Love Gone Mad (30 page)

“Just what’s so threatening about Conrad’s request?” Nicole asks. “And, John, I don’t think you’ve explained your reservations about him.”

Her stare penetrates Grayson, conveying an invitation and a challenge. He tries not to let it irritate him, so he changes position, pivots, sits sideways, and crosses his legs. But he feels tension grip him. His toes curl as his eyes lock on to Nicole’s gaze. He feels his jaw muscles twitch, and a vague stirring starts in his groin. He suddenly recalls what happened three years earlier.

My God … the incident
.

Nicole had just begun at Whitehall after a brilliant stint with the ACLU. She had potential for forensic work: she was smart, articulate, an experienced attorney,
and
a psychiatrist. She came alone to Grayson’s office to insist that some petty ward regulation be rescinded, and they argued vehemently—he can’t even recall the issue. Grayson refused to change the rule and Nicole got progressively annoyed.

When the meeting ended, they got up and walked to the door. As Nicole passed close to him, nettled and bristling with righteous indignation, he inhaled the exquisite scent of her hair and skin. It might have been soap or body lotion—he couldn’t be certain. It was so sweet, so clean-smelling, and at the same time, so alluring that a swell of desire rose in him. It was so powerful, he felt his blood rush and he grew light-headed as his groin tingled. In a moment of sheer insanity, the intensity of her sensuality and of his own need nearly overcame him. He almost reached for her—wanted desperately to touch her—and he imagined the wetness of her mouth, the aroma and feel of her skin. At that fleeting instant at his office door, he was appalled by his own venality, by his willingness—without plan or intent—to quickly accede to this appetite and be driven by a raw draft of desire.

Despite the tide of lust coursing through him, he held himself in check, and suddenly Nicole turned to him. Her look—a knowing one—told him she knew exactly what he’d felt in that moment of erotic overdrive. Had he imagined her stifling a knowing snigger of superiority?

Grayson thinks of it as the
incident
—and it dangles in his memory like a pointed dagger. He feels it could have been a ruinous moral lapse, jeopardizing his marriage, career, and reputation. Grayson’s certain that single moment three years ago curdled his relationship with Nicole. When she’s around—especially at board meetings—he feels the strain of her challenge. That’s what it was that day, a contest of wills. He feels embers of smoldering tension, intellectual and sexual. In Nicole’s presence, he feels a nervous charge—as though there’s electricity in the air. He’s terribly aware of her manner of walking, the swaying of her hips, the tilt of her head, the nape of her neck, and above all, her smell. She emits an essence he finds intoxicating. Whenever she passes near him, he inhales deeply, and a blood wash of desire fills him.

Breaking away from Nicole’s stare, Grayson says, “What do the nurses and aides say about Wilson?”

“I wish every inmate was as cooperative,” replies Peter Woodruff, an aide.

“I second that motion,” says Don Compton, another aide. “Wilson helps out on the ward and uses the treadmill and the weight training room. I’d have to say he spends most of his time in the library. And another thing, about six months ago, I taught him how to play chess. He picked it up in no time flat. As some of you know, I’ve won the Fairfield County Chess Association’s tournament for the last four years. And within a few weeks of learning the game, Conrad was beating me every time. He spends his time poring over chess books and manuals. It’s not only his memory that’s so fantastic, but he has the ability to see ahead on the board—to anticipate his opponent’s moves. It’s amazing.”

“Well, we know he’s up there in the genius category when it comes to intelligence, especially with numbers and mechanics,” says Scott Williams.

“How’s he been about compliance with medication?” asks Grayson.

“No problem,” says Lynda Becker, head nurse. “He takes his Risperdal every morning. The pill goes right down the hatch. And when I ask him, he fetches some of the more disturbed patients … escorts them to the nursing station for morning meds. I’d say the Risperdal’s worked. He’s done very well.”

The discussion goes on and ranges from Conrad Wilson’s activities, his sleep pattern, exercising, his reading, the assessment of Pastor Wilhelm, staff interactions, his relations with other inmates, his test scores—everything.

“I wonder … if we refuse his request, will he petition for a pass?” Grayson says.

“Oh, I’m
sure
he will,” Nicole says.

“What makes you so certain?”

“He and I discussed it. I advised him of his rights.”

