Elixir (7 page)

“It’s probably in your file. Why do I even need to say it?”

“I have an overview in here.” She scribbles some more, eyes intense. “But I always like hearing it from the patient directly. Reading off a piece of paper is...like looking at a painting from a distance. You can see what’s going on, but you can’t appreciate the details. The brushstrokes. If that makes any sense.”

He clenches the sheet even tighter. “He told me if I wasn’t such a freak my parents would still be alive.”

A couple moments pass. “Why would he say something like that?” she asks in a sympathetic tone.

“Just read it in the file.”

“It’s not all in there.” She gives the mattress by him a soft tap. “And like I said, I’d rather hear it from you.”

He’s silent for a while. “When I was really young my mom and dad wanted to put me in school. This special private school for kids that...were...smart or whatever. They found one in Maine. They dropped me off at my aunt’s house and flew up to see it. They were planning to move us there if they liked it.” His heart rate escalates, the beeps of the EKG closer together now. “It was in some rural area and they needed to take one of those little planes. It was winter. And the pilot misjudged the weather, and shouldn’t have left...and...they crashed. Okay?”

“That’s terrible.” Hands folded, she stares at the tile floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to do about it now.”

About ten seconds go by. “Do you believe him? This other boy. What he said.”

“He shouldn’t have said it. That’s why I kicked the crap out of him.”

“I realize he shouldn’t have said it. But do you believe it?”

He observes the wires protruding from the sensors on his chest for a bit. “If I was normal there’d be no need to visit that school and they wouldn’t have gotten on that plane. You can give me a million reasons why it’s not my fault and all that other garbage. The last shrink tried to do the same thing.” He locks eyes with her. “But the truth is, if I was like everyone else, they’d still be alive today. That’s a fact. No matter how you slice it. It’s logic.” She writes some more things down, Sean watching. “What’re you putting on there?”

Unresponsive, she keeps sweeping the pen across the paper. “Your aunt mentioned to me you haven’t been yourself the last few days. It’s a...mystery to her. She feels something may have happened at school. Did someone make a hurtful comment about your parents recently? Another student? Is that what’s causing this behavior with you?”

“Can we not talk about them anymore? I already told you a lot.”

She tilts her chin to the side, staring at his face. “She also told me you were very bright. The school you attend is...world-class. I of course know its reputation. To be there at your age is...well...it’s quite an accomplishment. I don’t follow the show, but she also said you were on
Jeopardy!
. That’s all extremely impressive. I’m sure you’re smarter than every one of my other patients. I’m sure you’re smarter than me.” A few moments pass. “But the mind has many facets, not just the intellectual one. I’ve been around a lot of smart people who were never able to figure things out emotionally. Those two pieces of the brain don’t necessarily work hand in hand. In fact, the smarter the person, the deeper emotional problems can cut. The intelligent mind tends to dig into itself when it’s unhappy. It’s harder for bright people to put things to rest. Often—”

“I recognize life is crappier for people like me,” he says with a huff. “Can we be done with all this now?”

“You can’t just brush this aside.” She sets the pen down and looks at the ceiling. “Think of your mind like a glass table and the difficult things in your past dishes. I can put a heavy dish on and it’s fine. No change to the table. I can put on another.” She mimics stacking a plate. “Fine. And another, and another, until I have say twenty on it. The glass is the same with twenty as it was with none. Perfectly intact. Now I put one more plate on. And the weight of that twenty-first is too much. In an instant the table shatters. Permanently broken. Unrecognizable. It was impossible to tell it was going to crack a moment earlier. I’ve had that happen to patients who kept piling things on without taking any off. They accepted the pain without doing anything to change it. It’s not sustainable. If you view yourself as a victim you won’t be happy. If you do it long enough you’ll reach a breaking point where you’ll never let yourself have a chance at happiness again.”

He analyzes her grave expression, then the EKG device, then the creases in the ruffled blankets. He’s not convinced that by just talking about a memory the pain of it can go away. Thinking about all the terrible things in the story of his past, he begins experiencing a loss of control in the face of history and its permanence. Wanting to convince himself he has a chance to be happy in the future, he decides to say something he hasn’t told anyone else, a fantasy he’s had since he was orphaned. He just wants to hear it out loud right now. “I have a plan you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“An attempt at being...content...happy...whatever you want to call it.”

