THE PSYCHS OF MANHATTAN Read online

  ‘How do you know he drops off bodies, Bella?’ Mohsen asked, trying not to sound too alarmed.

  ‘He takes me down to a room underneath his Lord’s House of Therapy to play his games. Today, I heard a boy crying behind the walls of his basement. He must have heard me. He kept saying, “He’s going to kill me. My name is Sean Young. I’m from Manhattan. I was abducted. Please help me! He’s going to kill me.” He called out over and over. He wouldn’t shut up. It was horrible. My mind went blank and I didn’t know what to do. He’s now in my head begging for help. I did nothing to help him. I deserve to be punished by God. I am evil. I belong in hell just like the Bible says.’

  ‘Bella, you did what was necessary to survive. He is the evil one. If he is hurting people, he will not get a whiff of heaven.’

  ‘But if I feel evil, I must be evil,’ Bella cried.

  ‘Don’t always trust your feelings. If you feel like you’re dying, it doesn’t mean it’s true. Please listen to me. He’s got to be stopped. You have to call the police,’ Mohsen begged. ‘If you can’t do it, I will.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding! Haven’t you looked at yourself lately? A Muslim hasn’t a chance in hell of reporting anyone, especially a pastor. Don’t you know what’s happening in the world? You’ll be skinned alive. Look around you. People are already looking you up and down and wondering why you’re talking to me. They’re suspicious as hell.’

  Before Bella walked away, she looked at Mohsen with concern. ‘If he’s ever caught, I’ll think about being a witness but in the meantime, don’t ask any more questions. This pastor has many like-minded followers. They follow him like sheep and they’d do anything to protect him. I’ve heard he’s received a medal from the Pope and he’s not even catholic so please go away or we’ll both end up dead. I might not be smart enough to get a real job, but I do know one thing.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Mohsen asked.

  ‘This man…’

  ‘Yes Bella, what is it?’

  Bella’s eyes opened wide with fear. ‘He’s evil wrapped in skin.’

  Mohsen understood her fear. He knew she was right about everything she’d said. What concerned him the most was that right now; a boy was being held captive in pastor Sleeman’s basement.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Plotting Destruction

  Dr Cameron canceled his afternoon appointments and gave his personal assistant, Jennifer, the afternoon off. He stroked his curly white beard and removed his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. He had returned from his health and well-being conference faced with an ethical dilemma regarding complaints from two of his clients.

  * * *

  Jennifer thought her boss looked more like Father Christmas than a psychiatrist, his white bushy eyebrows and gentle blue eyes reflecting a kind heart. He insisted that she call him Lee, not Doctor. There wasn’t a trace of arrogance in his manner. She loved working for him, although she was delighted to be able to leave early. Her previous boss had been a bully. He had made her feel worthless and stupid. The more he belittled her, the more mistakes she’d made. She’d suffered severe anxiety attacks. It was only by luck she’d noticed the advertisement for Lee’s personal assistant.

  She cleared the last papers on her desk, locked the filing cabinet, and popped her head around Lee’s office door. ‘I’m going now Lee, are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?’

  ‘Not at all, you go on home. I need to catch up on some paperwork. Enjoy your evening.’

  ‘Call me if there’s anything you need. You know I’d be back in a flash.’

  He didn’t look up and his eyes remained fixed on a client’s file.

  Although Jennifer was happy to leave early, she noticed he was not his usual self.

  ‘Is everything alright, Lee?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I’ve just got a lot on my mind, but nothing too serious.’

  ‘Ok, see you in the morning,’ Jennifer responded.

  She didn’t want to ask too many questions and appear to be prying into his personal business. She accepted that running a private practice wasn’t an easy job and some days were more challenging than others. Without giving it another thought, she hurried out of the building.

  * * *

  Once Jennifer had left, Lee meticulously went through a couple of his clients’ notes, word by word, reading and re-reading case notes until he was satisfied there was a pattern – and a disturbing connection between their stories. He then made an internal call to his colleague Ellison.

