Monday, March 28, 2016
The day had come for Jeremy’s biggest test, and the biggest threat to his experiment. He would meet with Dr. William Reed, a forensic psychiatrist from Delaware, hired by the prosecution to interview Jeremy, over the course of one week, to gauge his mental state.
Dr. Reed had worked as a forensic psychiatrist for two decades, doing work with the FBI and CIA, and on criminal cases around the world. Jeremy wouldn’t be able to bullshit his way through a week with Dr. Reed.
Lay the groundwork. Stay insane.
Linda had informed him that there would be two sets of interviews, with two different psychiatrists, one for the prosecution and one for the defense.
“Just stay truthful,” she told him. “Dr. Reed is being hired to prove that you’re legally sane. Answer honestly. These interviews will be recorded and shown in court. Your answers need to be consistent with those you give to the doctor we hire later on.”
Jeremy waited in an interrogation room, a lone light hanging above. The walls were white and a square table stood in the center, with a chair on each side. Jeremy sat in the chair that faced the door and a camera mounted on a tripod. The small space reminded him exactly of the interrogation rooms he’d seen on TV where two officers typically play the game of good cop, bad cop.
New walls to look at is always a big day. Just stay relaxed and stick your story. NO PREMEDITATION!
The door swung open and an old man entered. He wore a black suit with a yellow shirt and black tie. His white hair clung to the sides of his head, a few stragglers on top.
“Hello there, Mr. Heston,” he said in a friendly voice, pushing his glasses to the top of his nose. “My name is Dr. William Reed. I don’t mind at all if you call me Bill.”
He sat down in the chair across from Jeremy and opened a briefcase to grab a thick folder of papers.
“Alright. We’ll be meeting every day this week for five hours. I’ll be evaluating your mental state. The end goal is to determine your state of mind at the time of the shootings and the events leading up to that day. So I’ll ask you a question, and all you need to do is respond with your honest answer. Is that clear?”
Jeremy nodded. Here we go. Remember, you snapped, nothing was planned. Nothing was planned. Nothing was planned. He drilled the thought into his mind, knowing one slip up could ruin his life.
The interview dragged for hours as planned. Jeremy wanted to pluck his eyeballs after a couple of hours hearing the monotone of Dr. Reed.
“Mr. Heston, did you have many friends as a child?” the doctor asked bluntly.
“Yes. I’ve always had a good circle of friends.”
“Did you have close friends at the start of 2016?” The doctor looked at Jeremy, emotionless, while a hand continued to write notes.
“Yes. Some of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
“When you were a child, say around age seven, did you ever have a fascination with bugs?”
“Bugs?”
“Yes, did you like to play with bugs outside?”
What the fuck do bugs have to do with anything?
“Sure, I played with bugs.”
He quickly realized the game plan for the week. Ninety percent of Dr. Reed’s questions today focused on Jeremy’s childhood, and he didn’t once bring up the shooting. He figured the week would progress through Jeremy’s life, with Friday being the day he’d be grilled on the actions of March 11.
What was this called? The M’Naghten test? He remembered learning about it in school, during a Forensic Psychology course.
“Did you ever kill the bugs?”
There it is.
“No.”
Jeremy responded with quick and short answers, not elaborating on anything unless the doctor asked him to. The less detailed he was, the less likely a statement could come back later to bite him in the ass.
The doctor’s voice droned on throughout the afternoon as he weaved questions about 2016 into the plethora of childhood questions. They even shared lunch together while the process continued. Jeremy wondered what would happen if he reached over the table and tried to head-butt the uptight doctor. He would have loved to strangle him with his shackles, but those were chained to the ground. Best-case scenario if he harmed the doctor, Jeremy would spend life in prison doing work for an angry warden, counting the days till he died. The world would move on and his name would be a footnote in a long history of mental health and gun violence.
“Thank you, Jeremy. I think today was very productive,” Dr. Reed said at the end of their first session. He stacked his papers inside the briefcase and clasped it shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow to continue. Have a good rest of your day.”
Jeremy waited in the interrogation room for a few minutes before an officer arrived to take him back to his cell.
His brain burned from the five hours of questions. Just a couple weeks of not using his mind and he’d already lost some of his sharpness. He’d need to mentally prepare for the rest of the week. And then Linda had mentioned more interviews would be lined up within the month. Now that he had an idea of how these interrogations flowed, he could better prepare for the upcoming days and the next doctor. He longed for a notebook to help keep his thoughts organized, but would have to make do with his trusty mind.
He thought the first session with Dr. Reed had gone well, but he couldn’t know for sure. Jeremy’s basic knowledge of psychology paled in comparison to Dr. Reed—who would have obtained a medical doctorate after years of studying and a residency.
Jeremy lay down for the rest of the day and slept through the dinner placed in his cell.