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part 2 of the story
A S Y L U M

Mark Pearce

    “It is his money. He worked hard for it. Dr. Bates even thinks that his condition may have been brought on my overwork.”
    “Overwork,” said Dailey, contemptuously. “All he ever did was luck into a couple of discoveries which proved financially lucrative. The hard part of the business is the running of it, which is what I have to do because he is too lazy—pardon me, crazy—to do the work himself.”
    “That’s not fair, Jack. Peter is a great man.”
    “Was. Now he’s sick.”
    “He won’t always be like this.”
    “Exactly,” said Dailey. “Someday he’s going to be well. Until then, we can’t let him squander his fortune. You’ve got to get Uncle Peter to sign custody of himself over to you. Then he won’t be able to cash any checks without your endorsement.”
    “Isn’t there some other way?”
    “No,” said Dailey. “Phil said that since Uncle Peter is not dangerous, the only way we can get custody of him is for him to sign it over. I’ve already had Phil draw up the papers.”
    “I won’t have Peter locked up.”
    “You won’t have to. In fact, this will prevent that sort of thing. This will make you legally responsible for him.”
    “Do you have the papers here?”
    “They’re in my desk.” He went to a small walnut desk in the corner and retrieved a manila envelope. He pulled out the documents and handed them to her. “This is the only way, Mother. This morning’s incident should prove that. Inviting a hoodlum into our home and treating him like an honored guest. There’s no telling what Uncle Peter might do next.”
    “All right, I’ll talk to him.”
    “Good. I’m going to go upstairs. It will be better if I’m not around. Don’t worry. When he regains his sanity, he’s going to be grateful.”
    Dailey left the room. Ann fidgeted with the document in her hands.
    Koestler entered. He was now fully dressed.
    “Hi,” he said. “Feeling better?”
    “Yes, much.”
    “That’s good.” He hugged her. “You shouldn’t worry about my friends. They may be unusual, but they’re nice.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going out for a while. You want me to pick you up anything?”
    “No.” Ann hesitated. “But I would like you to do something for me before you go.”
    “Anything.”
    “I’d like you to sign this.”
    Koestler took the papers and glanced at them. “What is it?”
    “It’s just a legal document. It makes me legally responsible for you.”
    “What?” said Koestler, suddenly wary. “Was this Jack’s idea?”
    “I don’t know why you dislike him so. He’s so concerned about you, and you seem to hate him.”
    “I don’t hate him, Ann. It’s just that sometimes he tries to take advantage of people.”
    “Do you think I’m trying to take advantage of you?”
    “No, Ann. Not at all.”
    “Then please sign this. If you do something wrong now, you will be sent to prison because you are still legally responsible for your actions. I couldn’t take that.”
    “You don’t have to worry about me,” said Koestler. “I won’t do anything wrong.”
    “Please sign it, Peter. It would be such a relief to me.”
    “This is just another one of Jack’s schemes. You know he wants to have me put away.”
    “These aren’t commitment papers.”
    “No, but this is the first step. Once I sign custody over to you, I’m helpless.”
    “Peter, you’re ill. You do strange things.”
    “Does that mean I need to be locked up?”
    “I’m not talking about locking you up.”
    “It wouldn’t be long before Jack would be pressing a set of commitment papers on you and telling you that I need to be protected from myself.”
    “I would never have you put into an asylum,” said Ann. “You know that, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” said Koestler, gently.
    “Then please sign this.”
    “Is it that important to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay.” He picked up a pen and signed the paper.
    Ann kissed him on the cheek. “Now it will be like when we were small and I used to take care of you. Remember?”
    “I remember.” He kissed her. “I have to be leaving now. I’ll be back later.”
    Koestler left. Ann stood smiling after him. She then picked up the document. Dailey entered from the other room. “Did he sign?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good.” He took the paper and looked at it. “Wait a minute!”
    “What’s wrong?”
    Dailey rushed to the door and called out. “Uncle Peter! Uncle Peter!”
    “Jack. What’s wrong?”
    Dailey turned back to her. “Here’s what’s wrong.” He handed her the paper.
    Ann began to laugh. “At least he spelled your name right.”

