened doctor, whose young career might be given a considerable boost by the anticipated results, sat with a much calmer doctor whose established career could hardly be embellished with any more unconventional kudos.

Before them was a small monitor, its umbilical cord being fed from behind the wall that separated the conference room from his adjoining office where they now waited... hoped...and trusted. At least Pressman trusted his instincts. Farnsworth...that was another story. This wasn’t a pleasant piece of therapeutic study for him. He felt he would have been better off betting on a 20-1 long shot at the track than waiting out the potential results of this most irregular bit of psychological detective work. But, like he had heard Pressman so astutely put it, he had suddenly become a “junkie.”

The monitor showed the conference room in a rather antiseptic way. With room for a low table in the center, the room was encircled by a couch and chairs used for group therapy. To the left, the door adjoining his office. From the wide-angle lens view, the walls filled the bowed, distorted outer edges. The stage was set and at precisely 4:06 PM - by Dr. Farnsworth’s watch of course - the players entered.

“I’ll be right back,” said Dr. Pressman as he scurried out the side-hall entrance.

The two orderlies, who routinely escorted patients to Dr. Pressman’s office for therapy, stood inside the conference room door today, feeling uneasy about leaving the two men alone. They had their instructions, however. With hesitancy they exited, closing the door behind them.

Mathews and Charles stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment facing the window on the opposite side of the room. In Mathews left hand was the cup containing Napoleon.

In Charles’s left hand was a rolled-up drawing of the cove.

Finally, they turned and waited for the other to speak. Before any words were uttered, however, Dr. Pressman entered.

“Good, good. You’re here. Sorry, I’m a few minutes late.” He shook both their hands. “This is your time, so feel free to pour yourselves some coffee. The carafe is full, and...” he looked about the room. “The toilet is through that door and...well...”

Dr. Mathews interrupted. “And that door?”

“Oh...just to my office.”

Doctor Mathews walked to the window. “Can Charles and I walk and talk later out there?”

“Of course,” answered Dr. Pressman. “You can now if you like, I just thought...”

“You’re right, Doctor,” said Mathews as he turned with his uncanny clairvoyant look.

“...later is better. The day is still too hot.”

“Now,” said Dr. Pressman, like I said, no one will disturb you. You have as long as you like. When you’re finished, dial the nurses station and they’ll page me.” He turned to Charles, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Dr. Mathews. “Are you feeling well today?”

“Yes, thank you. Oh, there is one thing.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Pressman.

“The door,” Charles said cautiously. “Will the orderlies be guarding the door outside?”

Pressman glanced at Mathews, who was casually looking around the room. He turned back to Charles. “No. Why do you ask?”

“He’s concerned with my killing him, Dr. Pressman,” said Mathews.

“I’m not,” said Pressman. “Enjoy the afternoon.” As he turned and exited the room, he was more than just a little curious to replay the tape of that moment. He was sure he had looked the part, but saying, “I’m not” may have been the biggest lie of his career and Mathews undoubtedly sensed it.

As the door closed, Charles allowed a quiet sigh. “I think you disturbed him.”

Mathews shrugged, put the cup down and walked around the room looking at the walls and ceiling.

Pressman re-entered his office to a panicking Farnsworth. “Shit. He’s on to us. Look at him. Where the hell is the camera? He’s going to find it and...Shit.”

As the monitor continued showing Mathews scanning the room, looking behind hanging pictures, under the table and behind chairs, Pressman sat down and addressed the perspiring young doctor in white. “Doctor, you surprise me at times. Do you think I would go this far only to lose? He’s not going to find anything in the walls or ceilings. All we have to hope is that he doesn’t try to move it.”

“Huh?” came the puzzled reply.

“The globe on the end table of the couch,” smiled Pressman. “I know it sounds a bit CIA, but my wife found it at an estate auction in Beverly Hills a few years ago and... Shhh...He’s settling down.”

Mathews returned to the center of the room. “Sorry. Bugging our meeting would be accepted even by the AMA. Just wanted to be sure. It’s good to see you again. Rough, I’ll bet.”

“Yeah. You?”

“Waiting out the games these institutions, by law, have to play can be wearing.”

“Especially to another Doctor,” said Charles, laying his rolled up drawing on the table.

“Thanks. Their patronizing utterance of that title is uncomfortable. Maybe we can change that today. So... “

They stepped forward and hugged each other.

“God...I thought they’d never let us talk again,” said Charles.

“Pressman has a reputation for unorthodox practices,” replied Mathews. “I knew he’d eventually let us see each other. It’s that putz, Farnsworth, that almost buggered the whole thing.”

Charles walked to the window. “He’s only visited me a few times. You?”

“Every day for the past two weeks. He’s a bright enough young man, but the ego, the ambition...” He leaned down and opened the lid to the carafe and inhaled. “Coffee?”

“Sure. It’ll be nice to walk around after. I’ve never seen you out there.”

“Never went out.”

“Why?”

“More work to do in here.”

“Work?”

Mathews glanced at the still rolled up drawing, “You’ve been a busy boy too with your pencils. Figure out who’s in the boat yet?”

“I haven’t shown this to you. How did you know?”

