Under Abnormal Conditions (8 page)

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Authors: Erick Burgess

Tags: #thriller, #mystery, #african american, #private detective, #psychological, #suspence, #detective fiction, #mystery series, #cozy crime stories, #cozy mystery fiction, #private eye fiction, #erick d burgess, #louisiana author

BOOK: Under Abnormal Conditions
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Chapter 10

 

 

“What is abnormal?”

That was the question posed by Dr. Alan
Pierre to the class. A few hands went up across the room, but more
people like myself, seemed to almost sit on their hands. I’d been
avoiding answering questions in class for three months, and I was
not about to start then. I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes
open. After all the phone calls and not being able to sleep the
night before, it was all I could do to stay awake.

The previous day’s rain brought in a cool
front that dropped the temperature to a reasonably cool fifty
degrees. It was a welcome change from the usually scorching south
Louisiana heat, but inside the stoic old building the temperature
slowly started to rise.

“Ok, all of you with your hands up can put
them down because you’re all wrong,” A few sighs went out over the
room, but it was quickly replaced with silence, as the good doctor
turned away from the class with a smirk.

Dr. Pierre was not a physically opposing
figure, but he had the intimidating presence of an intellectual
giant. He stood about five foot six inches tall with a slight,
almost fragile build. His dark complexion complemented his salt and
pepper hair and goatee. He had to have the darkest eyes I had ever
seen.

On the chalkboard he wrote:

 

NORMAL BEHAVIOR

“Normal and Abnormal are very relative terms.
Has anyone ever heard of the Etoro Indian tribe?”

A few smiles, but no one dared raise their
hand again.

“No tricks this time. Anyone?” asked the
doctor, probably regretting his prior deception.

Still, no one even attempted an answer.

“Ok, ok. In our society the practice of the
Etoro’s would probably be considered abnormal. In their society it
is very unpleasant for a man to have sex. You see, they believe a
man is born with a limited supply of semen. They also believe their
semen is their life force, and without it they die. So, about one
hundred days out of the year they are forced to have sex.”

“Kind of like married women in the U.S.,”
said an older lady sitting in the front row.

“Well, Margaret, that sounds like a personal
problem, and I know someone if you need help.”

The class broke into laughter as she put her
head down on the desk in embarrassment.

“Now, getting back to the Etoro’s,” the
smiling doctor continued. “They believe they have to feed the fetus
its life force. I bet some of you are thinking this is not that
abnormal for a primitive society, right.”

No, I was actually thinking of a way of
getting out of visiting with the police and Kevin Turner later that
day.

“How about this. They don’t believe men are
born with semen. So, before boys reach their teenage years, they
have to . . . accept semen from the older men in the tribe, who
really don’t need it anymore.” He said with an absolutely straight
face.

That definitely got everyone’s attention. A
hand went up in the front row. The guy who raised his hand had been
asking the most stupid questions the entire year. I was sure he’d
ask if their homosexuality had anything to do with their
mothers.

“So what you are saying, is these young boys
perform oral sex on their elders?” he asked.

“Well Stuart, I’m not saying he brings a
bottle of wine and promises to call in the morning,” said the
doctor, with a smile returning to his face. “They don’t look at it
as sex; it’s all about survival.”

His charm, which was lost on his male
students, matched his boyish looks and captivated every female that
walked into the room. When he would pause in his lectures,
fresh-faced coeds would wait with breathless anticipation for the
next brilliant words of the doctor.

“Now, getting back to abnormal. There is no
universally accepted definition of abnormal. In psychology, there
are some widely used definitions and concepts of abnormality, but
they all have their strengths and limitations.”

Turning away from the class, he wrote:

MALADAPTIVE BEHAVIOR

Now with a more serious look on his face, he
turned to the class and said, “If one’s behavior hinders individual
and/or group well being. Behavior that is very detrimental to the
community functioning is usually a sign of psychopathology. Now let
me ask another question: Who decides what lifestyle or behavior
truly hinders the group’s well being?”