II

    Phil Burroughs stood at the door of Koestler’s home and looked up at the imposing façade. His normally confident features were taut, his eyes troubled. There had been a time when he was a regular visitor here. Now his visits were rare and brief.
    He reached up and rang the bell. Ann Dailey answered. She wore a lemon colored dress, and her hair was combed neatly behind her ears.
    “Hello, Phil!” she said delighted; she hugged him as he entered.
    “Hi, Ann. How have you been?”
    “Fine. And you?”
    “I’m doing all right.”
    She invited Phil in and led him to the couch.
    “Peter isn’t here right now,” she said, “but he should be back any minute.”
    “I don’t mind waiting.”
    “Would you like some coffee?”
    “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
    “This is such a surprise. You almost never visit us anymore.”
    “Well,” said Phil, uncomfortably, “I’ve been overworked lately. A lot of cases have been coming in, and we’re breaking in a new clerk. And you know the—”
    “Phil . . .”
    “What?”
    “You don’t have to explain.”
    Phil spoke quietly. “How is he, Ann?”
    She hesitated. “He’s all right.”
    “Is there any sign he might be getting better?”
    “No.” She lowered her head and spoke quietly. “Sometimes I wish he had stayed at the university. He was happy there.”
    “He couldn’t. Peter was always too ambitious.”
    “He’s not ambitious now.” She looked at Phil. “He misses you. You’re his best friend, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “I think it hurt him, what you tried to do with those custody papers.”
    “Has he said anything?”
    “He said you had planned to use them to have him put away.”
    “Is he angry?”
    “No.” She smiled. “Jack was mad, though. Did you know Peter signed his name?”
    “Yes,” Phil laughed. “I started to have Jack committed just so it wouldn’t be a total loss.”
    Ann laughed.
    Koestler approached the house; not the door, but the window. He used a burglar’s tool to trip the latch, then slid it open. Ann and Phil watched appalled as he climbed through the window.
    “Phil!” said Koestler. “I didn’t know you were coming by today.”
    “Hello, Peter,” said Phil, uneasily.
    “What’s wrong? Oh, the window. I was just trying out something my new friend taught me. He’s a very talented individual.”
    “Undoubtedly.”
    “Ann, have you asked Phil to stay for lunch?”
    “No,” she turned to Phil, “but you’re certainly welcome.”
    “I’d like to, but I have another commitment.”
    “You can stay for a while, though, can’t you?” said Koestler.
    “For a while.”
    Ann rose. “I know you two have a lot of catching up to do, so I’ll just leave you alone. It was nice talking to you, Phil. I hope you’ll visit more often.”
    “I’ll try.”
    She left the room.
    “Your sister is a charming woman.”
    “I know. She’s a true angel.”
    Phil was made uncomfortable by the word, but tried to hide it.
    “How have you been, Peter?” he said.
    “As well as might be expected for someone who’s deranged.”
    “Stop it!”
    “What?”
    “You know what I’m talking about.”
    “That’s true,” said Koestler, quietly.
    “Then why?”
    “Why does it bother you so much, my being an angel?”
    “Because it’s not true,” said Phil. “Just look in the mirror. You’ll see a good man, but no angel. And just look out the window. That’s no paradise out there.”
    “Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.”
    “Peter,” said Phil, desperately. “I’ve been your friend for as long as I can remember. Let me help you. There must be some way I can reach you. I know you’re still in there somewhere.”