“It’s been taped to your wall, right? Nurses talk loudly sometimes.”

“You make it sound like a prison with crooked guards.”

“Not quite, just a loony bin.”

“Haven’t heard that term for a long time.”

“Just a dusty nineteenth century way of saying mental institution. Here’s your coffee.”

Charles sat down on the couch.

“Why don’t you sit here,” said Mathews, gesturing to the high-backed chair, obviously reserved for Dr. Pressman during sessions.

“That would feel a little strange,” Charles answered.  He chose to stand behind the chair.

“Okay. You’re the doctor, then, Charles. And I’ll lay down here and tell you all about yourself, how’s that?” said Mathews, as he stretched out on the couch.

Charles was taken aback, but confident Mathews was serious. “Whatever you say.”

Mathews picked up the clear plastic cup containing Napoleon. “Here, take a look and tell me what you see inside.”

Charles took the cup and peered in. “Joke?”

“No. What did you see?”

Charles smiled. “A roach.”

“Right. Remember your hotel experience in New York?”

“Of course.”

“Consider Napoleon some possible help this afternoon, okay? Good. You can put the cup on the end of the coffee table...and would you close the curtain, please?”

“If you’d like,” answered Charles, as he did a second take on the roach. “Napolean?”

“Like it?  Kinda seemed natural to me, quipped Mathews.”

Charles grinned and walked to the window to pull the cord, drawing the heavy drapes shut.

Mathews removed a small birthday sized candle from beneath the hair behind his left ear. Taking a match from the hair behind his right ear, he lit the wick and placed the candle on a coffee cup saucer. He laid back down and set the saucer on his chest. “When I appear to be totally relaxed, you know the feeling Charles, you can remove this. Just place it on the table. Don’t blow it out.”

Now Charles was really feeling strange. Trusting this man explicitly was one thing, but this was irregular to his past experience. What was going on? he thought to himself.

In the other room, Dr. Farnsworth nervously took notes. “Doctor Pressman...” he cleared his throat. “Doctor Pressman, are you getting this?”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s right there on the screen, isn’t it?’ “You’re okay with this?”

“About as okay as you were when I told you about the boiler room,” answered the confident Pressman. “He’s fine. The doctor’s fine.”

Farnsworth did a double take on the cavalier attitude of Pressman. “So, why in hell didn’t the orderlies find that candle and match? The man’s upside down, meddling with the mind of another, for Christ’s sake.”

“Looks like he’s lying right side up to me, Doctor… and the candle and match behind his ears... not the usual place for orderlies to check, you know? Have to look into that. He’s good though.”    He chuckled.  “He’s very good.”

Farnsworth shook his head.  “I’m noting the time... 4:22 PM. You’re fully responsible for whatever happens from here on out.”

“C’mon doctor. You’re cashing in your chips way too early. I have a hunch he’s dealing himself a pat hand. Stick with it. Have some coffee.”

The doctors watched as Mathews, who had been counting backwards while staring at the candle flame, was now beginning to skip the numbers...

“Thirty-three… twenty-nine… twenty… seven…Silence.

“Charles?” Mathews asked in a tone of voice Charles was unfamiliar with. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. I’m a little uncomfortable,” Charles said as he lifted the candle and saucer, careful to not extinguish the flame, and placed it on the coffee table next to Napolean.

“Don’t be...If you hear me speak your thoughts, don’t be alarmed. I’ve been clued into your mind for several months, and today I’m going to let you hear some unspoken thoughts you’ve held back. I want you to sit in the listener’s chair… the doctors’ chair you’re standing behind now and know it’s okay.”

“This little drama is going to put us both before a review board,” whispered Farnsworth as he unconsciously stretched his neck and loosened his tie.

“Not before he unloads whatever he’s been hearing and gets you dreaming about a Nobel Prize,” said Pressman.

Dr. Pressman leaned back, put his feet up on the table and watched as the next few minutes proved him right. Mathews knew things about the man sitting in the listening chair that the man himself wasn’t sure he knew.

It was twenty minutes later when Farnsworth dropped his pencil and locked onto the screen where Mathews’ eyes remained closed. “Another place, another time we’ve never seen?” said Mathews, talking calmly and smoothly from his reclined position. “Your thoughts are clear now. I think that’s a possibility, Charles.”

Charles continued watching the candle burn down to just short of a flat pool of wax next to the clear cup containing the creature.

“Now why don’t you speak the rest,” said Mathews. “Just allow the memory inside the cup and the flame to take you there. It’s a place you’re comfortable with. Flames are part of all this, Charles. Flames and darkness. Darkness behind the white bars. Remember? Close your eyes...let the time go. Listen to the flame. Listen like Julian taught you. We have all the time in the world to let the sound speak to you.”

Dr. Farnsworth broke his concentration for only a moment, but it was long enough to realize Dr. Pressman was no less caught up in the volcanic revelation that was slowly moving to the top.

“About as total as it gets,” whispered Dr. Pressman under his breath. “Therapist/patient, patient/therapist...they’ve become one. This is the only dangerous part,” he cautiously said as both Farnsworth and Pressman became transfixed on what the screen was now revealing.