Plight of the Broken MindGustavo A. Martínez-Muñiz

804-12-4180

Genre: FictionType of Fiction: Suspense/Horror

Seminar inspiration: José Peña – Halucinations and Dementia

The three cars arrived one after another at the front of the mansion. Three researchers and another psychiatrist, that’s what was needed to fully analyze the patient’s situation. Dr. Nicholas Argent had never been so baffled by a situation such as this involving one of his patients. He was the most renounced psychiatrist in the eastern coast of the country, and he still couldn’t begin to diagnose the patient that had hired him.

Of course, the patient and his servants had more than enough time to spare. The daughter had been the one to call him. She had made it very clear that money was no problem with them. She and her siblings would spend whatever it took in order to understand what was happening to their father. They offered Nicholas room and board and full access to wherever he needed to go in the house.

Yet he still could not find the whole information he needed. He interviewed Mr. Ravenport several times. The man refused to talk about anything other than shadows: the shadows in the back of the house, the shadows in the corner of the room, and so on. He would not leave his room, and having him eat his food was a struggle by itself. There was no sense in the words he used. After several weeks of dead ends and no easy conclusions, Dr. Argent informed Ms. Ravenport that he needed a little more help.

“Sofia,” he called without taking his eyes off the window. The maid that always attended to his needs came in briefly after his call.

“Yes, Dr. Argent?” she said. Her voice was soft, practically a whisper. It fit in with her appearance of a delicate girl with porcelain skin. She always kept her hair in a neat braid at the top of her head. No matter how much she worked, her uniform never seemed to get dirty.

“Our new guests must be hungry, don’t you agree?”“Yes, doctor. Damian has already prepared a dinner for all of them.”Damian, the cook. “What about the butler? Alastair, where is he?”“He should be finished up tending to the master and receiving our guests as we speak.”“All right. Why don’t you lead them to the dining room, I will be there shortly.”“As you say, sir.”The food was served on the table. The four guests were already seated. They were having

hushed conversation as they waited. Upon seeing Dr. Argent, they fell silent, and observed him with a certain level of precaution. There were three men and a woman sitting before him. Dr. Doyle, the female psychiatrist, held a serious demeanor, much expressed through her gray and black clothing, along with a tight bun of hair streaked with gray like brush strokes. She held her bag on her lap as if she were ready to leave.

Professor Wong, the neurobiologist, held a hushed conversation with Dr. Parr, the psychologist. They seemed unfazed by Argent’s arrival, barely looking up or slowing down their speech.

Dr. Wong was this tiny Asian man. He was brilliant; he was fluent in five different languages. His specialty was divided into three different fields of neurobiology, each on which he had completed a PhD. He was the kind of man that was too serious for his own good. You would never see a smile upon his face. His process is doing everything by the book; if his

students ruined an experiment or a procedure, he would spend half an hour yelling at them, saying they were a failure and had brought shame upon their families.

Dr. Parr, on the other hand, was this positive, enthusiastic man. He was near his seventy-something years of age. No matter what negative message you gave this man, he would respond with a warm smile, even if he was going to prove you wrong or scold you.

The endocrinologist, Dr. Hayes, sat quietly, observing his surroundings. He was this small, pudgy man. His cheeks were puffed up and red, as if he had run up a long flight of stairs. His nose twitched constantly, probably because his voluminous mustache kept scratching his top lip.

These were the people that Dr. Argent would be working with. He had met them all before, even worked with a few. It was for that reason that he had recommended them for aiding in Mr. Ravenport’s examination.

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Argent announced as he got closer to the table. “I hope everyone had a pleasant trip.

“Thank you for having us, Nicholas,” said Dr. Doyle. She gave him a dry smile.“It was my pleasure. I’m sure you’re all hungry, so why don’t we dig in.”They all ate in a silence that was broken at rhythmic intervals with conversation. Argent

decided not to speak about the patient yet. His colleagues must have been tired, and he did not want to jump right in on the situation without letting them rest. That was his intention, had not Dr. Parr brought up the topic.

“Nicholas,” he said softly, “what state is the patient in?”“Well, unfortunately, he is completely delusional. In my interviews and conversations

with him he will not wane from the topic he chooses. He doesn’t answer my questions; if he does, his responses are unclear and disturbing.”

Dr. Argent continued speaking about his patient, and all the other professionals listened intently. He relayed every single experience ever since his arrival at the house, being careful as to give as much detail as possible. He spoke for quite some time and by the time they had all finished their dessert, the host doctor stood up at the table.

“I believe that Mr. Ravenport must be asleep at the moment. But if we are careful enough, we may slip into the room, just so you can all examine his physical state at the least.”

He guided them silently up the stairs of the home. He already knew these passages better than his own childhood home. He stood outside the door, holding it open and ushering everyone into the dimly lit room. After everyone was inside, he followed and closed the door.

