A Love Story - 11. Chapter 11 Of Troubled Minds, Part 1

Images of brown nearly still water of a bayou floated across his mind while he looked out the length of his fishing pole and down the fishing line to the bobber floating in the water. He impatiently waited for the bobber to be pulled under the water by a passing crappie, bream, bass, or, if he was lucky enough, a good-sized cat. The sun bore down on his bare neck, but the bug repellant was keeping the skeeters away from his bare skin. He looked to his right and saw the profile of his latest daddy, the man who was sleeping with his mommy. His mind went blank at the thought of the sight of that man’s swollen cock sinking into the body of his mommy.

A bright light flashed across his consciousness breaking the imagery of fishing alongside that old slow bayou.

Once again, that bright light flashed across his consciousness causing him to turn his head away from the painful brilliance.

“T-Bone, wake up, son. Come on, time to wake up. You can’t sleep the day away. We’ve got cats to gut and skin. Come on, boy, time to wake up.”

The boy felt the pressure against where he pottied and, then, he screamed his lungs out as he felt that awful fullness enter him, again. He tried to scream more, but the hand over his mouth muffled the sound. He shut his mind to what was happening and entered that place across the bayou where they grew the cotton. He ran up and down the rows of immature cotton all the while the pressure in his bottom propelled him further into the cotton field.

Finally, the intrusion to his being was withdrawn and he lay face down on his bed.

“You be a good boy and don’t mention this to your mother,” the voice said in his ear. “You don’t want to find out what’ll happen to your mother if you tell.”

“Doctor, what is your diagnosis?”

“Obviously, the boy is suffering from some form of catatonic behavior. What I have to do is discover which of the many forms is affecting this boy.”

“What is your recommendation?”

“I believe ECT will assist this boy in regaining consciousness.”

“That is a rather drastic move so early in his diagnostic protocol.”

“Where else shall we begin?”

“I can’t make any other recommendation.”

“Then we will progress with ECT.”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, that will be sufficient.”

“Maybe, he’ll wake up before then.”

“We can only hope.”

The following morning the stuporous boy, on a gurney, was rolled into an operating room and transferred to the operating table. An IV drip was inserted in his right arm and a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his right ankle.

“Shall we begin,” the psychiatrist said. “Inject the anesthesia, please.”

The anesthetist observed his dials and tape readouts and, then, said, “He’s under.”

“Place the electrodes,” the psychiatrist said. “Stand back.”

The boy’s body stiffened as the electroconvulsive pulse coursed through his brain for sixty seconds and then it was over. The boy was taken out of the operating room and wheeled into recovery where he was monitored until his body achieved a state of wakefulness. Unfortunately, his mind was still locked in its internal struggle between sanity and insanity.

After a few hours, the psychiatrist came into the recovery room and asked, “How’s my patient?”

“Still catatonic, ma’am,” a nurse said.

“Uh-huh, well, there’s always tomorrow.”

* * *

“Erik, tell me what you truly desire in life,” the psychiatrist said.

“To live with my friend, Ben, and be homeschooled with him and be with his family.”

“Have you spoken to your attorney?”

“Which one?”

“Your new one.”

“Oh, yeah, him, he was here yesterday. He said he has contacted Ben’s foster family, but there seems to be something wrong with Ben that will prevent me from going to live with him. Do you know what’s wrong with Ben?”

“He’s in a catatonic state at Bellevue. They’re giving him electroconvulsive treatments to shock his brain back to reality.”

“Why can’t I go live with them until Ben is better?”

“Are you certain you want to go that route?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I want to be with Ben and what better way than to live with his family until he gets out of the hospital.”

“I will contact your attorney and advise him of your wishes. I can’t make any promises as your original attorney is being quite litigious over this matter.”

“Why can’t I just fire the bastard?”

“Well, that may be a good idea on your part, but lawyers live in a different world than you and I. Your attorney of record may have legal documents to force you to remain under his authority.”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit. You call my new attorney and tell him I want him to do whatever is necessary to get me out from under that other attorney’s control. You tell him if it means giving up my inheritance, so be it.”

“Are you certain you want to go that far?”

“Look, I want to be with Ben and I’ll do anything I can to do it.”

“Okay, Erik, I’ll do that. Now, how have you been doing?”

“I’m blind and the other patients take advantage of me. They move the furniture around so I never know where I am and I can’t go to my room without help from the staff. I hate it here and I only hope for the day when I’ll get out.”

