Chapter 40

“You’ve got a visit,” The words came three weeks into Jesus’ time in the hole. Instinctively, like a trained animal, he waited for the horizontal slot to open, and stuck his hands through to be handcuffed.

They opened the door when his hands were restrained and then cuffed his ankles.

The guard, a stocky black man with a clean shaven face turned stone from dealing with years of hardened criminals, led him from behind out of the hole, and down a long hallway, past where Jesus had been classified in what felt like a past life, and into the room that Kelly had met with him before his botched arraignment. He expected, perhaps, the medical professional that Kelly had alluded to during their last juncture, but was met with a face that he had not expected: Winston. He was missing his signature Fedora. Instead, his hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing the age lines in his face. It seemed like many years since they had last seen each other in Chicago. Winston seemed aged, battered by whatever had befallen him during the preceding half year. Jesus didn’t know it, but his own eyes were sunken, his pale skin had lost its animate glow, and his body was shrunken and malnourished. Worst of all, his eyes were cold, lifeless, and distant. Looking at him was like looking through a telescope at a faraway dead planet at the edge of the solar system. The guard seated him in front of Winston, alone again in the room, and left.

“You know they don’t allow visitors in the hole,” Winston began, “And if anyone asks, I’m Jamie Dupree, your new attorney. Never mind that the real Mrs. Dupree is a woman. Mr. Kelly was grateful to relieve himself of his duties after that little stunt you pulled. Smart, by the way. You didn’t go as far as to attack the officer. Nearly took the guy’s damn eye out. As luck would have it, I’ve got three guys in that room willing to testify he was on top of you, choking you, making it applicable self-defense.”

“Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“Like I said, they don’t allow visitors in the hole. It wasn’t easy to pass as an attorney, much less your attorney,” Winston said.

“Don’t you need me to sign something?”

“I’ve already taken the liberty of signing for you, in a sense.”

“So why are you really here? You could have just sent the real Jamie,” Jesus said.

“I could have,” Winston said, “but then I wouldn’t be able to get a gauge on what’s going on for myself.”

Leroy, Winston’s ex-employer, towered above Winston, staring at Jesus wordlessly from behind his back. Winston seemed to notice Jesus’ eyes looking at something.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” Winston said, “This was many years ago, when I was still a young man, not as young as you, but still young enough to be left impressions by this world. Now, I’m old and callous and jaded. I suspect there’s little anyone could tell me or do to me that would make me as much as blink,” Winston began.

“It was in Columbia, and I had to kill a man. It was the first time I had ever shot somebody. It needed to be done for my own survival. There was absolutely no choice. He was an evil and corrupt man, and his destruction didn’t bother me. It probably did quite a few people a bit of good. Something went wrong, though. I broke into his house, where he was supposed to be alone. When I shot him, his wife saw me. She saw my face. I have no idea why or how she was there. She was supposed to be in Ecuador seeing her family. We had even followed her to the airport. She must have gone as far as to secretly fly back. Maybe she sensed that she was being followed; I don’t know, but as she stood there at the bathroom door, watching the man she loved fall to the ground, dead by my hand, we both knew the unspoken rule,” Winston continued.

“IF she lived, she would try to have me arrested or killed. They would amount to the same thing.

IF I killed her, I would live,” Winston said. He and Jesus were silent for a moment. Jesus noted that Winston’s hands were clutched together, “Sometimes I still see her watching me wordlessly, knowingly. She follows me, and she is a reminder of the weight of the things that I have done. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Jesus nodded.

“Good,” Winston said. He straightened his back. Jesus realized that they had been leaning in over the table. He did the same.

“I hear voices. I see things. Sometimes, it feels like I’m not even myself,” Jesus said.

“We all feel like we’re not ourselves sometimes,” Winston replied.

No, like there’s someone else here. Sometimes, it feels like I’m in the passenger seat of a car,”

Jesus said.

“I see,” Winston said, “I’ve arranged for you to meet with Dr. Schreder Heinz, a leading authority in Schizophrenia in Philadelphia. The meeting’s purpose is twofold. First, I think that you should plead insanity. I’ve seen the ballistics report. It’s a dead match. Forensics don’t lie. The second reason is to get you the actual help you need. We can probably get you into Green Mountain mental institution where you can get treatment for an illness. Because that’s what it is, and illness. It can be treated, and under the right circumstances, it can even be cured. You have to stay positive,” Winston said. Already, Andrea and Rodrigo’s voice were clamoring for attention. Jesus quelled them and tried not to focus on Leroy’s looming, ethereal form.

He’s not really there. It’s all in my head.

“Everything is in your head, you know,” Justin Jack said, “Everything that is real is shaped by your notion of reality.”

“In some ways, we’re more real than this table and the man sitting in front of you,” Said Jack, “How do you know that’s really Winston facing you?”

I know what’s real and what’s not. I can fight through this.

“I want to change. I can’t live like this forever. The voices, it’s hard to tell my imagination from reality,” Jesus said.

