Damien

Damien

written by: William Weeks

 

I first imagined this story as a movie years ago.

 

Part 1

I had moved into my small, Sausalito houseboat only a few days before. A man had just made my first propane delivery, fastening the tank up on the outside near the ramp and just to the side of my front door.

I had driven north along the Marin County Coast about fifteen minutes or so to my first real assignment in my chosen profession of psychiatry. I parked under an ancient, massive oak tree in a lot near the old mental institution and slipped on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. I didn’t need them, but sometimes my beauty kept people from taking me seriously. I even had my dark hair atop my head, instead of on my shoulders, where I usually wore it for my boyfriend, Donald.

I entered the building and proceeded down a musty, dimly lit hall. I wondered how many tortured souls had traveled that same path through the decades. I passed through the door marked Reception and introduced myself to a woman sitting behind a desk.

“I’m Maxine Rogers,” she replied, “They’ve been expecting you. Go right in that door.” She had a hairstyle more appropriate for a younger woman, but a warm smile and patient eyes, I conjectured, were used to contending with contentious personalities.

The majority of the staff were sitting around a large table. I already had the job, but the ones who hadn’t interviewed me before wanted to meet me and acquaint me with my duties. There were four men and three women, only one of whom looked younger than 60.

A man about 70 with gray hair and mustache, stood up near the end of the table when I came in. I remembered him from the interview, but he reintroduced himself anyway. “I’m Chairperson Daniels. Everyone, this is the soon-to-be Doctor Dona Collier.”
“I’m still working on it,” I smiled. They went around the room, each introducing themselves.
“Hello, my dear,” said an elderly woman with an elegant, laboriously curled blue coiffure and an authoritative manner. “I’m Dr. Jenkins, but please call me Pearl. You may wish to dispense with the dangly earrings and your gold bracelet. Some of our friends are intimidated by bright jewelry.”

I noticed the reference to patients as “friends.” I later heard the term “campers” used as well.

“Thank you,” I said, immediately removing the suggested pieces and placing them in my purse.

“Dr. Donaldson here,” boomed a heavy-set man with a bulbous red, pockmarked nose. “I was at your interview downtown.”
“I remember, Dr. Donaldson. Nice to see you again.”

“We will be showing you various areas of the facility where patients of similar psychosis are being treated. You will learn the routines so you can take over when needed.”

“I’m Dr. Lloyd,” volunteered a small, wiry bald man who had followed the exchanges with an anxious, meerkat-like attendance. “There are two security monitors on each floor. Don’t hesitate to call them if you need them.”

“What about Damien?” It was a Hispanic-Jewish woman with short hair who chewed incessantly on a pencil. I noticed a quick exchange of glances around the table.

“Just call me Doris.”

Dr. Daniels cleared his throat. “We do have a young male friend, nineteen years old…”

“Twenty,” she corrected. “He just turned twenty…”

“Twenty,” continued Dr. Daniels. “The point is he appears to be losing some of the ground we had gained with him…”

“He’s a danger to himself and others and should be in a more secure environment,” said Doris, flatly.

“Oh, give the poor girl a chance, please, Doris,” the sound emanated from a man with clear, gray eyes beneath thick, bushy eyebrows puffing on an old-fashioned pipe. “Dr. Mabbet here, Ms. Collier. Welcome aboard. I think Damien is just testing, like other young people his age do.”

“Like the way your son tests you?” This came from the youngest member of the group, probably in her fifties. She had a glint in her eye, sharp features, and messy, salt-and-pepper hair.

“Allow me to introduce Dr. Gulbrandson,” said Dr. Mabbet in even tones.

She brushed ineffectively at some hair on her forehead and gave me an icy stare. “So very nice to meet you, dear. I hope you find this is a good fit for you.” I had the impression that she saw me as some kind of threat to her.

“There is a lack of consensus on our staff about Damien,” continued Dr. Daniels. “Some say that his…interpretation of life has undergone some…interesting aberrations of late. This may be transitory, or it may be a significant regression in his recovery. He has developed a kind of hostility or disrespect for the staff he did not exhibit in the past. We are curious if a young person closer to his age…How old are you again?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“We thought…that maybe he could relate to you, and you could uncover what has brought this change in him.”
“I’ll do my best.”

“Just be careful. Don’t take any chances with him.”

“Doris, now don’t mislead her.”

“She’s not. Ms. Collier will have to be smart about this,” interjected Dr. Gulbrandson, pawing again at her hair. “Did you show her the pictures?”