“Have you made any friends?”

“No, none of kids like me. There was one boy, he said he’s gay and he tried to talk to me, but the other kids turned him against me. He said he wanted to be alone with me and knew where we could get it on without the other kids disturbing us. He led me into a room and then shut the door and locked it. I pounded on the door for I don’t know how long before the staff finally came to release me, they blamed me for going into the storeroom without permission. I had to stay in my room for a full day.”

“Surely, you were allowed to come out for meals.”

“No, they brought them to me and kept my door locked. They said if I told anybody about it I’d be punished. They didn’t say what the punishment was.”

“I’ll check and see what the situation is.”

“Yeah, sure, get me in trouble. Thanks, Doc, your help is really appreciated.”

“Well, I think this is sufficient until group therapy. You can go.”

Erik stood up, went to the door and opened it. He walked out into the dayroom and within three steps tripped over an ottoman placed in his path.

“Oh, crap!” Erik yelled.

The other patients in the dayroom broke out into laughter.

“Erik! No swearing,” a nurse called out from the cage.

“Erik, are you okay?” his psychiatrist asked when he came out of the interview room and saw his patient sprawled over the ottoman and onto the floor.

“My knee! Oh, God, it hurts!” Erik cried.

“Nurse! Get a gurney in here,” the psychiatrist called out. “This boy is injured.”

“He’s just faking it like he always does,” the nurse said.

“Well, I know a compound fracture when I see one. Get a gurney in here this instant.”

“Oh, shit!” someone in the cage exclaimed.

“I tell you he’s faking it,” the nurse said.

“Come here and look at this leg,” the psychiatrist said.

“Hey, I’m a psychiatric nurse, not an orthopedic nurse.”

“If you want to remain a psychiatric nurse at this establishment, I suggest you call for a gurney. Now!”

“Oh, fuck, I don’t feel so good,” Erik breathed before passing out.

* * *

“Are we all ready?” the psychiatrist asked.

“Yes, Doctor,” everyone said.

“Very well, clear,” and the psychiatrist pressed the button on the ECT machine.

The young boy’s body stiffened as the induced convulsion coursed through his body. Finally, after 60 seconds the doctor released the button and the patient’s body relaxed.

“Very good,” the psychiatrist said. “I’ll see the patient in recovery. Hopefully, this time he will have regained some degree on consciousness.

After about thirty minutes, the psychiatrist went into the recovery room and read his patient’s chart.

“His eyes are open, but he’s still a bit groggy,” a nurse said.

The doctor went over to his patient’s gurney and looked down into the deep brown eyes.

“Hello, how are you doing today?” the doctor asked.

“Okay, I guess,” the boy said. “My head kind of hurts, but I think I’ll be able to help Ol’ Nigger James with his trotline, if you let me out of this place.”

“What are you expecting to catch on your trotline?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, it isn’t mine. It’s Ol’ Nigger James’ trotline. He lets me help him pull in the line and gaff the cats. Sometimes, if he’s nice, he’ll let me take one home to Mommy and she’ll fillet it out. She has a prep of cornflakes and Cajun spices that she’ll coat the fillets with before frying them in oil.”

“Ben, where do you think you are?”

“Ben? Who’s he? My name is T-Bone. My new daddy gave it to me, ’cuz my first name starts with a ‘T’ and my middle name starts with a ‘B’. Have you talked to my new daddy, yet?”

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“You should, ’cuz he puts his thingy in my bottom. Don’t tell my mommy, ’cuz she won’t understand that that’s what daddies sometimes do to their young ’uns to put them in their place. My new daddy does that to me when Mommy is at work. It hurts a lot and I try to scream, but my new daddy puts his hand over my mouth and stifles me. Can I go to sleep now? I’m awfully tired. If my new daddy comes by, could you say I’m sick and he can’t put his thingy in my bottom anymore?”

“Oh, my God, what’re you going to do, Doctor?” a nurse asked.

“Obviously, I must notify the city’s Child Protective Service, but I’m very interested in when this assault took place. Quite possibly, this abuse occurred prior to his placement here in New York. But, at a minimum, I must report that he was abused. Take the boy up to his room and give him three mg Midazolam IM one hour apart. If he comes to and is troubled by those sexual abuse memories, you may repeat the dosage, but I don’t want him too drugged if a CPS investigator comes to interview him.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

A little under four hours later, an officious woman in a dark blue skirt, matching blazer, and a plain, white blouse with a bright yellow scarf tied in a knot around her neck came into the doctor’s office and asked, “Are you the physician who called about Troy Benjamin Hensley?”

