Albatross (8 page)

David took a moment to respond. The usual response was to review confidentiality and privacy and duty to warn in case of danger to self or others. David decided to take a different approach.

“Mr. Burns, I would like to say yes, but I’m simply not sure that is the case. With the director of the veterans’ hospital watching, an extensive file immediately available, and a whole bunch of other interested parties that seem to have a vested interest in your memory, I really can’t say if anything you say or do will remain private. I’m guessing anything I write down or hear will be documented, seized, and questioned at some point. So if there is anything you don’t want others to know, you may not want to tell me.”

Burns seemed very surprised at either the bluntness or honesty or the balance of both. “Well, you are the first person I have heard tell me something I never thought I would ever hear from a therapist—bluntness and candor.”

It was David’s turn to smile. David went on, “I hope that you will tell me things that will assist in my diagnosis and treatment strategies to help free up your memory. I am guessing your brain is blocking memories either as a way of self-protection or a trauma interfering with recall. I have no vested interest in the content of the data. Just being able to assist you accessing your memory is my plan. So if the local intelligence community decides that they want to have any data obtained from our sessions, I will ask them to produce a court order and hand it over rapidly. If you plan to harm yourself or someone, I will tell everyone on the planet to ensure your safety. I just want to be clear with the plan and limitations of treatment,” David concluded.

Burns’s look was thoughtful and still. “I like your honesty and approach. If there is something I don’t want anyone to know, I won’t tell you. So can I ask you a question, and will you be honest with me?”

David answered cautiously, “If it pertains to me and my family personally, no, but otherwise, yes.”

“Did someone else bring you into the loop before I got here? Have you seen my file already?”

How could Burns have possibly known that?
Easy
, David thought. As a therapist, he was pretty good. As a covert spy, he was awful. The first file on David’s desk looked near identical on the outside as the one he now held. Because all the other files were smaller and color-coded, anyone with good eyesight could see the similarities in these two separate files.

David took a moment to consider if lying was an option or if telling the truth to his client was appropriate. David decided to tell the truth for a couple of reasons: David knew he was terrible at lying. It took too long for him to answer the question, and he was positive that Burns could sniff out bullshit from miles away. David settled even further in his own chair as he folded his own hands and crossed his legs at the ankles.

David answered slowly, “Yes. I have an entire file that was ‘collected’ seemingly unofficially and brought to me by outside channels. There was concern that either data would be altered or history rewritten.” David felt bad. He had thrown Samantha under the bus in order to obtain the trust of a client.

“Were there any obvious changes?” Burns went on.

“It looks like the college time line was altered, but I didn’t get further than that. I had just got it moments before you arrived.”

Burns smiled. “I knew I liked that nurse,” he said more to himself. David was somewhat relieved. Clearly, Burns had his own knack for figuring people out. It looked like Burns saw Samantha more as an ally than an enemy. David remained silent as Burns scanned the file David handed him.

Burns closed the file and then seemed to make his own decision. “Okay. I will tell you all I remember. I will ask you to compare both files and just let me know the inconsistencies. There is something big going on in my head, and I really can’t figure it out what it is. I really do need your help.”

David noticed that Burns became distracted as if something was just in reach of his memory but was fading fast.

“What are you thinking?” David asked.

It looked to David as if he was looking for the right words. David noticed Burns was lightly scratching his scar tissue on his scalp. Still, Burns seemed determine to answer David’s question.

“I have this strange feeling that I used to be a part of something important. I think I used to be a soldier. I think I used to help people or at least I protected people from the bad guys. It’s something important, Dr. Caulfield. I just can’t get it on my own.”

Dammit
, David thought. His client was genuinely asking for help. Part of David was hoping that Burns would be resistant to treatment. If Burns was not open to treatment, David would be able to convince himself that he had tried and the patient was not interested in his help. But because Burns was open to help and had actually asked for assistance, David’s natural desire to help had been triggered. David knew that when he invested in a patient, he would take treatment as far as possible, no matter where it went.
Maybe that’s why Samantha had him sent to me
, he thought.

Andersen could plainly see Coleridge was still remembering that fateful day he took Burns on as a patient. Coleridge responded as if he was hearing a disembodied voice of a ghost. While Coleridge was blind, Andersen watched as his witness instinctively blinked and rubbed his eyes as if he was in a trance while he was trying to return to the present. Coleridge was physically trying to shake off his former self.

Recognition seemed evident on Coleridge’s face. His cheekbones and shoulders relaxed. Coleridge shifted his legs to cross the other direction; his hands returned to his lap. Yes, Andersen could see that Coleridge was back with him in the present being interviewed by an investigator at the North Reading Police Department.

“So how did it go?” Andersen repeated as a way of ensuring that Coleridge was firmly back in the present. Andersen knew that the ice pack was warm by now and Coleridge’s bump had to be throbbing less because his statement was moving at a pretty fast clip. Andersen was surprised that Coleridge had drunk the coffee. Most people had one or two sips and were done. Some criminals confessed to their crimes after they were only allowed warm water and cold coffee from the police station to drink just to end the pain. Andersen smiled for a moment. He had told Dempsey that theory in jest, but Dempsey told others as if it were an actual police tactic. Andersen’s train of thought returned as Coleridge started to talk again.

