January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her (6 page)

By the time I reach Tom’s office, I’m nearly fifteen minutes late and lugging the still-sleeping Bodhi in his car seat. Tom is sitting in his chair, his door open, but I knock to let him know I’m here.

“Hi, Tom. Sorry I’m so late.”

He looks up. “I saw you through the window down in the parking lot. I was wondering when you were coming up.” There is no annoyance in his voice, only concern. “Is everything okay?”

I hold up Bodhi’s car seat.

“Is it okay if I bring my son in?” I ask. If he says no, then I have no choice but to leave.

He looks down at Bodhi, a look of surprise on his face. I’m not sure whether he is surprised to see me bringing my newborn out so soon or if he is just shocked that I brought one of my children to my therapy session.

“He should just sleep,” I say. “He’s not like Janni. He sleeps.”

He sticks his finger in his ear, which he always does when I say something that throws him.

“Ah, yeah, sure, I guess, as long as it’s not going to be a regular thing. I don’t mind, but I wouldn’t want to disturb Kate.” Kate is the therapist in the next office.

I sit down, placing Bodhi’s car seat on the floor below me.

“Then I don’t know that I will be able to come anymore.”

Tom’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?”

I pour out to Tom everything that has been happening since Bodhi was born. As I listen to myself, I think it sounds insane.

“I don’t know what is happening to Janni,” I finally conclude. “You’re a psychologist. What do you think?”

Tom exhales. “I don’t work with children, so I am not the best person to say, but from what you describe it sounds like she is pretty disturbed.”

Pretty disturbed
. That’s not what I was expecting to hear. I have to believe there must be a rational explanation for this. I was expecting him to tell me that he has heard of this before and it is a phase that can be treated through therapy. But that’s not what he said. He just said
pretty disturbed
, in the way people say the word “cancer.”

TOM GETS US in to see Kate, his office mate and a child psychologist, in less than three days.

When Kate, a curly-black-haired woman in her sixties, comes out of her office, she’s clearly surprised to see all of us there. She was expecting just Susan and me for the first visit. But who could take care of Janni and Bodhi and keep Bodhi safe from Janni? We had no choice but to bring both kids.

Janni tries to run into her office.

“No, January,” Kate tells her. “I need to speak to your mommy and daddy first.”

I instinctively flinch, knowing what is coming.

“I’m not January!” Janni screams, turning and hitting Kate, who recoils.

I grab Janni, pulling her back. “Sorry, she doesn’t like her name or any variation of it.”

Kate looks shocked, which bothers me. She is a child psychologist, an expert in child behavior. How can she be shocked by this?

“I’m 76,” Janni says.

“Will she play out here for a few minutes,” Kate asks, regaining her composure, “if I get her some crayons and paper?”

I look at her like she’s insane.

“That won’t work,” I reply, trying to hide the frustration in my voice. I don’t want Kate to see me get angry and think I’m the problem. “One of us will have to go in at a time while the other stays out here with Janni,” I say. “You go first,” I tell Susan. “I’ll stay out here with her.”

WE USE BLOCKS to build things. First a house, then … “Look, Janni. I made a slide.”

“That’s a rat slide.” Janni places the imaginary Wednesday the Rat on the block slide. “There you go, Wednesday.” Janni pauses. “She likes it.” She looks up at me, genuinely happy, as if there were a chance her imaginary friend wouldn’t like it.

She looks away at the closed door to Kate’s office, and I know she’s already lost interest. Like it or not, we’re finished with the blocks.

“I wanna go in.”

“Soon, Janni.”

“There’s nothing to do here!”

“Do you want to build another house?” I ask, even though I know she won’t want to. I look at the clock on my cell phone. Less
than ten minutes has passed since Susan went in. I look around the office, desperate for something else I can use to buy a few more minutes.

I spot a
National Geographic
magazine on the end table, one that has the pandas of China. Janni likes animals.

“Janni, do you want to see some pandas?”

But Janni’s already opening Kate’s door, so I toss the magazine aside, rushing over.

“Sorry,” I say to Kate as I follow Janni in, “I couldn’t keep her out there anymore.”

Kate looks surprised at us barging in. Again, this bothers me. It is Janni’s behavior we are here for, after all.

