CHAPTER FIVE

Late that afternoon, Jack was at his desk, the light dying outside, when he heard something thud against the window. He rose to see. All afternoon between meetings he’d been trying to reach Damien Falconi. No one would say for certain where he was. Possibly attending a conference in Greenland, or maybe flying back from a meeting in Ecuador, or perhaps hiking in Spain. There on the weathered limestone sill lay a bird, either stunned or dead. Its wings twitched, and its beak opened and closed once like the jaws of a hemostat. With some difficulty, he opened the ancient window and brought the bird inside. It was a female cardinal, eyes wide open, not moving now. It was almost weightless in his palm. He thought he could detect it shivering, but that might have been imagination.

Back on his desk, his cell phone began chiming. Bringing the bird with him, he rushed over. The caller identified herself as Sylvia, an assistant to Mr. Falconi, who was unable to return the call himself.

“How is it we could help you, Dr. Forester?”

Without going into detail concerning the financial dilemma, Jack launched into a brief description of the project, mentioning Falconi’s previous interest in developing a genomic research center at New Canterbury.

“I’m sure he will be very pleased to talk with you, Doctor,” she said.

“How soon might I speak with him?” Jack said, trying to tone down the eagerness in his voice. “The situation is time sensitive.” The bird was still not moving.

“Could you clarify what you mean by time sensitive? Are we talking hours, days, weeks?”

Seconds, Jack thought. “Definitely not weeks or days,” he said. “The sooner the better. He’ll understand when we talk.”

“Got you. I’ll reach right out and make sure he gets the message. Is this your best number?”

Jack had no sooner hung up than the voice of his administrative assistant, Tré Tannino, crackled over the intercom. “Dr. Dugan is here, chief.”

“Send him in.” Jack laid the bird on his desk.

Tré, a thin young man in a dark suit, swung open the door and in marched Hal Dugan, a silver-haired portly man in his early sixties. They shook hands. Dugan had been chairman of the psych department since Jack’s days here as a medical student.

“Sir, I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes,” Tré said. “Would you like me to turn on the overhead lights?”

“No, don’t bother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You like working in the dusk now?” Dugan said, settling into a chair.

“It snuck up,” said Jack, switching on his green-shaded desk lamp.

Dugan wagged his brows. “Strange how night does that. Listen, I got that mass email from Jan Cummings this afternoon. Unexpected financial issues. Jason out. You named the interim CEO. What the devil is going on? Why is the window open?”

“Would you like a drink?” Jack said. He removed a bottle of scotch and two glasses from the bottom drawer.

Dugan smiled. “Well, this is a first.”

Jack poured and handed him a glass.

“This reminds me of when old dean Gavin was sitting where you are,” Dugan said.

“Except his poison was sherry. You’ve upped the ante, bless you.” He raised his glass. “To Jim Gavin.”

Jack followed suit.

“Let me guess,” Dugan said. “You’re not at liberty to discuss what’s going on. Bullshit. We’ve known each other too long. Spill the beans.”

Jack swirled the whiskey. “You didn’t hear this from me,” he said, then briefly summarized the crisis.

Dugan went pale. “Jesus,” he said. “And no one saw it coming?”

“Unbelievably, no.”

“Does Judy Marsh’s tragic accident factor into this?”

“Unknown. I hope not.”

Dugan drained his glass. “Wouldn’t it be nice if it were the fault of that prick of a provost, Bentley?”

Jack smiled. “I’m afraid he’s coated in Teflon.”

“What the hell are they going to do?”

Jack sighed deeply. “Good question. The easiest option is to sell the med center to Health Wealth Associates.”

“Health Wealth Associates! HWA is to medicine what Burger King is to cuisine. Say you’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Dr. Lawrence Haines, their CEO, flew up here from North Carolina this morning on his private jet. He’s already put an offer on the table.”

“For the love of God! Lawrence Haines—I’ve heard of that guy. He’s a damn shark. Lawrence Haines, please no.”

“I agree, which is why I’m working on a long-shot alternative.” He described his plan.

Dugan beamed and pumped his fist. “Yes, Jack! That would be brilliant. I must say that it’s good to see you stirring into action again. It’s been a while since you’ve thrown off sparks. Which brings me to why I’m here. I’ve got three things to discuss. But the first one is the fact you’ve been avoiding me.”

Jack felt his face warm.

“We made a deal,” Dugan pressed on. “You were having trouble with a prolonged grief reaction. You wanted to talk to somebody. I suggested one of our young therapists, but you said you felt most comfortable with me. I said fine, but that we’d need to meet at least every two weeks.”

“Hal, there’s been a lot on my plate.”

“Don’t want to hear it. When I call to schedule something, your assistant—what’s his name, Trent?—waffles for you.”

“Tré.”

“He looks more eccentric every time I see him. Don’t you find his appearance distracting? What do they call that hairdo?”

“A man bun, I think.”

“He looks like something out of medieval Japan. And he’s got a tattoo of wings on the back of his neck.”

“He’s very good at the job.”

“I would hope. So how are you feeling? With regard to the grief, not this financial apocalypse.”

Jack inhaled sharply. “Pretty much the same. It’s never far below the surface.”

“Any thoughts of self-harm?”

“As I’ve said many times, I’d never do that to my daughter.”

“Do you still think about it?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Why do I always get the feeling you’re not telling me something?”