    “You’re really bothered by my condition, aren’t you?” said Koestler. “Come with me today when I go to the park. I’d like you to meet some of my new friends. Maybe then you can begin to understand.”
    “I can’t today,” said Phil. “I have to work.”
    “You can miss one day.”
    “This may not mean anything to you, but I have responsibilities. There are people who count on me doing my job. If I waste a single day, they’re the ones who suffer.”
    “Perhaps this weekend.”
    “Peter, you’ve got to stop frittering your life away,” said Phil, vehemently. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”
    “Clearly.”
    “Jack tells me you’ve been giving money away.”
    “Only to people who need it desperately.”
    “What about your own family? They have to live, too. Jack said you’re giving away more money than your investments are bringing in.”
    “Jack seems to forget the money I give away is my own.”
    “And what are you going to do when the money runs out?”
    “It won’t. Let’s change the subject. You say you can’t take the afternoon off, then at least cancel your luncheon engagement so you can have lunch here. I can cook some hotdogs and we can—”
    “No, thank you. I’m not planning on eating lunch today. My engagement is a business meeting. I just wanted to stop by to see how you’re doing.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, I really have to be leaving now.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Koestler.
    He walked his old friend out to his car. Phil was grateful that he was willing to use the door. He would not have been surprised if Koestler had expected him to climb out the window.
    “You’re welcome any time,” said Koestler.
    Phil climbed into his car and pulled out of the driveway.
    He had just enough time to make it to his appointment.
    ***
    “Well?” said Dailey. “What did you find out?”
    Phil looked across the desk at Koestler’s nephew. They were alone together in Phil’s private office at his law firm.
    “Peter owns fifty-three percent of the stock,” he said. “There’s no way you can take over.”
    “Come on, Phil. I run that company. There must be some way for me to get control.”
    “Not unless he’s willing to sell some of his stock—”
    “I’m not talking about buying.”
    “I know,” said Phil, dryly.
    “The man is ruining the business,” said Jack. “All the money we make is being thrown away. Isn’t there something you can do?”
    “Maybe there is,” said Phil, slowly.
    “You’ve got something?”
    “Maybe. We both want something here. You want control of your uncle’s company. I want him to get the help he needs.”
    “So what do we do?”
    “If you give me authorization to have Peter’s case reviewed, I may be able to have him committed to a hospital for treatment.”
    “You can do that?”
    “Yes, if I can get two psychiatrists to agree he needs medical help.”
    “What are the chances of that?”
    “Dr. Bates has already agreed. He’s going to talk to a Dr. Reid who runs a sanitarium in Fairfield. That’s only twenty miles from here, so if we have him committed there, you and Ann will be able to visit him often. Bates is going to show Reid the videos of his sessions with Peter.”
    “And if Uncle Peter is committed, I’ll have control of his company,” Jack gloated.
    “Shut up, Jack,” said Phil, disgusted.
    ***
    Late that night, Phil Burroughs poured himself a drink and contemplated the events of the day. He was not a man of irony, so it did not occur to him that even though he did not believe in angels, he was not above making a deal with the other end of the spiritual spectrum.