The guests were standing a small distance, staring in somewhat shock at the large bed before them. Underneath the covers lay this intriguing man. He was no older than eighty years, but he looked younger than what he appeared. His hair was gray, clearly expressed in the receding hairline and the beard on his face. In the dim lamplight you could clearly see that the man had sunken eyes and his cheekbones were jutting out more than normal. He showed all the possible signs of not being well.

“What do you think?” said Dr. Hayes as soon as the door had closed and they were all in the hallway.

“We must begin the examination immediately,” said Dr. Wong.“I agree,” Dr. Doyle added.

The next few weeks were constant examinations. They came one after another. Dr. Argent’s stress became larger and larger. He began to lose sleep, and his frustration towards his colleagues began to bud. The reason for this was because they seemed to be deliberately placing Dr. Argent out of the loop. Dr. Wong and Dr. Hays would not show him the results of their tests. They each claimed that there was not sufficient data to come to a conclusion, and they preferred to keep the test results to themselves until they could.

But Nicholas became especially angry with Dr. Doyle. She refused to show him his notes in order to understand what her preliminary thoughts.

“I cannot, and will not, break my confidentiality with my patient,” she said.“We are both working for the same end,” Argent protested. “Surely you can at least tell

me what you’ve written down.”“I understand the end we are working for, Doctor. Unfortunately, there are two ends to

that rope. In the future, we will all meet and come to a proper conclusion and diagnosis for the patient.”

Dr. Argent started to become more impatient and short-tempered within the house. He refused to speak to anyone else in the house and would spend most of his time in the garden, even thought the weather outside was too cold for anyone to endure for a prolonged time. He eventually stopped sleeping; he would roam the halls, deep in thought, engulfed by silence.

By then, the shadows had begun. At first, only insects and small birds would crawl to life from the shadows. They were pitch black from one end to the other, but he could still see the very small details. He was mostly visited by ravens; they flew around him in circles as he paced the halls.

“Have you seen the shadows?” Nicholas asked Dr. Parr one day during lunch.The poor man was so surprised by the question that he nearly forgot to smile. “What

makes you say that, Nicholas?”“I’ve been walking at night, and I’ve noticed that the walls let the shadows dance with

me.”“They… dance with you?”“In a sort of way, yes. They take the shape of birds and small animals and follow me

around as I walk around the house.”“Oh, but may I ask why you walk around the house when you should be sleeping?”“I do not know. The only thing I do know is that I find it difficult to sleep these days.Soon the shadows became larger. The shapes turned so grotesque and enormous, that

they no longer seemed harmless. Animals soon turned into human hands and faces, emerging from the walls and corners, calling out in deep moans. Their faces were contorted in pain and misery, as if they were calling to be relieved of the torture they lived.

A month and a half after the arrival of his colleagues, Nicholas Argent encountered the most horrifying shadow of all. He was walking down the main hall of the house, attempting to ignore the moaning hands and grasping fingers of pure darkness. He was trying to focus on what few birds chose to accompany him in the hall. He was part of the way to his room when he heard the floor boards creek behind him.

He froze, half expecting one of the researchers to have woken up because of the constant pacing of his footsteps. To his horrifying surprise, it was not what he expected. The shadows of the dark hall had materialized into a monster of sorts. It looked neither human, nor animal. Its humanoid body stood on all fours, its body close to the floor. Its hands were crooked claws that dug into the carpet as if they truly existed. Its head was covered in long black barbules that conglomerated into a mane of shadowy hair. covering nearly all its head, given the eyes and mouth, and most of its shoulders.

On its back there was a pair of leathery, scale-covered wings too small for flight. Just over its hips, Nicholas could see a scaly tail that lashed out as if it had a mind of its own. At one instant, when it lashed forward, the tail flicked a forked tongue. The tail itself was the body and head of a snake.

“A chimera,” Argent gasped under his breath. He took a step back, and the shadow gave a guttural growl and pounced forward. It landed within claw’s length of his feet. Argent fell into a horrific shock, and he turned tail and ran.

His room was around the corner of the hallway if he could just run far enough as to reach it, he could probably escape the shadows. They never followed him into his room. Now he just had to run fast enough; enough to escape this horror.

One foot in front of the other, he pounded as fast as he could. He felt his heart beginning to race, slamming against his chest. The adrenaline was going higher and higher as he passed each door or painting hung on the wall. He heard the claws scraping on the carpet and the walls behind him. The monster’s breath sounded closer and closer as it panted furiously.

“Almost there,” breathed Nicholas. Those words were the mistake that signed his doom. He tripped, tumbling on the floor several times. He was paralyzed on the floor, his elbows propping him up. It was too late.

The monster was on top of him, extending its claw over its head. The scream echoed down the hall as the claws descended at lightning speed and slashed –

Argent sat up, taking a long, deep breath. His heart was racing, and his clothing was drenched in sweat. He perceived his surroundings, and found that he was in his room. The light from the sun was seeping from the window. Had he fallen asleep? Probably. He remembered the encounter with the chimera made of shadow, and remembered its attack. he lifted his shirt, and found four, long scratched on his stomach. He placed his fingers on them, and the distance between them was a perfect match to his fingers. He had scratched himself. He glanced over at the nightstand; his notebook lay there, open at the last entry.