  Doctor Ellison noticed the internal buzzer light and wondered why Lee was calling.

  ‘Hi Lee, how can I help?’

  ‘I’m finishing up for the day but I’m wondering if you’re free for a chat before I go home?’

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s about something that’s concerning me. Two of your former clients have accused you of professional misconduct. They’re claiming sexual harassment and some sort of new therapy you wanted them to participate in.’

  Dr Ellison was skilled at not sounding rattled. ‘I don’t quite understand why it’s a concern of yours if it’s regarding ex-clients of mine? Just refer them back to me.’

  ‘Maybe we can discuss this further,’ Lee said. ‘I’m free now, if you are?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding. I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ Ellison replied.

  ‘Ok, see you then.’

  Therapy to Lee was about self-regulating and self-healing change. What he was hearing from Dr Ellison’s clients was forced participation in a therapy without their consent. He was also concerned about the clients’ ordering of unregulated medication and herbal drinks off the internet. Lee knew if it wasn’t for Dr Ellison he wouldn’t have his job, so it was only fair to give him the opportunity to explain the alleged misconduct.

  Lee poured himself a coffee and waited for his colleague to arrive.

  * * *

  Ellison swung around in his chair, wondering how to eliminate the problem. He contacted his next client and moved the appointment an hour ahead.

  He accessed Lee’s appointments on the database. There was a client, Daniel Mackie, who had seen Lee at 2.00 pm. It took seconds to open the client’s file. It stated he was twenty-two, lived alone, was unemployed, and was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

  The doctor knew that the public’s irrational fears of anyone with mental illness would be enough to see Daniel as a likely suspect.

  He downloaded a mental health assessment form.

  He typed:

  Paranoid Schizophrenia: The client exhibits incoherent, illogical thoughts and behaviors. He is also experiencing thought insertion and has made several threats against my life. He believes I am stalking him and states a higher being has given him orders to kill me. He was extremely agitated during the therapy session and paced around the room. The client has exhibited intermittent outbursts of anger. The client has stopped taking his anti-psychotic drugs due to his belief that I am poisoning him.

  An emergency hospital admission is required for immediate observation, care and treatment, due to this client having a mental illness that is likely to result in serious harm to himself or others. The client is to be kept in psychiatric care until assessed.

  He attached the completed assessment form to Daniel’s file on the database. He then carefully put on his surgical gloves and printed it out. Without wasting any time, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket and whispered evilly, ‘Thank you, Daniel. You don’t know how much this means to me.’

  The doctor reached under his desk and unlocked a hidden compartment. As it opened, it revealed a long, double-bladed knife. He smirked and held the knife in the air to admire its sharp edge. He carefully slipped the knife into the back of his suit pants, held securely by his belt.

  He considered this would be an easy job; no one would suspect him. He relished in the fantasy of the kill and anticipated the newspaper headline: ‘Severely disturbed schizophrenic client s
tabs psychiatrist to death in psychotic and delusional rage.’

  He gave a sinister smile at the thought of being the master of deception. ‘You fuckin’ asshole, Lee,’ he sneered.

  THIRTY-THREE

  First Degree Narcissism

  Wanting to avoid the CCTV, the doctor took the internal stairs up to the fifth floor. A nerve beneath his eye twitched, as it had done on the day of his stepbrother’s death. He entered Lee’s reception area.

  He felt the knife press against his back as he knocked on Lee’s door.

  ‘Come on in, Luke. I’m glad you could see me.’

  There was an awkward silence as Lee produced two files.

  ‘Two clients, Ashley and Kayla, have complained about your therapy sessions.’

  ‘They’re delusional. You know what it’s like, Lee. Patients splitting between their therapists and making false accusations. I’m the bad cop and now you’re the good cop. The clients you’re talking about have bipolar and borderline personality.’