Dr. Daniels took out some postcard-sized pictures. There were various scenes in pen or pencil, of death and destruction. One showed a nurse grimacing as a man behind her attempted to hold in his intestines. I stopped at the last one. It showed a naked man prostrated on his knees, his chest to the ground, and a wisp of smoke curling up from his back. Somehow, the resignation depicted reminded me of the famous Roman statue “The Dying Gaul.”

Just then, there was a quick knock, and a door opened. Maxine, the receptionist I met earlier, peered in. “I’m sorry, Dr. Daniels, but Missy just insists on seeing you right now.”

Dr. Daniels smiled and chuckled. “Well,” (looking at me), “…you get to meet one of our little friends right now.”
A small girl scooted past the secretary and strode into the room. She stood squarely in front of Dr. Daniels and jammed her hands on her little hips.

“Dr. Daniels, it happened AGAIN!” She stamped a foot in exasperation.

“Calm down now, Missy. You’re making yourself too excited. What’s wrong?”

“You KNOW what’s wrong. Someone stole my Barbie…AGAIN!”

“I see. Well, that is a problem. Didn’t you find that you just misplaced her last time?”

“I put her on the windowsill and told her to stay put before I went to breakfast.” She looked at me and pointed. “Who is she?”

“Hello, Missy. I’m Ms. Collier, but you can call me Dona if you like.”

“You’re pretty.”

I smiled.

“My Barbie has blonde hair. Not like yours.”

“Maybe when I’m done here, I could come and help you find her.”

Missy turned to look at the doctor. “Could she, Dr. Daniels? Please?”

“Well, let me ask if anyone has any more questions for Ms. Collier.” Heads shook no. “Might be a good way to get to know one another.”

I stood up and began to leave.

“There’s one thing more you need to know about Damien.”

I turned towards him.

“Damien suffers from hyperacusis. Loud sounds are painful to him. You must make sure he is heavily sedated when there is a planned air raid siren test, and on this coming July 4th.”

“Got it. Come on, Missy, let’s go look for your Barbie. Nice meeting everyone.”

I hoped I had made a good impression, but I was glad to leave the critical gazes. Missy took me by the hand and led me back through the reception office, where Maxine gave her a smile.

“Where’s my hug for today?”

“Oh, all right.” Missy sighed and walked over in an exaggerated manner like a celebrity indulging a fan — but she couldn’t keep herself from smiling from side to side.

When they hugged, Maxine blinked away tears. Clearly, she knew something about the bright little girl’s past that belied her perky behavior.

The hug extended a while. Then Missy turned and headed for the door.

“We’re busy, Maxine.” She called back. “She’s gonna help me do something, and I’m supposed to show her around the place.”

I looked back at Maxine as Missy grabbed my hand again. Maxine gave a sad look after Missy and then a nod towards me.

We exited and found our way towards Missy’s room. As we rounded a corner to her hallway, I thought I noticed someone disappear around another corner ahead.

“Here we are,” said Missy, opening the door.

Almost as soon as the door opened, I spotted Barbie on the windowsill. “There she is. Well, now, that was easy.”

Missy looked bewildered. “She wasn’t there ten minutes ago.”

“Her clothes are all rumpled. She didn’t do a very good job dressing herself today.”

“She looked fine before breakfast.”

I picked her up and buttoned a button on her blouse. “That’s funny. Her hair is all wet.” I noticed a slight smell in her hair. “What is that smell?”

Then I realized. It had the faint smell of sperm.

 

Part 2

I had asked if they would send him to the garden to meet with me. He came and stood silently behind me. I couldn’t help jump when I eventually noticed him.

“Damien? You startled me. I’m Dona. It’s nice meeting you.” He was around my height, 5’10”, thin with medium-length wavy dirty blonde — almost brown hair. His eyes were amazingly alert. “They think you might be able to talk better with someone closer to your age.”

His eyes drank me in, then narrowed with anger. “I know what they’re doing. They want to torture me.”

“Torture you? How?”

“It’s not your fault. They are as crazy as the patients, only they don’t know it.” He sighed. “I hate them. You should hate them too, for using you.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Why do you say they’re crazy?”

“All shrinks are. They’re people who have doubts about their own sanity and don’t want to be found out by other psychiatrists. So they learn all about it to protect themselves. They live in fear of being found out. They fear domination by someone who knows more about how they tick than they do.”

“I’ve been studying psychology for years now,” I volunteered. “Some students may be like you say. But there are plenty more, like me, who are comfortable in their skins.”

“How the hell can a comfortable person help me? I can’t imagine what comfortable feels like.”

“It’s called empathy. We can feel what you feel.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your empathy can’t even begin to feel how I feel, lady. Don’t start bull shitting me like they do.”