“Try to find a focal point. Something to focus on and base your sense of reality on,” Winston said, “Have you ever seen a dancer spin? When they turn, they don’t let their vision follow the rest of their body move. They find a focal point, a single object in the room to focus on, and turn their head to watch that one object as the rest of their body spins at a constant rate. Find your focal point.”

“How can I find it? When will I know what it is?” Jesus said.

“That,” Winston said, “I cannot tell you. You need to find that out for yourself.”

“Do you have a focal point?” Jesus asked.

Winston smiled. “I do, but I doubt it would mean very much to you,” Winston said.

“Tell me anyway. I want to know.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know if it will help you,” Winston said.

“Certain.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell you,” Winston said, “When I was growing up in Chicago, there was a great Oak tree in my lawn. I don’t know why, but I loved this tree. I would sit by it or run around it and play all day through my childhood. When I was nine, they cut it down because it was in the way of some power lines they were building. I was devastated. I had loved that tree. I always imagined that if I stood on that stump long enough, I would become that tree, so one day, I stood completely still all day right in the center of that dead tree stump in the middle of our back yard. I stood completely motionless, trying to will myself to become that tree. I think I scared the hell out of my mother, who had never seen me stand still that long. but by the time she called me and told me to come inside, I began to feel like I was that ancient oak tree. So, when life tests me, I make like a tree and dig my roots in,” Winston said.

“I don’t have a story like that,” Jesus said, “Everything in my life has been changing. The only thing that was constant for some time was the orphanage.”

“Then let that be your focal point. Let Sophia and Osito tie you down to the ground.”

Jesus imagined what Sophia would have to say right now, and found that he could hear her speaking right at that moment.

“You’re always getting lost in your daydreams,” She said, “Now we really do need to send out a search party.”

Jesus contemplated what Winston had said about finding a focal point. He needed to find something, anything.

“You need me,” Said Andrea, “Admit it.”

No, I need to find myself. Who am I?

“Try not to take anyone else’s eye out and I’ll see about getting you some money in here. If you need anything, this is where I’m staying,” Winston handed him a paper with a New York address and a phone number.

“And one last thing, I wouldn’t mention to anyone why you’re in here or who you know. Make up something if you have to. Make it sound like you’re from out of state. Keep your head down and don’t trust anyone in here. Remember, as much as you think these people might be normal, every last one of them is a criminal. Don’t get comfortable. Keep your head up high and your eyes down low,”

Winston said. With that, he went to the door, motioned the guard to let him out, and left.

A month later, Dr. Heinz, a white haired German psychologist, paid him a visit. Heinz interrogated Jesus, asking him detailed questions about his childhood, the events that brought him to where he was, and his current mental state. Jesus tried his best to answer Heinz’s questions as openly and honestly as possible, even when the questions were uncomfortably personal. Heinz was thorough, collecting a full list of the voices and visions that plagued Jesus as well as any breaks in reality, or, “Psychotic episodes,” as he called them. Taking a comprehensive account of his illness allowed Jesus to realize things he had never considered, incidents that he had chalked up to an overactive imagination.

“I’ve seen many, many cases of mental illness in my time,” Heinz said, “And I know that every single case is unique. We are so far from understanding the inner workings of the human mind, even with the tremendous advances in understanding in recent years.”

“So what do you think about me?” Jesus said.

“You seem to have a case of late onset Schizophrenia, triggered by the traumatic development in your life.

“What can you do about it?” Jesus said.

“I’m writing you a prescription for medication,” Heinz said, “I’m not sure whether or not they will be able to give you medicine while you’re in this facility, though. My guess is that you’ll be transferred to a mental ward in state, probably Green Mountain. It deals with violent, criminal offenders like yourself. It’s not a pleasant place, but it might be better than here. I may be called in front of the court to testify, and if I do, I will recommend transferring you to a facility where you can receive the help you need.”

“How long will this take?” Jesus asked.

“It’s hard to say. That’s a better question for your lawyer, but my understanding is that the penal system is much slower to move you out than move you in. You may be here for a while. You may even stay here until the end of your trial if the court decides you fit for trial,” Heinz said, “I think that you’re a fine young man with strong, redeemable qualities. I think that rehabilitation is a definite option for someone like you.”

Now that Jesus had a better understanding of his illness, his time in the hole was a constant battle.

Every night, his enemies visited in waking dreams, and every night The Other wore him down a little bit more.

“You need only let go,” Jesus said to himself.

“I’ll never surrender to madness. Get out of my head!” He said.

“Don’t get so angry,” Christian said, “That’s what he wants.”

“Damn right that’s what we want,” Rodrigo said, “I want you to bash your skull against the door and crack it like you did my skull.”

Leroy just stood there silently, watching. Always watching as Jesus talked to himself, slipping farther away every day.

“It’s only a matter of time now,” Said Andrea, coming up next to Leroy, “I always knew you were weak.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Rodrigo said.

“Get out of my head,” Jesus said, “All of you.”

“We can’t leave,” Said The Other, “We live here.”