  ‘Yes. They have bipolar and bpd but what’s your point?’ asked Lee.

  ‘Surely you know the code for these pathological liars?’

  ‘Sorry? I’m not following you, Luke.’

  ‘I’m talking about the three Cs. Complaints, chaos, and conflict! You know very well their insatiable need for validation and their propensity for doctor-shopping. I may have set ethical boundaries that they found intolerable. They love you one moment and hate you the next, along with their faking bad and playing the fucking suicide game.’

  ‘What about caring and compassion? These clients are unwell. Furthermore, a client has the right to feel safe and to be supported. You know perfectly well it’s about protecting the client,’ Lee responded.

  ‘Don’t give me that ethical bullshit as if I’m some fuckin’ deviant. They blame everyone else for their fuck-ups. We are their perfect target. Anyway, clients lie for sympathy and let’s not forget – everyone’s raped them except the mailman!’

  ‘That is totally out of line!’

  ‘I’m sorry if you’re in denial about your client’s Lee. For God’s sake get real. They’re skilled malingerers. They’d hang us from a tree if they could.’

  ‘So, what I’m hearing now, your clients have made up identical stories because of their bpd. Is that correct?’

  ‘I’m not following you Lee. What is your point?’

  ‘My point is, you are giving advice to undergo an unknown experimental treatment called cognitive environment therapy. From what they’ve said, there was no informed consent and you expected them to comply and do this therapy in Central Park. They also stated you gave them a psychological questionnaire called the CET Mental Health Test. You told them their score meant they were highly delusional. Is this test of yours valid?’

  ‘Are you done with your humorous journey of ethics?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. The clients have stopped their antidepressants and are now taking unregulated herbal drinks and vitamins off the internet on your advice. Surely, you’re aware of how dangerous this can be?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake Lee, these pharmaceutical companies are laughing their way to the bank with their screwed-up antidepressants. It’s just another money-grubbing rort. Anyway, if the clients are going to Central Park for therapy and they expect it to work, then it’s going to fuckin’ work. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the placebo effect. You’re getting forgetful in your old age, Lee. Maybe you need a chill pill.’

  ‘Don’t treat me like an old fool! You really think you have the right to take clients off their medication and push your own agenda? These clients are exceptionally intelligent and remembered exactly what you have told them so don’t bother minimizing their complaints and presenting them as incompetent. I’m not brushing this under the carpet.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve made up your mind. I’m done with explaining,’ Ellison responded.

  ‘You leave me with no choice but to report your behavior to the Board of Ethics and unless you can convince me otherwise, I will be contacting them first thing in the morning.’

  ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you Lee,’ Ellison sneered. ‘You think you can throw me under the bus because of your bloody ethics when in fact you’re just a joke, a nobody. A fuckin’ weak lapdog.’

  Lee stood up. ‘How dare you speak to me like that! You are despicable! This conversation is finished. Your behavior with clients is not only unethical, it’s putting them at risk. Get out of my office now!’ Lee’s face flushed with anger.

  Ellison rested one hand on his hip while pointing a finger at Lee. ‘Don’t fuckin’ lecture me about client boundaries. You’re forgetting one thing, Lee. I got you this job after you fucked up on professional misconduct. Who was the one who got their license revoked? Who was the one who had to do a boundaries course? Remember, Lee? You were the one who fucked your client and I was the one who got you off that fuckin’ hook.’

  Lee leaned forward whilst resting both hands on his desk. ‘I’ve been through five years of hell regretting that one night. My wife doesn’t speak to me and my children refuse to see me. Regardless of what I have done in the past, you cannot continue your abuse of clients.’

  Ellison’s fingers wrapped around the handle of his knife. ‘The one thing I love about transparency Lee, people like you experience my unmasked self.’

  Lee gave Ellison a perplexed look before reaching for his cell.