III


    Dr. Reid leaned casually against the edge of his desk. The furnishings of his office were simple and dignified, a reflection of the tone he set for the entire institution. Nigel Tonn sat on the couch, his legs pulled up to his chest. He was approximately twenty-one years old, slender and timid. To an outside observer, it would have been impossible to say if the timidity was of recent origin or long duration.
    “You’ve been showing some nice improvement, Nigel,” said Reid. “You’re calmer than you used to be, and you’re more stable. However, you’re still resisting treatment. Your refusal to communicate is detrimental to your development.”
    Nigel sat without answering.
     “This will be so much easier if you will cooperate,” said Reid. “You know you will eventually.”
    Nigel remained unmoved.
    “Very well.” Reid went to the door and opened it. “Ms. Opel, would you send Harry in here?” He pulled a notebook from his pocket and made a notation. “I’m scheduling you for three treatments next week. Don’t be discouraged, Nigel. You are getting better. We just have to keep at it.”
    Harry entered. He was tall and muscular, and wore a white lab coat with white pants and rubber soled shoes. “You wanted to see me, Dr. Reid?”
    “Yes. Take Mr. Tonn back to his room.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Reid went to his desk and began to make some notes on his session with Nigel. Ms. Opel entered, carrying a pad, a folder, and a large book. Her honey colored hair was pulled back tightly.
    “Here’s the file you wanted to see on Larry Moss,” she said. “And I found that case history on Ted Jennings. I marked the place.”
    “Thank you.” He opened the book and glanced over the article. “Were there any calls during the session?”
    “Yes.” She consulted her pad. “Mrs. Limer called twice in reference to her son. She wants to visit him next week. I told her I would get back with her.”
    “I suppose that could be arranged.” Reid looked at his desk calendar. “Tell her she can come on Tuesday.”
    “Yes, sir.” She made a note. “Also, Mr. Switzer from the government office called.”
    “Is it that time again?”
    “I’m afraid so. He’ll be here on Thursday to inspect the hospital. And a Mr. Anthony called. He wants to talk to you about having his mother committed here.”
    “I hope you explained we’re over capacity now.”
    “I did, but he was quite insistent. I told him I would have you call him back.”
    “Okay. I don’t know how much longer we can continue with this workload. You’d think we were the only hospital in the state. I think I’m going to start training Harry to give the patients their preliminary tests. Maybe that will take some of the load off of Dr. Knowles and myself.”
    “Do you think Harry can handle it?”
    “Sure, there’s nothing to it. All he has to do is administer the tests and record the results.”
    The phone rang. Ms. Opel answered. “Dr. Reid’s office. . . . One moment please.” She muted the phone. “It’s Dr. Bates. He wants to know if you’ve finished with the videos of his sessions with Mr. Koestler.”
    “Not yet. See if you can schedule a meeting for next Friday. I want to discuss some things with him personally.”
    Ms. Opel spoke into the phone. “Dr. Bates? Dr. Reid was wondering if you might have some time available on Friday . . . Two-thirty? That would be fine . . . Thank you. Goodbye.”
    She hung up, then turned to Reid.
    “Does he want me to go there, or will he be coming here?” said Reid.
    “He’ll be coming here.”
    “Good.”
    “Shall I attend the meeting?”
    “Yes. I’ll need you to view some of the sessions before then. I think you’ll find Mr. Koestler is a remarkable case. He was a brilliant man before his illness. Now he says he’s an angel and claims the world is a paradise.” Reid frowned. “Dr. Bates is doing him no good at all. He lets Koestler run him around in circles. Koestler is sharp. Make no mistake about that. Bates is only compounding the trouble.”
    “You seem genuinely upset.”
    “I am. I can’t imagine anything more horrible than a great mind gone mad. When I think of the tremendous waste . . . To consider what Koestler has been. And what he might yet become . . .”
    Ms. Opel smiled slightly with gentle affection. “You’re going to have him committed here, aren’t you?”
    “Absolutely.”