“And what does this plan entail exactly?”

“I’m gonna have ten kids one day,” he says, optimism in his voice, subtle grin on his face. “Six boys and four girls. We’re gonna live somewhere really faraway. Where nobody knows me. Probably Asia. I might even just change my whole name. And I’m gonna work with my hands designing stuff. Maybe boats because we’ll probably be in a fishing village. And I’m gonna sell them in town during the day. And come back up to our house at night. It’s gonna be high in the mountains. Kind of like those temples in kung fu movies. I’ll hike it up there after work. No driving. And we’ll have dinner together every night. All of us. Me, ten kids, and my wife. When the kids get older I’ll build them all a house in the area. Same mountain. Not too close, but not too far. I’ll be really good with my hands by then so building them won’t be a problem. I’ll have help too. And they’ll move in with their husbands and wives. But we’ll all do dinners at my place at least once a week. With my kids and whoever they marry and then eventually their kids. My grandkids.”

She smiles, moved by what he said. “Six boys and four girls, huh? Why not five and five?”

“So the boys can look out for the girls. When we’re not around. It’ll be easier if there’s more boys. Me and my wife are gonna make sure we teach them stuff like that really young. Watching out for each other and sticking together and all. My wife is gonna be cool. I know exactly what she’s gonna be like. I picture her a lot.”

“That definitely is a big family. It’s terrific to have goals. Especially family ones. I’m sure you’ll make a fantastic father and husband one day.” A pause. “But I’d really like to get back to the event today, so—”

“I told you I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, now annoyed. “I thought I’d let you know about my plan because I could tell you’re worried about me. I figured if you heard it you’d think I might wind up fine. But I’m done talking about all this today.”

“I need a few more minutes,” she says. “We’re only on the surface.”

He’d love to get the stress of the NSA incident off his chest but knows if he does the existence of his algorithm could surface to the public. The therapist would be sure to tell his aunt. Mary would be outraged the government took advantage of him. She’d want to go after the people involved, flying to DC herself or hiring a lawyer. Not only would his contract with Paul Pine be violated, but he’d also become a lifelong target of cyber-crime gangs hunting him for the information in his head. He figures his only option is to continue repressing the pain.

He rips the sensors and covers off himself, climbs out of bed, and says, “I’m gonna take a walk or something. Not trying to be rude. I just...want to move around.” He steps toward the door with his hospital gown, boxer shorts, and bare feet.

“Sean. Come back.” He turns the knob. “Sean,” she says standing, chair legs screeching. He slips into the hallway.

Patrick bangs his knuckles on his gold watch the next Monday, standing a few feet from the Lincoln Memorial in DC. He unhooks it from his wrist and inspects it, no tick, needles frozen. Dead. With a sigh he shoves it in his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, and checks the time. 11:59 AM. He looks around, a teacher reciting facts about the memorial to a fieldtrip of grade-schoolers, a dozen or so tourists snapping photos.

“Goya,” a deep male voice says.

He turns left, noticing an Asian man in his late thirties, blue suit under a tan raincoat. “Hey Lee,” Patrick says, shaking his hand.

“You look like you lost a couple pounds,” the guy says, eyeing his midsection.

“I’ve been assistant coaching my son’s basketball team. Running around with the young bucks a few nights a week.”

“How’s Pat Jr. doing?”

“He’s great. Almost as tall as me now.”

“No?”

“I’m telling you.”

“It’s been a couple years since I saw him.” He looks up, tapping his chin. “You brought the family out to that fundraiser at the aquarium.”

“Yes. You wouldn’t even recognize him now. My little girl too.”

“Crazy how time goes. Me and Marissa are almost married ten years. Five more months.”

“Wow. Is that right?”

Nodding, the man peeks at his watch. “I’m sorry Goya, but I’ve got a deposition I need to be at in forty-five minutes. I don’t have a lot—”

“That makes two of us.” Patrick points at a staircase a short distance away. They weave through the pack of students toward it.