“Yes, please have a seat. And, you are?”

“Theodora Fletcher, I’m responsible for the older teen placements in our office. What is your relationship with the child?”

“I’ve been giving him ECT treatments to treat his catatonic state.”

“Am I to understand you are electrocuting this boy?”

“No, that’s an old wives’ tale about a thoroughly studied medicinal treatment for mental disorders. We only use a very low voltage to induce therapeutic seizures.”

“How many of these so-called therapeutic electrocutions have you put this child through?”

“For the record, we do not electrocute our patients. ECT is a valid therapeutic procedure recognized by medical authorities in this state, nationally, and internationally.”

“I see. Your call to our office stated this child remembered a sexual assault. When, to the best of your knowledge, did these assaults occur?”

“I have no idea, but from the patient’s words, I have to assume they took place sometime in his early childhood.”

“And, why not recently?”

“Well, he was talking like a child, not a teen.”

“That will have to be determined. I want to speak to the child myself.”

“Of course, I anticipated your desire. If you will come with me, I’ll take you to my patient.”

“No, I want a nurse to escort me to the child. I do not want your therapeutic influences to cloud the child’s responses to my questions.”

“Whatever you desire,” the psychiatrist said. Keying her intercom, she said, “Diedre, please arrange a nurse to take Ms. Fletcher up to Benny’s room.”

“You referred to him as Benny,” Ms. Fletcher said. “Why is that?”

“That’s the name he prefers; unless, he is in his juvenile mind and then he responds to T-Bone.”

“Why is that?”

“I have no idea, but I assume it has something to do with his earlier life.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way,” Ms. Fletcher said.

“Try to be kind; this is the first day he hasn’t been in a catatonic state,” the doctor said.

“Yes, well, I have my job to do and if the child refuses to cooperate, the results are not my responsibility,” Ms. Fletcher said as she stood up. She stalked out of the office.

The doctor picked up her phone, dialed a number, waited for someone to answer, and said. “Yes, this is Dr. Smithson. A representative from CPS is on her way up to see Benny Hensley. Please make him comfortable for her visit.”

“Ma’am, he’s still asleep from the sedative you prescribed,” the nurse said.

“Try to wake him. The woman from CPS is most disagreeable and may upset the boy if he’s not awake.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“Good morning, Erik, how are you doing today?” the psychiatrist asked.

“Okay, I guess. Where am I, now?”

“Manor Municipal Hospital.”

“Are you going to send me back to that mental hospital?”

“No; the court has modified your commitment to a facility more in line with your disability and your mental deficiency.”

“My mental deficiency is because of my physical disability.”

“Your attorney is here to discuss your case. Do you feel up to speaking with her?”

“Sure, but I thought I had a man for an attorney.”

“I don’t know why, but you now have a woman. Shall I ask her to come in?”

“Okay, but I still don’t understand.”

A few moments after the psychiatrist left, a woman came into Erik’s room and said, “Hello, Erik, I’m Diane Shepford. I’ve been appointed by the Suffolk County Court to represent you.”

“I have an attorney,” Erik said.

“Yes, well, you’re no longer in Manhattan. According to the file from your previous attorney there was a legal discrepancy when you were emancipated. Is that correct?”

“I was emancipated when I moved down from Warnton, New York.”

“How old were you when you were emancipated?”

“Fifteen.”

“Yes, and therein lies the problem. Per New York state laws, you can only be emancipated when you are over sixteen years of age.”

“But, Mr. Morgan said I was emancipated.”

“Yes, but he was in error and it seems someone forged the documents stating your date of birth. Are you aware of the net worth of your estate?”

“I don’t really know the exact figure, but Mr. Morgan said that my holdings have increased around twenty percent.”

“What would you say if I told you your present net worth is somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred and a fifty, or so, thousand dollars?”

“But, Mr. Morgan said my holdings were worth much more; in the millions.”

“Have you ever heard of the term Ponzi scheme?”

“Wasn’t that what that crook Bernie Madow was involved in? I think I read about it in school.”

“That’s Bernie Madoff.”