  Ellison slipped the knife from his belt and lunged forward. Lee was a sitting duck. The sharp blade pierced his chest with ease and precision. Lee reeled in shock as he felt the coolness of the blade enter his chest and then a searing pain. His eyes opened wide in bewilderment.

  Ellison yanked the client files from his grip. ‘Thank you, Lee. I appreciate you giving me these files. Their complaints will die with you. Why are you looking so surprised? You really think I was going to walk out of here and let you ruin my life? You’re a weak old man and I must say, feeble-minded. Now look who’s delusional!’ He laughed. ‘And sorry about your family, shit happens.’

  Lee gasped for breath while clutching his chest. As he fell forward, he caught sight of his family portrait. Taking his last breath, he prayed his family would forgive him.

  Ellison watched as Lee slumped to the ground. He stepped over his body with callous indifference. ‘You’re pathetic, Lee. A high-grade moron.’ He pulled the knife from Lee’s chest and placed it in a plastic bag.

  The doctor had twenty minutes before his next client arrived. She would provide the perfect alibi. He put Daniel’s assessment form on Lee’s desk and made his way down the stairwell clutching Lee’s files. He thought it an easy job. As he returned to his office, he saw his client flicking through a magazine. Damn it! he thought. Of all times, she’s early for her appointment.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Moore. You’re early.’

  ‘I was shopping in the area, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be early.’

  ‘I won’t be long; would you like a glass of water while you wait?’

  ‘No thank you,’ she replied.

  It wouldn’t be an airtight alibi now, but it would have to do.

  ‘Excuse me, Doctor?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think you have a spot of blood on your collar.’

  ‘Oh yes, I had a nosebleed earlier. This heat gets me every time. I won’t be a moment. I’ll just freshen up.’ He was furious. Not only had she seen him enter from the stairwell, she had also seen the blood. He wanted to snap her neck and watch the blood ooze from her eyes, but he resisted the urge.

  He loathed Mrs Moore. She was a sixty-year-old whose voice was grating and who stank of roses. She had tough wrinkled breasts that were pushed up high, and her dress was wrapped around her thighs like a bandage. He dreaded her weekly sessions. It was difficult to keep up with her incessant dialogue. Her jaws slapped up and down while saliva built up in the corners of her mouth. If it wasn’t for her money, her driveling would be unbearable. Her husband was a sto
ckbroker who had bought out several large companies during a market crash. Once the market recovered, his shares skyrocketed, and he made a killing.

  During their session, as usual, she hardly paused for breath. This provided time for the doctor to plan his next move. He heard every siren and alarm outside the building, and had to force himself to sit still. He wondered whether Lee’s body had been found. He hoped he had time to get to the client’s house.

  After Mrs Moore left, he drove thirty minutes out of the city until he reached the small town of Vetrilli. It looked like the typical quiet community with its tree-lined streets and picket fences. A place where parents had the illusion that a small country town meant safety for their children. He wondered how many killers were concealed behind the pretty little fences, their victims providing fertilizer for their manicured gardens.

  He remembered a client who had confessed to killing his mother. I grew tired of looking after my mom, so I popped some extra sleeping pills in her morning juice. It was as easy as that. I then dismembered her and placed her in our garden mulcher, reducing her to blood and bone for the vegetable patch. He’d told the neighbors she was in a nursing home. Fortunately for him, his mother was a recluse and had enjoyed life with her animals and garden. He forged her signature on the house documents and became the proud owner of a quaint cottage by the lake.

  Client stories provided the doctor with pleasurable reflections.

  He parked the vehicle and walked the rest of the distance to 24 Oakwood Drive. Luck was on his side. The night was moonless and there were no cars in the driveway. He wondered whether the client had a car, but thought it more likely he caught public transport and would be home.

  He edged his way alongside the house, gingerly taking a step at a time. Hearing a slight sound, he stopped, listening, tilting his head to one side. A neighbor’s dog was going ballistic. Its rapid repetitive barking could only mean one thing: Warning, an intruder is on our property!