No heads or hands rose. All I could hear were
the sounds of pencils, including my own, scratching feverishly
against paper. It was obvious once again, no one was going to give
him the answer he wanted.

Frowning, he answered his own question, “The
government, the church, our parents? Think about it, people.” He
turned to the board and began writing again.

CLIENT CHRONIC DISTRESS

“From a clinical standpoint, the best
definition is the subjective self dissatisfaction and/or
unhappiness. How do you feel about yourself? Who knows you better
than you do? Your psychiatrist, maybe? Just kidding. The problem
here is with the conscious misrepresentation and unconscious
defense mechanisms. Someone faking good, faking bad, or just
denying the problem they have. Any questions?”

Again, no one stirred. He turned to the
board, for the last time.

SOCIAL NONCONFORMITY

“The last one for today, nonconformity. What
could easily be considered abnormal in our society would be
absolutely proper or normal in another. Every society sets norms
and standards for people to live by. There must be some degree of
conformity to societal rules for people to live together. The
problems here are that over conformity hinders social progress, and
social conformity also doesn’t necessarily guarantee mental health.
Just like maladaptive behavior.” He paused. “Who decides on the
lifestyle that should be conformed to?” He turned and erased the
board.

“I’ll finish up this lecture next
period.”

Before he could finish his sentence, the
sound of shuffling schoolbooks filled the air.

“Hold on! I’m not done!” he shouted. “Quiet
down for a minute. Don’t forget to hand in your assignment. For the
past month, you were supposed to document someone’s behavior. Now,
you need to change that behavior. I don’t mean anything as simple
as making someone miss a TV show. It doesn’t have to necessarily be
a bad behavior you change. Be creative. If you have any questions,
come to my office. I expect your full reports at the end of next
week. As usual you can work in pairs, but I need an individual
report from each of you. I’ll see you guys next period.

As the crescendo of shuffling books again
filled the room, I walked up to the doctor’s desk.

“Dr. Pierre, I have a problem with my paper
that I need to talk to you about.”

“Mr. Drake, my office hours are posted. I’m
afraid I don’t have time right now. Either come to my office later,
call me, or send me an email.”

Before I could tell him I had emailed him, he
had gathered his books and left the room. Dejected, I hung my head
and followed. I figured he hadn’t checked his messages yet and I
would just try and call him later.

As I dodged my way through the halls, I
wondered how many of my fellow students had similar problems like
mine. Assuredly that was why the doctor was so quick to dismiss my
plea for help. I was sure he had his fill of pseudo-tragic events
of the typical college teenager.

Just before I reached my car, I could hear
someone calling me in the distance. “Doc!” the voice shouted. “Doc,
wait up.” It was my old roommate, Alex Williams. He was the
ultimate lady-killer. He stood a bold six foot two inches and
weighed two hundred and twenty-five chiseled pounds. He had a
subtle cleft in his chin and sleepy brown eyes that attracted a
great number of female admirers. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m alright, but I can only give you the
short version of what happened.”

“Yeah, I talked to Trey last night. I’m glad
to see you are alright,” he answered.

“Michelle’s mother was the one killed last
night.”

“What? Man I’m sorry. I wish there was
something I could do,” he said, as he seemed preoccupied with
something. He was never good at hiding his emotions.

“It was good to see you. We need to get
together soon. I’m going to Trey’s later, maybe we can catch
up?”

“Doc, I need to talk to you about something.
It’s been on my mind for a while and with what happened yesterday,
maybe this is the time,” he paused and I waited for him to finish.
“I’ll just talk to you about it at Trey’s. I know you got a lot
going on right now.”

“Well, are you sure?”

He nodded in agreement and we shook hands as
we parted ways. Before he walked away, I couldn’t help but see
whatever he wanted to talk to me about was weighing heavily on
him.

“Hey, don’t worry about me. Everything will
be fine.” I said as though I actually believed the words
myself.