“That’s okay,” Kate says, quickly recovering. “We were about ready for her anyway.”

Janni is moving through the office, searching for something to engage her mind. I am her shadow, right behind her, ready for anything. I see some board games but no toys. And this is the office of a child psychologist?

Janni turns to Kate. “Where are your toys?”

“I don’t have too many toys. I suppose I should get more, but most of the kids I see are a little older than you,” she replies. “I have some paper and crayons. Do you want to draw?”

I hide my frustration, knowing this won’t work. But to my surprise Janni agrees.

“What are you going to draw?” Kate asks Janni, sitting her down at the desk near her.

“Wednesday, my pet rat.”

“You have a pet rat named Wednesday?”

“I have seven rats,” Janni answers, drawing furiously. I watch over her shoulder. She is scribbling circles within circles, like how a hurricane looks on a weather map.

Susan pipes in. “They’re not real rats. She has a lot of imaginary friends.”

“They’re not imaginary,” Janni answers, with just a little irritation.

“You have a pet dog, Honey,” Susan prompts.

“I don’t like Honey,” Janni answers, with no particular venom. This is new. I’ve never heard that before. She loves our dog.

Janni finishes drawing and hands the paper to Kate.

“You’re done already?” Kate asks, clearly surprised.

Janni nods, pointing to the mass of scribbles. “That’s Wednesday.”

“Do you want to draw me another picture?” Kate asks, but Janni is already moving on.

Susan hands Kate Janni’s IQ results. “Here are her IQ results,” she says. “She tested with a 146 IQ at four years old. We don’t know if her genius is related to what is going on.”

“Janni?” Kate asks. “How do you feel about Bodhi?”

“I hate him,” Janni answers, not looking over, still searching the office.

“Why do you hate him?” Kate asks.

“Because he cries,” Janni answers, disinterestedly.

Kate turns to me. “Older children often have a hard time adapting when a sibling comes along.”

I am getting increasingly annoyed.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t a normal tantrum we are talking about. The only way I can describe it is like Regan from
The Exorcist
. One minute she is her sweet, normal self, and the next she is literally trying to scratch my eyes out. Then she is back to normal like nothing happened. She doesn’t sulk or pout like a child who isn’t getting what she wants. She is happy, then violent, and back to happy again.”

I watch Kate’s face for a reaction, but I can tell she is not getting it. I don’t think she believes us. I don’t know how to convince her how severe Janni’s violence really is.

Janni makes a move toward Susan and Bodhi.

“Janni.” I am on her, my hands on her shoulders, ready to take her out of the room.

Instinctively, Susan holds up her hand, ready to defend Bodhi.

But Janni only leans against Susan. “I want to go,” she whines, very much like a normal kid.

“We’ll go in a minute,” Susan tells her.

Janni punches Susan’s arm, hard enough that it sounds like a tennis ball bouncing off a hard wall. But again there is no anger. It is like she is doing it to pass the time.

“Janni, stop!” Susan commands.

Janni’s face doesn’t change, but her body seems to respond on its own, bringing up both fists and alternating punches into Susan.

I jump in and pull Janni off. Janni goes limp in my hands, giving in, as if hitting Susan really wasn’t that interesting after all. I turn back to Kate.

“See? This is what we are dealing with, although it is much worse at home.”

Kate looks shocked again.

“Janni, how do you think that feels to your mommy? Do you think she likes being hit?”

“Yes,” Janni answers, as if she was just asked if she likes vanilla ice cream.

“Has somebody ever hit you?”

“Daddy.”

“When did I hit you, Janni?” I demand.

“When I was bad. When I was trying to hit Bodhi.”

“I didn’t hit you, Janni. I restrained you. I was terrified you might seriously hurt Bodhi. I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t let anyone hurt you and I can’t let anyone hurt him. You are both my children.”

“Well, Janni, did you like what your dad did?”

“Not Janni!” Janni yells like she’s told this woman her name a thousand times before. “I’m 76!”

Kate recoils again, smoothing her sweater, then repeating the question.

“No,” Janni answers.

“Why not?”

“Because it hurt.”

Kate leans forward in her chair. “What you are doing to your mother right now is hurting her. Do you realize that?”

“Yes. I want to hurt her,” Janni replies.