“Burns was quite the specimen, both physically and mentally. It took weeks of first preparing and then actual treatment.”

Coleridge slipped back into professional mode in explaining the treatment approach. Coleridge’s visage remained still and relaxed, but now he leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk.

“The approach for many of my trauma, anxious, and to some degree depressed clients is to use their own body to alter brain chemistry so as to decrease the barriers and unlock the guilt, secrets, and problems. In Burns’s case, he had the will and healthy physical baseline and time to accomplish this. I generated a workout plan to get his heart rate up, blood pumping, and body moving so that I could get his stress down, the good neurotransmitters going, and get his vegetative signs more stable.”

“Vegetative signs more stable?” Andersen asked.

“Yes. In other words, his sleeping and eating patterns were way off, so we needed to get him on a regular eating and sleeping cycle again. This included a decrease in carbohydrates and a significant increase in proteins, fiber, antioxidants, and more ‘brain food’ like fish and fish oil. I also added meditation three times a day for twenty minutes each day to be said aloud.”

Andersen was really curious now. “Meditation? Why?”

“The neuroscience of the time indicated that when a person meditates for fifteen minutes every day, their frontal lobe rearranges itself. The frontal lobe is known for its abilities to think logically, plan, strategize, and is considered to be the ‘computer part’ of the brain. The frontal lobe also tends to be pro-social, positive, and overall empathetic. If you alter the frontal lobe with all of these efforts, it becomes the way of regenerating neurons and to have the person think more positive. Maybe even happier. And happy people are less guarded and more open to talking, sharing, and remembering things.”

Andersen stopped writing because he was getting lost.

“In English please?” Andersen asked.

Andersen watched as Coleridge’s body language shifted.
More animated, relaxed, and confident. I can see this guy is a natural professor,
Andersen thought.

Andersen could see that Coleridge was trying to put it all into layman’s words.

“The part of the brain that makes us thinking creatures not only helps us think but helps keep us civilized. Laws are important. Codes of conduct are important. This is where our moral basis is consolidated. That’s why prayer, learning, meditation, and positive thinking make for happier human beings,” Coleridge concluded as he adjusted himself in his seat.

Yeah. This guy is a good teacher.

Andersen had to ask, “What did he meditate on? A Hindu prayer or Indian chant?” Andersen asked, getting back to his interview.
At the very least, Coleridge or Caulfield or whoever he is was interesting,
Andersen thought to himself.

“That was also a shock. Burns chose Eastern Orthodox prayers from the Orthodox liturgy; he chose morning, midday, and evening prayers each for thirty minutes every time. That’s an hour and a half a day when only twenty minutes would have been helpful. In addition, he took the Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary prayer and meditated with those as well in Latin. So in addition to a remarkably rigorous exercise routine and improved diet and sleeping patterns, he was spending about two hours a day meditating on religious matters that focused on forgiveness, acceptance, and kindness. And he had learned a new skill. He was reading Latin. This entire program took about sixteen weeks. That was strange.”

“Strange?” Andersen asked. This was one of those situations when Andersen thought more would be better. If only twenty minutes was needed to meditate, two hours had to be better.

“Strange? Yes. I expected to see results in four weeks. With the rigorous exercise he was doing, the average patient would start feeling significantly better and their mood greatly improved while their anxiety decreased. This would make them more amenable to therapy. They would start talking more freely and with far less barriers. Burns didn’t start talking in a less guarded fashion until week eleven. But that was minimal at best. More time passed. And even then after nearly four months of this level of treatment, his breakthrough seemed more like a surprise.”

“How so?” Andersen encouraged.

Coleridge sat back in his chair again as if recounting the very moment it all snowballed. Andersen could see Coleridge returning back in time. His shoulders seemed like they were tensing again, and even Coleridge’s voice sounded a bit weaker and hollow to Andersen. Coleridge started to talk again.

“I am a computer geek. I love tinkering with old desktops. I build computers up from the motherboard to RAM to multiple monitors. Right before a session, I had soldered two components. I had thought that after two hours, the smell would have evaporated from the room. But Burns had picked up the smell. He came in the office as usual, but he seemed to tense up immediately and become focused. He had changed almost before my eyes. His posture seemed to alter. His voice dropped to a lower tone, but it was empty at the same time. His expression seemed measured, and he seemed to almost read my movements. But he seemed distracted at the same time. It was confusing to me. It was more than just his physical changes from his exercising. It was as if all of whatever was on his mind became very clear to him.”

Andersen noted the irony of Coleridge’s description of Burns changing before his eyes. Andersen was seeing nearly the same metamorphosis when Coleridge thought back to his former life as David Caulfield. Andersen wondered how Coleridge managed living two separate lives in one body in two different time periods—the past and the present. It had to be draining.