***

    Dailey entered the house, carrying a newspaper. He seemed excited, worried. He set the paper on his desk and went to the archway. “Mother, could you come down here a minute?”
    He began pacing.
    Ann entered. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
    “Nothing’s wrong. Is Uncle Peter upstairs?”
    “He went out to mail a letter.”
    “Why did you let him go? I told you I wanted him here when I got home.”
    “He won’t be gone long.”
    Dailey went to the window and looked out.
    “Jack, something is wrong,” said Ann. “Is Peter in any trouble?”
    “No.”
    “Then why are you so edgy?”
    Dailey hesitated. “Mother, we have to talk.”
    “He is in trouble,” said Ann, frightened.
    “No,” said Dailey. “He’s not in any trouble.”
    “Then what?”
    Dailey hesitated. “Phil is having Uncle Peter committed to a mental hospital.”
    “No!”
    “Don’t get excited, Mother. If Uncle Peter sees you upset, he’ll want to know why.”
    “We can’t do this to him,” said Ann. “I won’t let you put him in one of those places.”
    “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” said Dailey. “I’ve seen the facilities. They’re very clean and modern. I’m sure Uncle Peter will be happy there.”
    “He’s happy here.”
    “He only seems happy. His condition has been getting worse every day.” Dailey put his hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly. “We’ve all been hoping that Uncle Peter would get better without the need for full time professional help, but that just isn’t going to happen. He needs medical treatment. Phil is having him consigned to a hospital run by a Dr. Reid. Reid is one of the top men in the profession.”
    “I don’t care about that,” said Ann. “We can’t lock Peter up.”
    “Mother, listen to me,” said Dailey. “Dr. Reid viewed the videos of Uncle Peter’s sessions with Dr. Bates. He said that without treatment, Uncle Peter’s condition will probably deteriorate. If we wait too long, he may become incurable.”
    Ann sat down, overcome by the idea. Dailey sat and put his arm around her.
    “How long would he have to stay there?” said Ann.
    “That’s impossible to say.”
    “Would we be able to visit him?”
    “I’m sure we would.”
    Koestler entered, whistling a happy tune. “Hello, Jack. You’re home a little early, aren’t you?”
    “A little.”
    “That’s good. You’ve been working too hard lately.”
    Koestler went to the bookcase, chose a volume, then sat in a chair by the window. Dailey noticed Koestler held the book upside down as he read. His eyes seemed to start at the bottom of the page and work their way up. Dailey could not tell if he was shamming, clowning, or, like da Vinci and his mirror writing, actually reading upside down and backwards. He glared at his uncle in irritation.
    “You’re not planning on going out again, are you, Uncle Peter?” he said.
    “Not unless something comes up. Why?”
    “I was just wondering. We’re going to be eating soon.”
    “Oh. Well, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”
    “Peter . . .” said Ann, uncertainly.
    “Yes?”
    Dailey motioned for Ann not to speak.
    “Peter . . .” she said, ignoring Dailey. “You know that anything I do, I do for your own good, don’t you?”
    “I know,” said Koestler, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me.”
    Ann turned to Dailey. “Jack . . .” she said, almost desperately.
    “Mother, you don’t look well,” said Jack, quickly. “You’d better go up and take some of your medicine.”
    She hesitated, then left the room.
    Koestler looked at Dailey. “Compassion isn’t necessarily an illness, Jack.”
    “You grow tiring, Uncle.”
    Dailey moved to the bar.
    Koestler set down his book. “Jack, it kills her to see us fight with each other. Why don’t we try to be friends? We should do things together.”
    “Like what?”
    “We could go out to the lake and feed the ducks. It’s very relaxing. When you’re sitting out there on a peaceful day, you feel such a sense of release. It would do you some good to sit back for once and enjoy just being alive.”
    “I find life enjoyable enough without having to feed ducks.”
    “We should still try to be friends. It’s not fair to Ann, being forced to watch us tear at each other.”
    “Do you think it’s fair that she has a brother she’s ashamed to be seen with in public? Do you think it’s fair she has people point and whisper when she walks down the street?”
    Koestler gazed sadly into the distance. “They just don’t understand.”
    “Well, neither do I.”
    There was a knock at the door. Dailey answered it.
    “My name is Harry,” said the man standing on the stoop. “I was sent by Dr. Reid. I’m looking for Peter Koestler.”
     “That’s him,” said Dailey, stepping aside.
    Koestler stood. “What’s going on, Jack?”
    “We’re having you committed to a mental hospital.”
    “You can’t do that,” said Koestler. “Does Ann know about this?”
    “She knows.”
    Harry grabbed Koestler’s arm. “Are you going to make trouble?”
    “No,” said Koestler, quietly. “No trouble. Can I pack some things?”
    “They didn’t say anything about that. I’m just supposed to bring you to the hospital.”
    “I’ll have Mother pack for you,” said Dailey. “We’ll come by the hospital later on.”
    “Okay,” said Harry. “Let’s go.”
    He put Koestler in an arm lock.
    “Hey,” said Dailey. “You don’t have to hold him like that. He said he won’t cause any trouble.”
    “How do I know he won’t make a break for it?”
    Dailey looked at Koestler with sad respect. “Because he said so.”
    Harry released his grip.
    “Goodbye, Uncle Peter.”
    Harry led Koestler out. Dailey went to the door and watched them go.
    He stood alone among Koestler’s volumes of literature and works of art, but had no capacity to hear the echoes of angels.

 

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