“Damien. I will always tell you the truth, and I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

He stared at me for a few moments. Then he walked over to a stonewall in the garden. I noticed burn scars on the back of his neck. He carefully removed a top stone. Behind it was a steak knife. He took the knife and slowly turned it towards me.

He waited for me to react. “Why do you feel you need a weapon, Damien?”

“There are more guns in this country than people, and you ask me why I need a knife? It’s protection.”

“You don’t need protection from me.”

“No. For you, it’s a test. If it’s not there tomorrow, I’ll know what your trust is worth.”

He had a way of setting me up like that. I could lose my job if they found out I didn’t report it. That was just the beginning of ways he separated me from right and wrong. Little did I realize how far I would eventually go.

“Your secret is safe with me. I told Dr. Daniels I would check in with him after I spoke with you. I’ll catch up with you later?”

He seemed genuinely disappointed. “No, you won’t, DOCTOR.” He practically spat out the word. “I hate you anyway.” I wondered why his demeanor had changed so abruptly. It seemed he doubted I would find him again. I started to protest, but he had already gone.

***

“Well, how was it?” Dr. Daniels looked up from his desk when I entered his office.

“It was….” I searched for the right words, “…unusual.”

“That’s Damien. Did he like you?”

“He thinks you sent me to torment him.”

“Torment him?” He pulled on his mustache. “Now, how did that mind invent that one?”

“I dunno.” I mulled something over in my mind. “Doctor, he showed me a knife he had hidden behind a top rock in that wall in the garden. It was kind of a test to see if he could trust me. I wanted you to know, but I’d like you to not do anything about it so I can gain his trust. It’s only a steak knife.”

“Okay. By the way, they notified us that on Friday, there will be an air raid siren test in the morning. Come a little early that day.”

“I told him I’d go back and find him.”

“That’s probably enough for today. You don’t want to overdo it.”

“But I promised.”

“I want you to meet some other patients now.”

It felt wrong, but I was new and didn’t want to make waves. He took me to a hallway where Dr. Donaldson sat like a lord holding court, with patients all around him. He gave me an irritated look as I approached, like I was invading his private territory. I joined in and spoke with him and the patients, learning as much as I could.

“Dr. Donaldson, could I ask you about Missy?”

He rose from where he had been sitting regally and then took me to one side.

“She’s a real ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”

“Why is she here?”

He pulled on his massive nose. “I see her happy ways and find myself wondering how she does it. Maybe you’re better off not knowing.”

“Dr. Donaldson, I don’t want to accidentally bring up something that reminds her of some trauma. Help me out here.”

A patient in his thirties, wearing a needy expression, slowly moved towards us. Dr. Donaldson pointed him back. “I’ll be back soon, Clyde. Just relax.” He gave me a “You asked for it” look.

“About three years ago, she was taken to a juvenile facility. Twice, couples started to adopt her, and twice they brought her back. She is a very different child when it gets dark out. We are able to give some of our patients private rooms so they don’t bother other patients, which is why they ended up bringing her here.”

“How did she get to the juvenile facility in the first place?”

Dr. Donaldson looked up and back to one side to remember details. “The story was that her parents had been bickering for most of a year …” He looked over at the group of patients waiting for him. Clyde kept looking over his shoulder at us.

“The three of them went to a cabin in the mountains one weekend to try to work things out. Things just got worse, and the fighting and bickering went on into the night. Finally, they bundled her into the car, put her in the front seat between them, and were driving back when they had an accident. Excuse me a minute.”

He went over to the patients and gently but firmly separated two of them. He looked steadily into the eyes of one of them, then said something in a matter-of-fact tone as if reminding the patient of a past agreement. He then turned to the other patient, looked him directly in the eyes, and spoke again in a firm tone of voice. Then he turned and made his way back to me.

“They don’t know if the dad fell asleep at the wheel or if he had gotten agitated by another fight, but the car careened off the road and rolled down a steep embankment. Missy spent the rest of the night pinned between the bodies of her parents and the crushed car. A patrolman found her in the early morning hours. It was more than another hour before they could cut her out.”

“That explains her fear of the dark,” I said.

Dr. Mabbet often goes in even when he’s off duty and reads to her until she drifts off. He has a very soothing voice that seems to relax her. I can’t get over how cheerful and normal she is during the day and how different she becomes when it gets dark.”

“Dr. Mabbet strikes me as a very caring person.”

Dr. Donaldson chuckled. “He is great with patients. But — his own children treat him with open disdain. They’re messes. Makes one wonder, doesn’t it?”

“And Damien?”