“You’re not his
attorney
, Nicole.” A twinge of annoyance nips at Grayson. The voltage in his chest increases. “What’d you tell him?”

“That if we don’t give him a pass, Kovac can petition for a judicial hearing.”

“Sounds like you’re giving him legal advice, Nicole.”

“He should know his rights, John.”

“Patients have petitioned over the years—without attorneys,” says Williams.

Grayson adds, “We all know Kovac will invoke the Mental Hygiene Statutes, Section 17a-584, and I’m afraid he’ll succeed.”

“Why’re you
afraid
he’ll succeed, John?” Nicole says with a bitter smirk.

“C’mon, Nicole, you know delusions never disappear. I’m sure he’d still go after Adrian Douglas and Megan Haggarty, who, by the way, are married now with a child of their own. Wilson’s just masking his craziness.”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t share your therapeutic nihilism,” Nicole replies.

“Nihilism? It’s
realism
, Nicole. I’m sure Wilson harbors the same delusion he always has. He’s just toned it down for us.”

“Don’t you have faith in the medication, John?”

“Faith doesn’t have a place in this discussion.”

“Right. That’s the pastor’s area of expertise,” Williams says with a laugh.

Grayson regards Nicole’s chilled smile and cold stare. It makes Grayson suspect—no, he’s absolutely certain—she’s dismissing him completely. She’s merely waiting to hit back with a lawyerly riposte.

“Excuse, me,” Nicole blurts, her tone steely, “but I think faith
does
belong here, John. Conrad’s been a model patient—inmate, if you prefer that horrid term. In
my
opinion, Conrad
is
ready for a strictly supervised weekend pass.”

Nicole waits a beat and glances around the table; her eyes again rest on Grayson. “As for
faith
,” she says with an icy look, “I
must
have faith in the system … that it’s equitable, because above all, we have to guarantee patients’ rights under the law. And we owe it to Conrad Wilson to be fair.”

“Look, Nicole,” Grayson says, a bolt of irritation sizzling through him, “I’m all for fairness and for whatever you deem
equitable
, but this man is psychotic. And as a direct result of his psychosis, he tried to
kill
two people. The jury, in its collective wisdom, decided he acted out of a delusion and that he’s dangerous to three people. And probably to anyone who gets in his way. To paraphrase the statute … he’s a
desperate and dangerous individual
.”

“Oh, John, you’re not going to quote the law, are you?” Nicole asks with narrowed eyes.

“So, the court decided,” Grayson says, ignoring her, “that Wilson should be extruded from society—not in prison, but at Whitehall. And it’s as much our job to protect the innocent as it is to guarantee Wilson’s rights. So please, Nicole, let’s not talk about being fair—or
equitable
, a word you lawyers just love. This may sound corny, but there’s a greater societal good at stake here … not just Conrad Wilson’s fate.”

“Don’t you
dare
lecture me, John,” Nicole shoots back, her face now crimson. “We still have an obligation to this man, whether
you
like it or not. And our goal is to be
therapeutic
; it’s restoration of sanity, in case you’ve forgotten, and—”

“Restoration of sanity?
” Grayson interrupts, slapping his hand on the table. He’s nearly shouting now and hates the way he sounds. Yet he keeps going. “That’s a
legal
concept, not a
medical
one. Now
you’re
quoting the law. We’re not in
court
, Nicole. You’re not at the
ACLU
anymore. And we don’t need a legal brief. There’s no such thing as
restoration of sanity
. Not in the
real
world. All we get is a temporary reprieve from this man’s madness, assuming he’s not faking his improvement.”

Grayson’s voice drops an octave. “And let’s face it, Nicole, the reprieve is
partial
, and it’s contingent on our pumping antipsychotic medication into him. The moment his Risperdal’s stopped, he’s as mad as ever. So don’t preach to us about
restoring sanity
. We’re not some religious order. We’re not here for restoration, redemption, revelation, or salvation. Let’s keep it
real
.”

“For your information, John, you could say that about
any
committed patient … in a civil institution or at Whitehall,” retorts Nicole. She looks like she’s seething. “When the medication stops, the patient regresses and the psychosis returns. So, we just lock ‘em up and toss the key?”

“I think the man’s still delusional,” Grayson says.

