The Renfield Syndrome by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 20

By the time Caspian returned home, the sky had become a dark blue with wisps of feathery clouds seemingly placed intentionally as decoration announcing the eventual coming of winter. As he approached the house, a cold breeze struck his face, causing him to speed his pace. As much as he enjoyed the walk, he wasn’t sure if he would be willing to do it again. It was simply too cold.

Circling around to the front, he took the doorknob in his hand and quickly noticed how it retained the cold absorbed from the air that surrounded it. He had never before realized how smooth it was, and surmising it to be made of brass, gripped it and, turning it clockwise, pulled the door open. No sooner did the door crack open than he felt a warm breeze push its way through. The sudden feeling of warmth set his face aglow, and Caspian quickly came to appreciate the importance of being warm. The next time he ventured out, he would make it a point of wearing a heavier jacket and a hat, one that would cover his ears.

Walking through the living room, he passed Reuben, who, looking up at him, engaged him in brief conversation.

“Feel better, Caspian?”

Caspian didn’t have much to say. As usual, he was not one to participate in conversation.

“It’s nice out there,” he replied. “But it’s damn cold.”

Reuben smiled as he walked past, believing that there might be a chance that Caspian could make a recovery from a lifetime of abuse. He also saw a glimmer of hope that his life might take a positive direction. But Reuben also understood that Caspian still had a lot of issues to work on. Perhaps at some point they could begin talking about therapy. Reuben wasn’t sure what his thoughts were on the topic, so it would be something he would ease into. He would not allow him to become stagnant and risk sliding into mental illness. The social worker was very specific in telling Reuben and Dorothy that social isolation is generally a breeding ground for depression and sometimes psychosis. The way to avoid this was to keep Caspian engaged. The idea of college came up, but given his hatred of people, it was suggested that he might take one or two online classes. He wouldn’t be around people, but he would remain mentally active.

After a few minutes, Reuben got up and followed Caspian into his room. Standing in the doorway, he was startled to find him standing in front of his painting. He seemed to be staring through the wall as his unblinking eyes fixed themselves on the red eyes that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

“Caspian,” Reuben said. “Are you okay?”

Keeping his attention focused on the red eyes, he responded with something that many might say regarding a piece of artwork.

“It speaks to me,” he replied. Reuben’s response was typical of anyone who saw something beyond the paint, beyond the brushstrokes. “Yes,” he replied. “Art always speaks to us. It doesn’t matter what the medium is—painting, sculpture, writing…”

Caspian suddenly interrupted with panic in his voice.

“No!” he yelled. “I hear its voice. It talks to me. I don’t understand what it's saying, and the eyes, they’re not in the same place they were the other day.”

He took a few steps back as paranoia filled him with fear. Caspian didn’t know what was happening to him, but whatever it was scared him beyond anything he had ever experienced. This was something he had no control over. Had there been an off button somewhere in his mind, he would certainly have used it. The ability to shut off the chaos in his mind was something he would have killed to possess, but the only thing he could manage was to close his eyes and breathe. Reuben’s response was both calm and immediate.

“Caspian, it’s going to be okay, but we need to get you to see someone. We need to get you to the hospital, okay?” The idea of getting ‘professional help’ was something he did not want to think about, believing that psychiatrists were for crazy people, those on the edge of being institutionalized. But as he was about to deny Reuben’s help, he saw the eyes on the canvas blink. Certainly, this was impossible, and it sent Caspian into a panic as he began screaming and backing himself into a corner, covering his eyes. This brought Dorothy running through the house, and entering Caspian’s room, she was waved off by Reuben. Dorothy considered him far more able to deal with these situations than her, and seeing Caspian curled up in a corner of his bedroom, she backed up and put her hands over her mouth. Her concern had taken the form of fear, and fear has a tendency to blind one to the use of logic. Reuben, however, was able to deal with these issues like a therapist, approaching Caspian calmly but at a distance so as not to trigger an outburst. “Caspian,” he said. “This isn’t normal. You need to go to the hospital. Now, we can take you or you can go in an ambulance but you need to go. Do you understand?”

If Caspian was to go to the hospital he certainly didn’t want to be seen in an ambulance. He would have considered it embarrassing.

So, the decision was made. Caspian agreed to go to the hospital, and the closest was Amsterdam Memorial. Not knowing if he would be spending the night there or be transferred elsewhere. It was possible that he might be admitted to Albany Medical Center’s thirty-day program, taking up temporary residence on their locked psychiatric unit. Reuben’s hope was for a prescription and a referral, but he also knew that if Caspian was deemed as a danger to himself or others, he would certainly be admitted and bombarded with drugs. As a precaution, he also called the social worker, providing a quick but detailed report of what was happening. The social worker would meet them there and commend Reuben on his choice of hospitals. Any other nearby facility was not at all equipped for such situations.

By the time they got Caspian to the car, he was visibly shaking, and with Dorothy sitting next to him in the back seat, Reuben started the car and drove the most direct way he knew to the hospital. But before leaving, he called the hospital and notified them of their situation and that they would soon arrive. Pulling into the parking lot nearest the emergency room, a nurse approached the car with a wheelchair. Although it was hospital policy to perform this duty, Caspian refused and, preferring to walk, made his way to the emergency room entrance. The staff had gathered in the hallway as though they had never seen anyone in the middle of a psychotic episode, and seeing this, Caspian hesitated and inquired about something that was clearly unnecessary.

“What the fuck are these people doing here? Do they think I’m going to fucking kill someone?”

Reuben, again as the voice of calm reason, convinced him that this was likely a precaution.

“Caspian,” he said. “These people don’t know you. I’m guessing that they’re here just in case something happens. Do you understand?” His response was brief but logical. Caspian had seen documentaries where people in crisis required restraining by several members of the staff and promised that would not happen here. The only issue Reuben brought up was the need to be honest.

“Just tell them what’s going on, okay?” he said. “They can’t help you if you’re not honest.”

Caspian nodded his head with a brief reply.

“Okay.”