“His mother was a prostitute and an alcoholic. She often abused him. He was taken from a juvenile facility when he was sixteen because they felt he might be suicidal.”

“What made them think that?”

“He cut himself with glass, and burned the back of his hand. Damien claimed he was practicing mind over matter stoicism like the ancient Greeks. But some of his scars passed over his wrists, which made them hard to ignore.”

“I noticed some burn scars on the back of his neck.”

“He doesn’t talk about that. He once said, ‘That did hurt,’ and muttered, ‘Mom’s gift.’”

Clyde was now rocking back and forth between his feet. “I should get back to the group.”

I thanked him for the information.
After a while, I realized several hours had gone by and excused myself to find a restroom.

When I came out, I thought about Damien and the promise I had made to him, and his reaction. I looked for him in the garden, the library, and the TV room. Then I asked one of the security men which was Damien’s room number.

I found his room around the corner from Missy’s room. I lightly tapped on his door. There was no answer. I tapped again, but still no answer. I began to step away, but then came back to the door. I knew I shouldn’t, but slowly turned the handle and opened the door just a crack.

The only light inside came from a bathroom. I saw Damien sitting on the floor near the bathroom door. He was naked. As I watched, I could hear his breathing grow heavy. He was holding something in his hand and seemed to be sliding it up and down against himself.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized it was Missy’s now naked doll. He stroked the doll against him, pulled her hair, and began to rub it against himself harder and faster. I started to leave, but was fascinated by his intense concentration. Then his face seemed to fill with hate. As his excitement peaked, he grabbed the doll’s head and pulled it off as he came.

I closed the door. That evening, when I drove home, I stopped at a store and bought a Barbie doll and left it in my car.

The next morning, I went straight to Missy’s room. “Look what I found.”

Missy beamed. “There you are. I was looking all over for you. Where did you go, you naughty girl?”

“She needed some new clothes, so I took her home with me. You like the clothes?”

“Yes, but she looks a little different now.”

“Clothes can do that.”

“Will you take me to get clothes sometime?”

“Maybe, if it’s not against the rules.”

***

We met in the garden again.
“I knew you wouldn’t come yesterday,” he said simply.

I wondered if I should tell him the truth… that I had come, or to lie. Instead, I said nothing.

“You’re like them. I can’t trust you.”

“Yes, you can, Damien.” I walked over to the wall. “Look.” I removed the rock. I froze. The knife was gone. For a moment, I stood there in disbelief. I realized then I had been betrayed by the doctor.

Damien looked at me sadly. He shook his head. “You were brought here to torment me.”

“Well, hello folks. We just thought we might find you here,” it was Dr. Daniels with Missy in tow. The look I gave him caused him to look at the wall for a fraction of a second and then down to the ground. That’s the first time I began to see him and the other doctors the way Damien saw them.

“This one tells me you promised her a shopping trip. I want to make a personal donation.” He handed me two twenty-dollar bills. Then to Damien, “You want to go along and get a shirt or something? I’ll donate some more.”

“You sure I won’t escape?”

Dr. Daniels laughed, but his reply was quiet. With a reasoning, almost sympathetic tone of voice, he asked, “Where would you go, Damien? How would you get by?”

Then he turned back to Missy. “Now, young lady, see how fast you can change your clothes and meet Ms. Collier in the parking lot. Here’s some for Damien.”
He gave me another twenty.

***

We sat in my car waiting for Missy. She popped up suddenly, opened the back door, and slid into the back seat, carrying her doll.

“I brought Barbie for the ride,” she said proudly.

“How…?” Damien looked at the doll, then he looked at me. His eyes filled with fear. I realized he grasped what had happened in a matter of seconds.

“I don’t think she wants to come,” he said.

“Oh yes, she does,” Missy answered promptly. “She told me so.”

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“Why not? She’s my doll, and she’s coming with us.”

Damien spoke quietly. “That doll torments me… just like someone else does.”

***

I pulled into the parking area for Sausalito houseboats.

“I need to get something. Only be a minute.”

“Can I see where you live?” chimed Missy.

“Sure.”

She and Damien climbed out of my car and followed me along the long wooden plank way-dock leading to my houseboat rental.

“This is cool,” cried Missy as she jumped on my waterbed, a common feature in those days. My place wasn’t too untidy, although there were still a few towels lying around. Damien noticed a nightgown and a man’s pair of underwear on a chair.

“He comes here, doesn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend.”

“How did you know…? Yes, Damien. He’s my boyfriend. People do that.”

“I don’t.”

***

Missy was in a dressing room trying on three different tops and bottoms. It was the first time Damien and I were alone.

“You saw?” He asked.