 

 

Chapter 11

 

 

The police station was downtown on Main
Street in Dunham Heights. It was a one-story beige stucco building
that I hadn’t been inside of in years. I didn’t know why they
wanted to see me again; there wasn’t anything else I could tell
them.

Once inside, I encountered a female officer
sitting behind a huge Plexiglas window, and I pressed the button
labeled “Push For Service”. The lady looked at me and raised her
hand as if to say ‘You look like you can wait for a minute’. She
talked on the intercom for a moment before she finally asked, “Can
I help you?”

“Detective Williams, please?”

She studied me for an instant before she
called. I decided to sit down and wait. Still tired from the night
before, I welcomed the chance to relax. The room reminded me of a
waiting room at a doctor’s office…except it didn’t have the fresh
smell or the magazines. After about ten minutes of nodding off,
Williams came out to greet me.

“Michael, I’m glad you could make it,” he
said, raising his hand for a greeting. I stood, shook his hand, and
followed him through the doors. He led me down a hall just past the
information desk to a small windowless room.

“Just have a seat, and I’ll be right with
you.”

He left me alone in the tiny room. There was
only a small desk with two chairs facing a large mirrored glass. I
had seen enough television shows and movies to know what was back
there. I wondered how many suspects they had broken in that room.
Before my thoughts traveled too far, the detective returned with
company.

“Michael, this is my partner Detective
Stone.”

Stone was a familiar looking, diminutive,
white man with glasses. His dark hair was shaved high and tight. He
was neat and clean-shaven, a poster boy for the department. We
greeted with a handshake, and the questions began.

Williams took the seat with his back to the
mirror, so I sat in the other. Seatless, Stone just stood by
silently.

“We just need to go over your statement from
last night,” said Williams

“Just to tie up a few loose ends,” finished a
grim looking Stone.

Taking out a pad and pencil, Stone surveyed
me while Williams asked the questions.

“What did you do after you received the first
threatening phone call?” he asked.

“I . . . didn’t do . . . anything.” I
answered in barely a whisper.

“Mmmm . . . and after the second call?” asked
Stone from behind.

“I called the police,” I answered. The
detectives glanced at each other quickly and proceeded with the
questioning.

“Can you tell us anything about the robbery
or the murder?” questioned Stone.

“No. Like I told the officer last night. I
walked into the office, and that’s all I remember until the
paramedics woke me up.”

“Did you go to the hospital?” asked
Stone.

“Yes, but I felt pretty good this
morning.”

“The bad thing about wounds like that is they
can be a lot worse than they look,” he replied.

“And vice versa.” Williams added. “Another
thing from last night. You weren’t on the best terms with Mrs.
Allen. Do you want to explain that a little bit more?”

“Wait, wait, wait just one minute. If you
think I had anything to do with this-”

“Calm down, Michael. These are just routine
questions we have to ask,” he quickly returned. “Just like last
night.”

“Her daughter is missing and she thought I
knew something about it.”

The scratching of the pencil stopped as I
heard from behind, “And you dated her daughter for how long?”

“A few months,” I answered. The feverish
scratching started and Williams again started dissected my personal
life.

“So the mother caused problems in the
relationship?”

“We got along fine.”

“I bet she didn’t like the idea of her
daughter bringing home some black guy, right?” asked Williams.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You had a right to be hostile towards the
lady.” Stone stated. “From what I understand, she pressed pretty
hard for you to be arrested for Michelle’s murder.”

“Murder? No, it wasn’t like that. We just
didn’t speak because seeing me reminded her of Michelle.”

“And you worked together all that time? It
must have been rough for both of you?” Williams asked.

“Well, I mean, she took some time off. She
had just come back to work this week.” I said, knowing how guilty
it made me seem.

“Uh huh, hmmm.” Williams hummed. “So would
you have any idea who would want her dead?”

“So, you don’t think she was killed by the
robber?” I knew the answer to the question even before I asked. If
they did suspect someone else, I wouldn’t have been in that
chair.

“We just have to explore all the
possibilities. It’s just procedure,” Stone calmly stated.

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