Kate’s mouth falls open. She clearly wasn’t expecting Janni’s answer. She regathers her composure and asks, “Why?”

“I want to go,” Janni whines.

“Anything else?” the therapist asks.

“No.”

Janni hits Susan again.

Bodhi wakes up and starts to cry.

“Bodhi! Be quiet!” Janni screams at him.

This, as expected, makes Bodhi cry harder.

Janni screams and Bodhi erupts into a full-blown wail.

Janni moves to kick his car seat. I grab her and pull her back.

“I’ve got to get her out of here,” I say.

As I am struggling with Janni, Kate swivels to her desk and retrieves a pen and a Post-it note. “I think it might be beneficial for Janni …”

“I’m not Janni!” Janni tries to kick out at Kate.

“… to see a psychiatrist. I know one in Glendale who is really great with kids.”

I look sharply back at Kate. “Don’t you think she just needs some therapy to work through her emotions?” I ask.

Kate continues writing. “I think therapy might be beneficial in the future, but she needs to be stabilized first. Her name is Dr. Howe,”
Kate continues. “I have referred kids to her before. Usually it takes a while to get an appointment, but I will call her and let her know there’s an infant in the home and it’s an emergency.”

An emergency?
This hits me like a brick. Yes, I think Janni’s behavior needs immediate attention, but hearing those words from a child psychologist with thirty years of experience terrifies me.

CHAPTER SEVEN
New Year’s Eve, 2007

D
r. Howe at least has toys in her office. There is a dollhouse and Janni is playing with it.

“Do you like dolls?” Dr. Howe asks.

Janni holds up a six-inch man. “This is 47.”

“He’s forty-seven?”

“No, his name is 47.” Janni picks up the mother doll. “This is 48.”

“And what about the baby?” Howe asks.

“50.”

“You like numbers?”

Susan pipes in. “She tested with a 146 IQ. I have her IQ test here.” She gets out a copy and holds it toward Dr. Howe.

“I don’t need to see that,” Dr. Howe replies, not taking her eyes off Janni. “I can already tell she is very intelligent.”

I’m relieved, still clinging to the belief that the source of Janni’s
violence is a disconnect between the age of her body and the age of her mind.

Janni gets up and holds out an empty palm to Dr. Howe. “This is my rat, Wednesday.”

“I see. What kind of rat is Wednesday?”

“Black-and-white.”

“I see. Is Wednesday really there?”

“Yes,” Janni answers, then returns her attention to the dolls. She is not playing with them, just naming them.

“Janni, do you know why you’re here?” Dr. Howe asks.

“I hit Bodhi,” she answers flatly.

I jump in. “She’s never actually hit him. We’re always there to protect him.”

“Okay.” Dr. Howe nods and turns back to Janni. “Can you control that?”

“Sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t,” Janni responds.

Dr. Howe spins her chair around to face us. “I believe her.”

She turns her chair to Janni. “Janni, can you keep playing while I talk with your mom and dad?”

“Yeah,” Janni agrees, still focused on the dolls.

Dr. Howe turns to us. “So what’s been going on?”

Susan starts to talk about the endless violent explosions. Dr. Howe listens and then asks us about our family histories.

“I was on Ritalin from five years old to thirteen,” I answer.

Susan chimes in with “And then there was my grandmother’s brother, who spent his whole life in Napa State Hospital. He had schizophrenia. My dad said he used to scream all the time.” She pauses for a moment, a look of fear coming over her face. “Could she have schizophrenia?”

Schizophrenia?
I think to myself, looking at Susan like she’s crazy. I don’t know what this is, but it sure as hell isn’t schizophrenia.
Schizophrenia is the worst mental illness known to mankind. Schizophrenics are those people raving to themselves on street corners.

“We don’t want to go there,” Dr. Howe states forcefully.

“So, have you seen these behaviors before?” Susan asks.

Dr. Howe looks at her notes, bobbing her head, as if trying to decide what she wants to say. “I have seen some of these behaviors before,” she looks up at us, “but not in a child as young as Janni.”

“I’m not Janni!” Janni screams.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Howe tells her, respectfully. “I forgot.”

“When she had her IQ tested at four, the therapist said then that she was mentally between ten and eleven. That was over a year ago. Maybe she’s mentally a teenager now and this is some sort of teenage rebellion,” I suggest.