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough.”

He was silent for a while. Then he said, “Thank you for getting the doll.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m twenty years old, and I don’t even know what it feels like, really.”

“What what feels like?”

“To touch a woman.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Some day, maybe.” It felt like a dumb answer.

“No.” He sighed. “Once we went on an outing to the park. A pretty girl came up to me and started talking to me. She asked me if the people climbing on the jungle gym were from the institution.”

“Yes,” I said. “Sometimes they are called campers.”

“And you’re a counselor?”

“No”, I said, “I’m a…I’m a camper.” Then I began to count silently to myself. Sure enough, before I reached ten, she realized she had to be somewhere… it was so really nice talking with me, and she REALLY hoped she’d see me again sometime.

“Right,” I said, not looking at her. “Have a nice life.”

For a moment, I tried to realize what it must be like to be Damien. The loneliness must have been unbearable. “She’s taking her sweet time in there,” I said.

“A girl like you could never be interested in someone like me, could you?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really a question that needs to be asked.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have a professional doctor/client relationship with you, I would not be serving you in your best interests, and…and…I have a boyfriend.”

“So doing the right thing is for me to be a eunuch the rest of my life, correct?”

“No! That’s not correct. You could get to a point where you could have a fairly normal life.”

“Just not with a woman like you.”

I looked away. “Well, probably not.”

He smiled. “Finally, the truth.”

I went to check on Missy. She had fallen sound asleep in the booth.

***

Back at the institution that night, the cook’s filet knife went missing after dinner.

***

 

Part 3

The next day, we walked out on an outside lawn instead of the garden. We had walked away from the others when he touched my elbow.

“Miss Collier, let me touch your breasts.”

“Are you nuts?” I said. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

A very rare smile came to his lips. “Certifiably,” he chuckled.

“We’ve been over this before. This is something I can’t do.”

“Won’t do,” he said.

“Whatever,” I said. “It’s not happening.” I shook my head. Then I pulled some papers out of my purse. “I found some old notes from a Dr. Saranga.”

“The only one who cared enough to find out who I am.” That statement stayed with me.

“After reading them, it sounded to me like you may be suicidal. Are you?”

“No. As Peggy Lee says, ‘I’m not ready yet for that final disappointment.’”

“Then what did you mean about ‘nothing matters.’”

“Nothing does. Some people search for a point to life. Actually, there is only one point to life. A very important point that can make a difference when you internalize it. Are you listening?”

His last question was very quiet. I sensed it was more important than he let on. I looked him in the eyes. “Yes, Damien, I hear you.” His eyes searched into mine.

“Life is just life. We are organisms that evolved from simpler organisms. We continue to evolve as some life forms die off…as we will die off when we have dirtied our nests one too many times. The point we need to realize is there is no point — only being — in a world without gods or other superstitions — without meaning — without reason. We just are. The real point we need to internalize is that there is no point and never has been.”

I thought about his words and what he said about Dr. Saranga. Then I had a plan.

***

The next day was Thursday. I showed up wearing a black cocktail dress, high-heeled shoes, and my best makeup job. I was carrying a book by Henry Miller called Tropic of Capricorn. We found an isolated spot behind some trees, and I planned to show I cared enough to find an author who shared some of his thoughts.

“There have been others who have felt like you before,” I said. Damien had the barest of smiles on his face. “I want to read to you from the beginning of this book.”

I opened it. “Once you have given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in chaos…”

I looked up. He was staring at me intently. His mind seemed to be churning. I skipped a few sentences.

“There was nothing I wished to do which I could just as well not do. Even as a child…I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling.”

Suddenly, I felt a slight pressure against my breasts. I pulled the book aside and saw Damien’s palms against me.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You wanted me to,” he said.

I brushed his hands away.

“I certainly did not.”

“Then why did you fix yourself all up?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to have a dinner date with my boyfriend right after work today, Smarty.”

Somehow, it made me feel good to catch him off balance for once. “He’s got a long weekend off work, and we haven’t seen one another for weeks now.”

He didn’t know what to say. His eyes slipped down towards my breasts, then moved back up to my eyes. “Will he get to touch you tonight?”

I started to say it was none of his business, but then stopped myself. I tried to be honest. “Probably. It’s the first time we’ve been together in weeks, and they’re giving him a three-day weekend.”

“Without any clothes in between?”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Damien.”

“You’ll let him but not me.”

I shook my head.

***

That night after dinner, Donald and I went back to my houseboat. We smoked a joint, the first I’d had since our last time together, and made love twice until falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning. I remembered thinking that creative lovemaking was a sign of intelligence. I was slightly disturbed that he hadn’t been a little more inspired. Being gone that long, I felt he would have had more passion.