“I guess I should revise what I’ve gotten so far,” he muttered to himself. He took the notebook, and began to read his notes.

Something was wrong. He couldn’t understand what he was reading. The notes were nothing but scribbles on the paper. He flipped to the previous entry. It was the same as the firs; scribbles that seemed to have been drawn by a toddler who hadn’t learned proper penmanship yet. Argent flipped to older and older entries, examining each sheet of paper with care. They were all written the same way. Someone had tampered with his records.

“Where are they?” Dr. Argent demanded upon entering the study where everyone was working.

“Where is what?” asked Dr. Parr. “My records,” replied Argent. “They were all in my notebook. Clean, organized notes,

they were. And now, they’ve been replaced with – with scribbles!” He tossed the fake notebook onto the center table. He was breathing heavily, staring each

and every one of his supposed “colleagues” in the eye, daring them to admit the truth about what they had done. Yet, they all stared at him back with a certain defiance that protested against his accusations.

“Nicholas,” said Dr. Doyle, “I can assure you that none of us have tampered with your notebook.”

“Lies!” yelled Argent. “You’ve all been conspiring against me since the day you arrived. You never let me participate in your discussions on the patient. You’ve tampered with my personal notes on the patient’s condition. And – and you’ve been drugging my food and drink!”

Everyone stared at him, shocked at his accusation. It was their expressions that communicated that he was right. There was no way they wouldn’t drug him. It made complete sense now.

“That’s why the shadows have been coming to life at night,” he said. “That’s why I was unable to sleep. You are all in the attempt to destroy me and my career. You’re all conniving thieves!”

And in blind rage, he lunged at Dr. Parr. The commotion broke into a scrimmage where all four researchers attempted to restrain Dr. Argent. The maddened psychiatrist thrashed and hit whatever he could hold. He even bit one or two people several times. He would not submit. He was intent on believing that he was being destroyed by those very people he had called to help Mr. Ravenport.

“You are all frauds! You dare call yourselves men and women of science!” he screamed, saliva starting to drip out of his mouth as he struggled against the four pairs of hands trying to restrain him onto a bed. “I will send you all to hell! You’ll burn with your own misery!”

He seemed to have become stronger than they had all anticipated, because three times he almost pushed them all away and managed to get to the door before they restrained him once more.

The four scientists pulled leather straps over his forehead, chest, arms, and legs, completely restraining him from any free movement. Dr. Wong approached the bed, holding an odd iron device. He forced it between Argent’s teeth and the contraption pried his jay open. Dr

Doyle then came with a small cup in her hand. She tipped it over Argent’s mouth, and several different pills fell out and into the fleshy chasm.

His head swam. It felt like that moment when he was a teenager and spend too much time in the waves of the beach when he was on summer vacation. His head seemed to sway on its own and moved inconsistently on his neck. He searched his surroundings. He recognized his room, but it had been painted white and the cloth was sea-foam green. He was confused. He knew he was in the house, but why had everything changed?

He brought his hands to his face, but pulled them away abruptly when he felt their smoothness. His hands were free of calluses; they were smooth and youthful. He felt his face. The beard was gone. It had been replaced with soft skin with small patched of felt-like stubble.

The door to his room opened, and in came three people. He recognized the woman as Dr. Doyle, but she looked a bit younger. The other two people seemed to be vaguely familiar to him; his mother and father. But that was not possible. His parents had died years ago.

“Nick!” his mother said as she put her arms around his neck.“He’s lucid again. His aggression has lowered, and he there has been no change to the

images of his brain show there had been no damage in the encounter,” Dr. Doyle cited as she examined the clipboard she held tucked in her arm.

“Hold on,” said Nick. Even his voice sounded young again. “What’s happened? Why am I here? Why do I sound and feel like I’m sixteen years old again?”

His mother stared at him with concern. “Sweetie, you never grew older.”“What? That’s impossible. I’m supposed to be fifty-five right now.”“No,” said Dr. Doyle. “That was just part of the hallucination. Nick, don’t you

remember? You had begun to hide your medication in your room, saying to your parents you were taking them. Your hallucination had become so strong, you thought you were living another life. Remember? You believed yourself to be a psychiatrist.”

“You’re only in tenth grade, sweetheart,” said Nick’s mother.“Will he be all right?” asked Mr. Argent.Dr. Doyle nodded. “As long as he takes his medication, he will be fine.”As they spoke, it all came back to Nick. He really was just sixteen years old. What he last

remembered was finishing his midterms of the spring semester. He was in the school’s soccer team and his parents had managed to get him to audition for a scholarship at a music academy in Maryland.

He had returned to where he belonged. The shadows had all been an illusion. The attacks on the other scientist were a figment of his mind. Relief overcame him, and as Nicholas Argent buried his face in his hands, he wept.