Jack leaned back, his thoughts slipping away. He pictured that Saturday afternoon three Februaries ago. Julia was fourteen months old and napping in her crib. Zellie decided to go food shopping. He was going through the motions of tying a trout fly, but mainly thinking about issues at the medical center. She handed him the baby monitor, kissed him goodbye, then a few moments later she called to him from the kitchen. Her car wouldn’t start. Could she take his? Of course. She yelled thanks. He heard the door shut. When he remembered a quarter hour later what he should have told her, it was too late. He had been meaning to get his vehicle checked by a mechanic. Something wasn’t right. He looked down at the bird lying on its side, inert, eyes already turning dull.

“That’s what I mean,” Dugan said, shaking his head. “You disappear somewhere. Who’s your friend?” He nodded at the creature. “Is that why the window’s open?”

“It flew into the glass.”

“Listen, Jack, let’s try you on another antidepressant.”

“No.”

“I swear to God, I’ll never take on another physician as a patient. How’s your sleep?”

“I’m taking Ambien occasionally.”

“How often is occasionally? Be honest.”

“Every other night or so.”

“That’s more than occasionally. If you want me to continue prescribing it, keep touching bases. As promised.”

“Fair enough.”

“Jack, you do not deal well with loss. I believe that situation partly stems from the fact you lost both your parents when you were, what, fifteen?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a tender age. It’s no wonder you went wild for a few years. We need to talk more about that.”

“Not today.”

“Not today, not today.” Dugan raised his arms. “One of the reasons people stay in a state of grief is because they fear the potential of future losses.” Dugan glanced at the bird. “And now you’re about to lose the medical center. But it’s a good sign that you’re going to do something about it. A great sign.”

“Fearing future losses? I’m not sure that makes sense to me.”

“I’ll take another finger of that,” Dugan said.

Jack poured more for them both.

“Still not dating anyone?” Dugan said.

“No.”

“How about fishing? I remember when you used to bore anyone who’d listen about the pleasures of fly fishing.”

It was true. He had started trout fishing when he was ten, quickly becoming familiar with all the small streams around New Canterbury, and during their first year of marriage when Zellie was pregnant with Julia, they’d spent a week in a cabin on the Beaver Kill River, where he’d taught her how to cast.

“Maybe this spring,” Jack said.

“You should force yourself, take a break from this place.”

“Yep,” Jack said.

“I mean it,” Dugan said, emphatically. “But enough preaching. I’ll dive into my second point, which is that my new study has received final approval from the IRB. We begin enrolling patients this weekend.”

“Remind me which study.”

“The one I described to you in great detail last month sitting right here in this chair.”

“Right. The witch doctor project.”

“Kindly don’t use that term. This is a case-controlled prospective trial designed to determine whether exposing patients to a shamanistic ritual might reduce length of stay in a post-ICU step-down unit through an enhanced placebo effect. My residents love it. They’ll be doing the rituals in full costume . . . stop grinning.”

“It paints an odd picture, Hal. Psychiatry residents dancing around a patient’s bed waving rattles.”

“The placebo effect is understudied. If we can use it to shave even one day off hospital length of stay, the national cost savings would be enormous.”

“No argument. I wish you success.”

Dugan plunked down the glass and averted his eyes. “Now, one last thing. Do you know Ms. Bansal, the administrator of the Patterson Psychiatric Institute?”

“No. Why?”

“She’s going to be reaching out to you for a reference for me. You see, I uh . . . am being vetted for the medical directorship job at Patterson. That was my third point.”

Jack looked down at the lifeless bird and swallowed, his mouth going dry. “You’re thinking of leaving? You should have brought this up at the beginning. Isn’t Ralph Teitelbaum the medical director there?”

“He died in a car accident back at the end of the summer. A recruiter reached out to me last month. Listen, I’ve been administering this psych department and training residents for thirty years. I’ve paid my dues. It’s time for a change. The workload will be light. It’ll be almost a semi-retirement. And it’s in the Adirondacks. Beautiful country. Not far away. There’s plenty of trout streams there. You could come visit.”

The desk lamp cast a pool of warm light on the polished surface that reflected up onto Dugan’s face. Jack couldn’t hold back a sigh. There’d been too many surprises today.

“I won’t be but a couple hours away. We’ll continue meeting every two weeks.”

“How soon?”

“Assuming they’ll take me, about three months. That’ll allow me time to complete the shaman study.”

Jack drained his scotch. “I’ve just never known this place without you.”

“My young friend, please do not think of this as another loss. It’s not.”

“You think you’ll be happy there?”

“I do. The only onerous aspect is that I’ll oversee the unit there that houses the criminally insane. They’ve got some real monsters, like the one who strangled and dismembered those women in the Catskills. And also . . .” Dugan cleared his throat.

“Also what?” said Jack.

“Dr. Bryson Witner is there now.”

Jack’s neck muscles tensed, and a chill crept up his spine. Bryson Witner. The man’s name still had the power to send a shock wave through him. He could picture Witner’s cold eyes and thin smile. “I thought they were holding him in Attica.”

“All of the state’s criminally insane are now concentrated at Patterson. State-of-the-art confinement. Do you still have nightmares about him?”

“Yes.”

“No surprise, given how close he came to killing you and your wife. But all of us here at New Canterbury still have Witner nightmares. I know I’m supposed to have sympathy for individuals who do bad things under the influence of psychosis, but he murdered too many people. If he’d been executed, I’d have said ‘fair is fair.’ But enough of that. How are things going with your niece from Ohio? Kaitlyn is her name, right?”

“Yes. She’s been stable. Doing well in school.”

“I recall you mentioning she had a resemblance to Zellie. Has that been problematic for you, grief-wise?”

Jack looked away for a moment before answering. “It’s under control. She’ll be going back to Ohio in two weeks.”

Dugan stared at him, then released a breath. “There you go disappearing again. I worry about you.”