“Donald, what are you really passionate about in life?”

He mulled over the question. “I really love it when the Giants win,” was his reply.

Why is it, I wondered, that Americans only find it acceptable to be passionate about sports?

The next morning, when the alarm went off, I kissed him and told him to sleep in.

When I walked into the institution, the first thing I saw was a nurse running down the hall with a needle. She gave me a dirty look and ran on.

“Oh, my God. It’s Friday!” I gasped. “Where is he?”

I ran after the nurse. She threw open a door. Damien wore only pajama bottoms while a burly security man had stationed himself to hold him down on a table. At that moment, a shrill siren began from an alarm located just outside the building. The nurse ran to Damien with the needle, but he thrashed about, knocking the syringe to the floor.

The security man held his wrists. Damien’s back arched, and his face contorted with pain from the sound. The nurse picked up the needle and jabbed it into his shoulder.

“Where the hell were you?” She said.

“I forgot.”

“It’s going to take a while for this to work.”

The siren stopped. Damien was sweating profusely, panting hard, and with his heart pounding. I went to touch his shoulder. Just then, the siren came on again. Instantly, his body tensed and his head thrashed from one side to another. He looked as though he was yelling, but only a deep grunting sound came out over and over. The security man tried to lie across his chest. Damien’s legs kicked out violently. Finally, he gave a long, agonizing scream.

***

Hours later, he seemed to awaken. His eyes opened. Groggily, he said, “You torment me. What is the point of all the pain if I have no life anyway?

***

I was not looking forward to this meeting. They were all there, the same ones that had been at the first meeting.

Dr. Mabbet spoke first. “We all make mistakes, Ms. Collier. But you know this cannot happen again.”

“Yes, I know. It won’t. I’m sorry.”

“We have not had any reports from you on him yet,” said Doris.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well, is he too dangerous for this facility or not?” All eyes turned on me.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think he is. I think he’s a young man with a young man’s needs, and he cannot get those satisfied here.”

“You’re not getting involved with him, are you?” It was Dr. Gulbrandson, with a smirk and a suggestive tone of voice.

“Absolutely not. If you knew me better, I would resent the insinuation. I was thinking maybe there could be a less conventional approach to his situation. Perhaps a sex surrogate partner could be employed for him.”

They looked at one another. “That is definitely not in the cards,” stated Dr. Jenkins (Pearl), tapping her blue hair with a hand.
Doris asked, “Are you familiar with his mother?”

“Dr. Donaldson told me about her.”

“Damien blocks it out. There is resentment and deep hostility there.”

“This is a good experience for you,” cut in Dr. Daniels. “You need to work on your professional manner. You are no good to a patient if your emotions get too involved.”

“I get that that is the approach here. Do you think Dr. Saranga would have agreed?”

“We owe a great deal of debt to Dr. Saranga. He put us on the map. But I think we all agree here that he sometimes let himself get too involved with patients.”

“I understand”. I felt the interview was over. I stood up, then turned back. “You know, Damien trusted him.”

***

That night, I spoke with Donald about Damien. Then I asked him;
“How old were you when you first made love to a girl?”

“Sixteen, and some of my friends made fun of me because I waited so long.”

“Could you have gone until you were twenty?”

“Some men remain virgins longer than that. Personally, though, I’d have gone crazy if I’d waited even a year longer.”

“So how does a patient work through issues to become a whole person when he’s fighting something that would drive a normal person crazy?”

“Dunno. It would drive me nuts, and I’m pretty damn sane.” He looked over at me. “You ever consider giving him a little tumble?”

“What???!!!!”

“A quick pity-fuck. Might make all the difference in the world.”

“I can’t believe you just said that. My boyfriend wants me to pity-fuck a patient?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re going to fall in love with a kid eight years younger carrying around more baggage than a 747. You said yourself he doesn’t have a chance in hell where he is now.”

“Donald, I’m just starting out in my career, and you’re suggesting I do the most unethical thing a professional therapist could ever do? “ I gave him a very questioning look. “I can’t believe you even said that. How would it make you feel?”

“Sex therapists are often happily married women. Their partners understand they are helping men with issues.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t then. It was just a suggestion.”

“Dumbest one you’ve ever had. Still can’t believe you even said it.” But somehow I felt a little more respect for him.

 

Part 4

He did not look the same. There was a kind of resignation in his eyes. He looked up as I came into the study where he was reading the Henry Miller book.

“Hello, torturer,” he said. “You know this book is full of sex, right?”

“That’s not why I brought it,” I replied.

