CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The next afternoon, I reach Cleveland and drive to Shaker Heights. The mansion of Tim Horgan’s parents looks just like it did when I was last there. The lawn is immaculate, the result of chemicals and hired care. This time I do not come in fear, but rather as a healer.

When I mount the porch and knock, Jennifer Horgan opens the door. Her hair is shorter now, a cut that is easier to maintain. Her eyes have lost some of their luster and her fingernails are chewed down to the quick.

“Mrs. Horgan, I have been referred to you by a psychiatrist caring for your son,” I say, offering my hand.

She limply shakes my hand.

* * * *

Jennifer Horgan did not know misery as a child. Her parents smothered her with love, and as a further favor did not try to make her into clones of themselves. When she was eight, she heard about Uncle Bert. He never came to visit the family farm because he lived in a hospital. No one ever went to visit him either.

She met and married James Horgan while they were students at Oberlin College, and afterwards, she bore a son. Tim was a wonderful child, playful and strong-willed. Jennifer and James began to try to have another child. Just before Tim entered kindergarten, she noticed that he had become quieter, almost sullen. This concerned her, but not overly so. Tim had done well in preschool and kindergarten should not be too much of a strain.

A week into kindergarten, the teacher called her to request any tips on how to draw Tim out of his shell. This confused the proud mother. Her child had never been introverted, but that evening after school she too noticed how withdrawn Tim had become. She took him to a child psychologist. He sent her to a psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist told her that child schizophrenia was extremely rare, but not unknown. Her life descended into misery as her child grew alternately unruly and pensive. When his hallucinations frightened him, she tried to comfort him, but he would not permit her to touch him. She was part of his hallucination. James and she entered therapy and, by chance, selected me as their therapist.

I went to the source of their problem and gave Tim the gift of a fragmental to stabilize him. James and Jennifer’s lives returned to normal. They even decided to have another child. At first, Jennifer balked at this, feeling that her own genes had betrayed her and fearing that the next one would also be schizophrenic, but then her desire for Tim to have a sibling overcame her reluctance.

The second child was not easy to conceive, but she was grateful for the gift. The newborn was the single spot of brightness in a dark time, because now the misery had returned.

* * * *

We drive to Pennsylvania. After my fragmental had left him, Tim had quickly collapsed into his own nightmarish reality and his parents were forced to institutionalize him in a private hospital. They visited every weekend, but to no avail.

This type of situation often splits a couple apart as hidden recriminations poison their love. It is so easy for a person to start down the path of blaming others for their pain and to project their feelings of inadequacy onto those they care most about. Jennifer knows that they are barely holding on to each other.

After an hour’s drive, we reach Spring Oaks. The hospital is a modern single-story building, set among gardens and young trees.

Only family are allowed to visit, so we first stop in the office of the director. Dr. Reginald Fisher is a younger man, full of financial ambition. His field is behavioral psychology and he knows that this is really only a warehousing facility for the children of financially well-off parents. Joanna Prall spent a third of her short life in such a comfortable holding pen.

I present my forged credentials certifying that I am a psychiatrist, and we are allowed to see Tim. The door of his room has a plexiglass window set in the top of it. We peak in. The room is nice enough: carpeting, a window, a bed, a box of toys, pictures on the walls, and a television built into the wall across from the bed. The room is also safe. The blinds for the window are set between two panes of plexiglass, preventing anyone from reaching them. There are no sharp objects and even the edges of the furniture are rounded.

The boy is sitting against the wall. His head is encased in a plastic helmet. His pajamas are clean, but torn.

My intention is not to lend Tim a fragmental for the rest of his life. That could easily be eight decades. Instead I want to help him through his childhood. When he is grown, I will prescribe a drug therapy to stabilize him. The demons will never be completely gone, but the chemicals will chain the demons and allow him to function.

Jennifer reaches for the handle of the door.

* * * *

Tim watches a snake slither up the wall on its stubby legs, its one eye tracking him with sinister intentions. The snake has been in his room for hours, circling him, waiting for its opportunity. Tim knows that if he takes his eyes off the snake for even a moment, it will launch itself at him.

When the door opens and the woman who calls herself his mother enters, Tim is distracted for a moment. The snake flings itself at him. Tim screams and pushes himself away. He bangs his head against the wall, which does not hurt too much because of the vise secured to his head. No matter how hard he tries, he has been unable to get the helmet off.

The snake scurries along the floor after him. Tim is torn with indecision. The woman is by the door, blocking his escape. The women in white have told him that she is his mother, but how can she be his mother? He knows that she wants to chop off his arms. No real mother wants to do that. She is a fake.

But the snake is about to get him! He jumps to his feet and tries to leap up the wall, but the snake gets a grip on his foot. He feels the tickling of its poisonous tongue burn through the leather of his right shoe.

A man emerges from behind the woman. He is dark and menacing. Now there are three threats. Tim slides down the wall and whimpers.

The man touches him.

The snake releases his foot and scurries across the floor to hide under the bed. Tim knows that his nemesis is gone for good.

The woman kneels down to touch him, causing fear to rise in Tim. But then, strangely enough, the fear goes away and he looks at the woman with recognition. She is his mother.

He lurches forward and flings his arms around her. “Mom, I’m so happy to see you. Can we go home?”

Tim Horgan has found peace once again.

And so have I.