“You may
think
that,” replies Nicole, “but there’s
no
evidence of it. I challenge anyone to point out one instance of psychosis Conrad Wilson’s demonstrated in the last six months.
One
instance,” she says, her gaze roaming around the table. “And I would remind you that the MMPI doesn’t lie. And Conrad Wilson passed the test with flying colors. And I have news for you, John,” she says, fixing her eyes once again on Grayson, “unless Conrad can be shown to be psychotic, we can’t hold him anymore.”

“He’s still dangerous,” Grayson says.

“Well, John, now I
will
quote the law, since you brought up dangerousness. Need I remind you of the now-famous case of
Foucha v. Louisiana
?”

“Oh, shit. Here we go. Nicole’s going into her lawyer mode. She’s—”

“In 1992,” Nicole interrupts, “the Supreme Court ruled that
potential
dangerousness alone is
not
a justification to retain an insanity acquittee if there’s no longer evidence of
mental illness
. An NGRI acquittee cannot be confined as a mental patient without some
medical
justification for doing so.”

“Oh, c’mon, Nicole—”

“And the court ruled that even if the individual
is
potentially dangerous, the NGRI acquittee who’s regained his sanity cannot be indefinitely confined on the sole justification that he
might
be dangerous. He must be both
ill
and
dangerous
for an involuntary commitment to continue.”

“Nicole, you’re such a fucking bleeding heart—”

“That’s
enough
, John,” shouts Nicole, shooting to her feet. Her eyes flash furiously. She radiates anger like a halogen light. “I won’t tolerate a personal affront. This isn’t your private fiefdom. I’m
outta
here.” She pivots, heads for the door.

“
Wait
a minute, Nicole,” Scott Williams says, standing.

Nicole stops, turns, and faces the group. Her features are floridly red.

“Let’s just calm down,” Williams says. “Everyone, please. You’re
both
right. We’ve gotta preserve Wilson’s rights, but we have to consider the
societal
good—in this case, the intended victims of his crimes.”

“He didn’t get convicted of any crime,” Nicole snaps.

“He may not’ve been convicted, but he tried to murder two people,” Williams says. “So let’s forget
conviction
, Nicole. That’s the
legal
system. We’re mental health professionals, and this isn’t a courtroom; it’s a medical board meeting. And we have to make a
medical
decision—one that can have very serious consequences for
other
people, not just for Wilson. Our decisions can have life and
death
consequences. In that respect, John’s one hundred percent correct. What we decide could affect
real
people in the
real
world.

“So let’s do this rationally,” Williams says. “Let’s not get into petty squabbles. This meeting isn’t about
us
. It’s about Conrad Wilson—his rights, his progress, and the danger he could present to other people. It’s about our obligations—to him and to those people who could be harmed if he’s released. So please, Nicole, sit down and let’s go about our business.”

Silence blankets the gathering.

Blood throttles through Grayson; he feels his face flush.

Nicole edges back toward the conference table.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Nicole,” says Grayson, aware his voice is quivering. “Please accept my apology.” Grayson feels like he’s sitting in a nest of scorpions. Stingers poised.

“Apology accepted,” Nicole murmurs and then sits down. She clasps her hands on the table and gives Grayson a steely look.

“Obviously, there’s sentiment to allow Wilson a weekend pass,” Channing says.

“A show of hands?” Grayson says, sensing he may be the only serious holdout.

All hands go up, though Grayson observes Albert Channing’s and Scott Williams’s hands rise tentatively.

“It looks like I’m in the minority,” Grayson says.

“Frankly, John, I’m sure Wilson’ll file a petition and the judge will grant him the pass,” says Channing.

“That’s how the system works,” Nicole adds.

“It’s too liberal,” says Channing. “And, Nicole, it’s not your job to be the inmate’s advocate.”

“Albert, I believe in civil rights,” she says. “They’re the cornerstone of—”

“The system’s partial toward inmates,” Channing cuts in.

“That’s because of abuses in the past,” Nicole rebuts.

“Okay, people, let’s get back to this case,” Grayson says, peering around the table. “Albert’s right. A judge will probably grant Wilson a weekend pass, if not now, in a few months. He has a spotless record. And Nicole’s right, too. Patients’ rights are a big deal. So it’s inevitable that Wilson’s gonna get the pass, and we have to protect
everyone’s
rights.”