“Yeah, well, ‘best laid plans…’”

“‘…Of mice and men.’ You read Steinbeck?”

“The guy ends up killing his mentally challenged cousin, doesn’t he? Seemed like a logical solution, didn’t it?”

“No one wants to kill you, Damien.”

“Maybe not, but they took some more of my protection last night.”

“More weapons? You don’t need those. Every time they find them, it’s another win for those who want to lock you up.”

“Lock me up?” He looked at me sharply. “What are you talking about?”

Now I’d really done it. He knew nothing about the ‘faculty’ debate about him. I felt like I was failing him once again.

“Well, I mean, that was just a figure of speech. Some of the doctors feel you need more restrictions to keep you from hurting yourself — or others.”

“You know I’ve got more hidden.”

“I believe you.”

I felt badly, and changed the subject.

***

That evening, as I was leaving, Dr. Daniels called me into his office.
“Have a seat,” he motioned.

I sat down.

“We found some more weapons.”

“Damien told me.”

“We can’t ignore this anymore, I’m afraid. I know you’ve invested a lot of time and effort in this project, but I want to prepare you for what may happen when they take him.”

“Take him? What are you talking about? When?”

“Thursday or Friday is the earliest they said they could come.”

“To where?”

“Please, don’t mention anything to him about it. We will sedate him just before they come. What I want you to understand is that it is customary in these cases to use restraint cuffs during the time he’s being transported. I wanted you to know, so it doesn’t surprise you.”

“Doctor, this kind of move could kill that ‘project’ as you call him.”

“We did not make this decision frivolously. This is the prudent thing to do. We need to think about others.”

I felt myself sinking inside. “I’m sure you’re…that…this is the proper action to take, doctor.”

I was devastated when I left. That night, I sat for hours in my empty houseboat. I had a hard time imagining his reaction as they fitted restraint cuffs on him and led him to a transport vehicle. He would know exactly what they were doing and that he would be going to a place of no return. Damien was right. All my efforts had resulted only in torturing him.

Then a thought came to me. There was something I could do, but I knew it would be very wrong.

***

“Good morning, Damien.”

“You’re late.”

“I stopped off to pick up a few things.”

“What for?”

“Thought you might like to go have a picnic today.”

“A picnic? Where?”

“Angel Island. It’s north of here, not too far.”

Damien wrinkled his brow. His quick mind could not suss out the situation as he usually did. Instead, he said simply, “I like the way you did your makeup today.”

“Thanks.”

“Is this kind of like a date?”

“If you want to call it that. Have you got hiking shoes?”

Now he seemed very confused. “Just these Keds.”

“Those will work. You have a bathing suit?”

“Don’t swim.”

I gave him a warm smile. “Let’s go have an adventure.”

He hesitated. “This some new torture?” But then he came with me. We drove north to the Tiburon peninsula. The car radio played “Positively Fourth Street” by Bob Dylan. The words seemed to bother him. We parked and boarded the ferry. I carried a blanket, and he took the basket.

“What have you got in here?” He opened the basket and began to rummage through it.

“Sandwiches, cheese, a few figs, and some wine.”

“Wine? I hope it’s a good year.”

“Oh, you know wine?”

He looked out across the water. “Sure… Some.”

I smiled. “Sure. Then you know this is a good one.”

He took the wine out and looked at the label. “Yeah, it looks… pretty… smooth to me.”

I looked away so he wouldn’t see my smile.

***

“This is a really beautiful spot,” he said.

I put my hand on his arm. “Let’s see the view from the top of the hill.”

“Looks like a climb.”

***

It took nearly half an hour until we cleared the top of the hill. Down below us was the beach where families played. Across the shimmering water, we could see Alcatraz Island, San Francisco, and the Golden Gate Bridge. A short fence stood before us and the top of the hill. I laid the blanket across it and made my way over.

“Are you sure this isn’t private property?” he asked.

“Today we’re not going to worry about rules.”

He looked at me quizzically. Then he handed me the basket and made his way over the fence.

If this were a film, the camera would now dolly down and back along the fence to a sign reading: “Danger: Fog Horn.” Then the camera would slowly curl around and pan up to where fog was just beginning to slowly seep in through the Golden Gate Bridge and on into the bay.

I began to spread the blanket under a tree.

“Open the wine, will you?”

I looked up to find him just staring at the bottle. I got the opener out of the basket. “Let me open it. You get the napkins and sandwiches, will you?”

“Where are the glasses?”

“Forgot them. We’ll just have to share the bottle.”

That seemed to please him. He unwrapped the sandwiches and cheese, and we began to eat.