The man looks over his shoulder, assuring nobody is in hearing range, then leans close and says in a hushed voice, “I’ll give Pine points for creativity.”

“It doesn’t sound good already.”

“It’s not.” They walk between two massive white pillars and descend the steps toward the National Mall Park, a brisk wind hitting them once they leave the confines of the monument chamber. “My colleague in the Justice Department heard Pine’s angling to pin him with hacking and willful communication of classified intelligence.”

Patrick buries his hands in his jacket pockets, confused. “Malone didn’t do either of those.”

“He’ll make it up. He’s going to say he hacked into a government database and is planning to sell information to a ring of computer criminals in the Ukraine.”

He thinks for a bit. “How will he prove it?”

“The Justice Department has one of the lower-level members of this Ukrainian crime gang on some online credit-card scam. He’s looking at a pretty hefty fine. They’ll cut him a break on the bill if he says Malone reached out to him with an offer.”

“Jesus. And Pine has a contact at the DOJ willing to go along with the lie?”

“The real insiders seem to all agree Peltex did do business with those Arabs when Pine was CEO. There was just never a smoking gun. If the truth gets exposed and he goes down, a bunch of other well-connected people that came up with him will get dragged in too. The Navy, Army, CIA, you name it...former Peltex executives in a lot of top spots. They all have friends at the department. I’m sure it wasn’t difficult for a good ole boy like Pine to find one’s ear.” His brow wrinkles. “I’m curious, why did this Malone kid threaten him in the first place?”

“I wish I could discuss it, but...it’s one of those things. If I told you I’d ironically be committing willful communication of classified intelligence myself. Just...just realize their paths crossed with some NSA business.” Wind intensifying, he wraps his scarf tight around his neck. “We threw the kid into a pretty intense situation.” He watches the trembling water of the Reflecting Pool as the wind blows, a hint of guilt on his face. “He was just...venting on the phone. It was an empty threat. But...Pine obviously took it literally.”

“Glad I was able to get this on your radar.”

Letting out a long exhale, Patrick stops, right hand extended. “Thanks again Lee. I didn’t expect a backlash like this.” They shake.

“When I heard your boss was going after a teenage hacker, I figured you’d be intrigued.”

“I owe you a favor.”

“Please. I still owe you seven or eight. I built a legal career putting away cyber criminals you and the NSA fed me.”

“Hopefully I’ll be sending you a bunch more. But this kid isn’t one of them. He was only...blowing off steam.”

“Reputation is everything in this town though. You know that. The Secretary isn’t taking it lightly. And he’s acting fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if the accusations went public by the end of the week.” He folds his arms. “Are you considering helping the kid somehow?”

“If not me, then nobody.” His expression turns solemn. “But at this point there’s only one thing I can think of.”

Silence for a while, then his associate nods, appearing to realize what he’s referring to. “That one. Yes. Well, it does work.”

“It usually does.” To be polite Patrick forces a smile even though he’s not in a smiling mood. “Take care. Tell Marissa I say hi.”

“You too PG. Send my best to Allie.” They walk off in opposite directions.

That night Sean is on the edge of his bed staring out the window at three malnourished-looking crows in the driveway, glow from a streetlamp illuminating part of their bodies, rest of them in shadows.

The birds pried open a corner of a trash bag and are picking at the remains of cheeseburgers Mary made last night. Watching them go at the scraps in desperation, he contemplates death. He’s never been able to arrive at a confident answer on the afterlife, something he’s wrestling again with now.

Though he’s not certain, he hopes the soul lives on, maintaining crystallizations of the moments on Earth that defined a person. Sort of like photos. He tries to convince himself of this, but can’t help thinking that maybe the experience of death is the same you have before being born. Nothing. No good. No bad. Nothing.

He glances at his closed closet, sensing the presence of his family photo album buried in the corner, thinking about the flashes of the past captured inside. He envisions the faces of his parents in all those photos, preserved in slices of space and time, unaware of the gruesome destiny to come of them. The muscles in his shoulders and neck tense as he pictures himself as an agent of death, responsible for putting people in the ground. First his mom and dad because of a flight they had to take because of his intelligence. Then two innocent people in Mexico, his “gift” the cause of that as well.