“Are you saying I’m not worth as much as I thought?”

“At the very least, you will need to be in a foster placement until your financial situation can be determined by the courts.”

“My friend Ben is in a foster placement in Brooklyn. Could you see if I can be placed in his home?”

“Ah, well, unfortunately, according to your previous attorney’s various illegal activities, your county of residence has been changed to Suffolk County. With Ben living in Brooklyn County, your foster placement in his residence will have to be coordinated with the two county departments of social services.”

“Will you do that for me?” Erik asked.

“I can, but we’re still dealing with your court ordered placement in a behavioral health facility due to your attempted suicide.”

“Fuck!”

“Now, now, Erik, don’t get upset. Steps are being taken to ensure you have a life subsequent to the financial damage Mr. Morgan has done to your estate.”

“When can I be released?”

“When your financial situation is stabilized and your behavioral health status is cleared, I will do what I can to find you a foster placement conducive to your mental needs.”

Breathing heavily, Erik looked out through unseeing eyes as he seethed with anger at his former attorney. He realized his life was basically fucked and he’d be lucky to see Ben ever again. “I want to see Ben. I don’t know what you can do, but I want to see him. I want to be with him.”

“Erik, you have to understand, at the present time, you cannot be released to see Ben”

“Please, I want to see him!” Erik cried.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Ms. Shepford said.

“Okay, make it all happen.”

“Where do you wish to live once you are out from under Mr. Morgan’s trusteeship?”

“With Ben, in his foster placement in Brooklyn, if at all possible.”

“That may take some time. You might have to be placed in temporary housing.”

“I don’t care, just get me away from Mr. Morgan and in with Ben.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Erik heard the attorney leave and he lay back on his pillow. It was then he realized his leg ached something horrible. He leaned over and pressed the switch to inject some painkiller in his IV line and waited for the medicine to calm the pain. It took some time, but eventually that warm feeling of relief filled his consciousness. He looked across the room at the television, but, of course, there was nothing to be seen.

* * *

T-Bone sat in his bed wondering where he was. The only thing that he knew for certain was his bottom hurt from where his daddy put his thingy inside him. He didn’t like what happened, but knew that what happened was what daddies did to their young ’uns to keep them in their places. Someone he didn’t know came into his room and brought up a chair at the end of the bed and sat down.

“Troy Benjamin Hensley? I am Theodora Fletcher. I’m a field agent for Child Protective Services in New York City. How are you today?”

“What do you want?”

“We received a report you have been sexually abused. Who abused you?”

“I can’t say or my mommy will be killed.”

“Who made this threat?”

“My new daddy.”

“Is he the person who is abusing you?”

“I said I can’t say or my mommy will be killed.”

“Child, do not fear whatever your daddy told you. You will be protected. Where is your mother.”

“She’s dead.”

“I don’t understand. A moment ago, you said your new daddy will kill her if you say what he’s been doing to you. How is it possible that your daddy will kill your mommy?”

“Like I said, he’ll kill her if I say.”

“Child, your daddy can’t kill your mommy if she’s already dead. Now, is your daddy abusing you?”

“Oh, God, my mommy’s going to die. But, yes, daddy is putting his thingy in my bottom.”

“When was the last time that occurred?”

“Yesterday.”

“That’s impossible, you’ve been in this hospital for over a week. Have any of the staff assaulted you?”

“What do you mean? I’m home and my mommy is dead because you made me say. Now, my daddy is going to come home from Attica and kill me, too.”

He fell back on his bed and started screaming. He was blind with fear and anger. He looked at the woman in the room and screamed, “You killed my mommy!”

A nurse came in and asked, “What have you done to the patient?”

“He’s being irrational,” Ms. Fletcher said.

“That’s because he’s in the adolescent psychiatry ward.”

“I must find out when and who is sexually abusing him.”

“Well, you’re not going to find out today,” the nurse said as she bent over the boy and injected half his normal sedative dosage.

“When will I be able to speak with him?” Ms. Fletcher asked.

“Best guess, maybe in a week.”

“But, he’s being abused and quite possible by staff members at this hospital.”

“That, I assure you, is not occurring. Now, if you will leave, I’ll do my best to restore some sanity in this child.”

“Well, I never. You’ll hear from my superiors.”

“I tell you what, you have your superiors speak with my superiors and hopefully they can work something out that won’t trouble this boy.”