“Have you ever seen the movie ‘Women in Love’ based upon the D.H. Lawrence novel?”

“Nope.”

“The story explores people re-discovering their sensual selves.”

I reached in and took a fig and a plastic knife.

“There’s a scene early in the movie where the character played by Alan Bates shows the proper way to eat a fig, followed by the sensual way to eat one.” I cut a cross at the plump end of the fig and began to pull it apart, revealing the pink insides. “He explains that a fig looks like a woman’s sexual part. Then he opens it gently, and begins to eat it.” I opened the fig in front of him, and offered it to him to eat.

Damien carefully inspected the offering, then brought the fig up to his nose and smelled it. He touched it gently with his tongue, then tentatively removed the soft tissue from one quarter with his teeth, and swallowed. I could sense both fear and curiosity in his gaze.

I took a swig from the wine bottle. “Would you like some wine?”

Without a word, he reached for the bottle. I shook my head. “No. Here.”

I took another swig and held the wine in my mouth, puffing my lips towards him. He looked at me with astonishment. Then, ever so gradually, he moved towards me. His breathing changed. He gently touched my lips with his. I released the wine into his mouth. My hand wrapped around the back of his head.

“It’s all right. Relax. There is nothing to worry about.” A fog bank moved slowly through the Golden Gate’s arches. Tendrils of fog began to wrap around the back of Alcatraz Island.

He swallowed. Then he gently moved a finger across my forehead, down my cheek, and then across my lips. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I wish I could sculpt you in clay.”

I knew he was completely vulnerable, but at that moment, I also knew I wanted to feel his skin next to mine. I reached for his shirt and slid it up over him. I pulled him down again.

This time, he kissed me long and full. I slipped my tongue into his mouth. He pulled away quickly.

I smiled and said softly. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Touch my tongue with yours. Explore me.” He was breathing deeply now. His mouth caressed mine, and his tongue came into me. He lay on top of me, and I was aware that food was being crushed under us. Wine spilled. I put my hand on his bottom and felt him growing hard against me. He pulled up, and pulled the top of my dress down, revealing my bosom.

I never saw more concentration in anyone before as he moved his fingers along my bosom and ever so gently touched my excited nipple. He gazed intensely as though he had discovered the most precious object he had ever seen. I found the zipper on his pants and pulled it down. My body ached for him. The racing fog had enveloped Alcatraz and streamed like a tsunami into the bay. A separate torrent of fog crested over the Marin Hills by Mt. Tamalpais, raging down the slopes like an avalanche towards Angel Island.

Suddenly, he pulled away. I hated him leaving. My chest was heaving. He seemed to be reaching for something hidden in the leg of his jeans. Then he was back, staring into my eyes. His chest heaved heavily. As he found my lips again, I felt something cold against my chest. He lifted again, and I saw him staring hard at me with an anguished look. Cold metal pressed against the top of my breast and then, ever so gently and softly, without piercing, ran down to my nipple. A cold terror flooded into my pleasure. I felt myself wanting to orgasm with pleasure while also wanting to scream in horror.

***

The sound crashed into us like a freight train out of a dark night. We hadn’t noticed the fog that had first crept around the bridge, and then began pouring into the bay to finally immerse Angel Island. Neither did we dream we were in such close proximity to a horn meant to warn ships miles away. The horn gave a thunderous blast that was painful even to my ears.
Somehow, he never even scratched me when it happened. The scratches came from madly tearing across the fence while still recoiling from the intense sound pain.

Much later, when we finally stumbled down the hill and moved beyond the anguish of the event, I realized how, once again, the best-intentioned plans of mice and men had resulted in the torture of the very one I had risked all trying to bring the kind of life the rest of us take for granted.

***

A hand unhitched the propane tank from the line running into the houseboat, but the gas continued flowing. When the lighted matchbook was tossed, the propane canister rocketed high into the air with a whooshing noise. Flames traveled through the line, and a loud explosion sent the door and other debris flying over a figure who fell to the wooden plank way. Blood oozed from between the fingers of the hands pushing against his ears.

We hear Bob Dylan’s “Ballad of a Thin Man” as the figure struggles to stand and make his way down the plankway. His balance damaged, he continuously falls and then regains his feet to struggle a ways, only to fall again.

This is when we expect to see the credits of the film to appear. They don’t. He continues on, slipping — picking himself up, falling, moving away from us and humanity into a hopeless future. Perhaps he could have been saved with the right help, or perhaps the ones who wanted to remove him had been right all along, after all.

As the scene continues, we realize it’s gone on too long without credits. There is going to be another scene.

That is when the credits appear.