The Hackers
by A. M. Johnson
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
Emily smiled as Dr. Brown came in and settled himself in his overstuffed chair.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked politely.
“Good,” Emily answered. “I feel just fine.”
“And have you experienced any side effects from the medication?”
Emily hesitated. “I actually didn’t take it.”
Dr. Brown sighed. “What is the reason you decided not to take it? Let me guess. The voices told you not to?”
Emily nodded. “Yes. They said if I take it, I might not be able to hear them. And I have really come to rely on them.” Emily shrugged. “I am starting to see more how they help me.”
Dr. Brown nodded and picked up his stylus, tapping lightly on the tablet. “Please elaborate as to how they are helping.”
Emily thought for a moment. “I know I’ve told you things that sound not logical. But what I’m about to tell you is really going to sound insane.” She paused, gathering her courage. “The day after I saw you,” she began, “Sheila and Mr. Fluffybutt were standing in my kitchen, just both of them staring at nothing. I mean, they were both looking at the same area, but there was absolutely nothing there.
“I know, pet owners always talk about animals doing this, just staring at nothing for the longest time, but I decided since they understand me, I should ask. So I said, ‘What are you looking at?’ Mr. Fluffybutt said ‘Looking at the Makers.’ Shelia said, ‘Makers are bad. They should not be here.’” Emily paused.
“What are ‘Makers’?” Dr. Brown asked, looking up from his tablet.
Emily shook her head. “I don’t know yet, but apparently they are ‘bad.’ Sheila has a pretty limited vocabulary, and Mr. Fluffybutt didn’t elaborate. So I don’t know what they are. But I asked why I couldn’t see these Makers, and Mr. Fluffybutt... not sure how to put this... but he let me see through his eyes. He kinda turned his head to me and said, ‘See what I see,’ and next thing I know I’m looking at these two silvery orbs of light just floating in my kitchen. They were pulsating, kind of swelling and shrinking in this erratic way.
“It was so strange I really couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. Then Sheila said, ‘Hear what I hear.’ And suddenly I’m hearing this electrical sound like a buzzing, and I realize they were pulsating as they made the sounds. It almost looked and sounded like they were having a conversation.” Emily paused, waiting for a reaction.
Dr. Brown tapped his stylus, then looked at Emily. “Could you understand the conversation?”
Emily shook her head. “But Sheila said, ‘They talk about us: dog and cat. They call us hackers. What is “hackers”?’ And I said hackers find a way to break the rules so they get what they want. I was trying to give a simple explanation, see. Sheila is precious, but she isn’t a rocket scientist.” Emily gave an embarrassed little laugh.
Dr. Brown tried to hide an expression of extreme concern but failed miserably. He looked at Emily. “I really want you to rethink taking the medication. When you came to see me last week, you were reporting auditory hallucinations. Now we are on to visual hallucinations. I’m afraid of what will come next.”
Emily smiled and gave another little laugh. “And I’m not even done telling you everything!” She looked at her hands.
Dr. Brown sighed. “Please continue,” he said, stylus poised.
Emily nodded. “Remember when you asked if they tell me to do things?”
Dr. Brown nodded.
“And I said they told me places not to go, told me some things not to eat. Remember that?”
Dr. Brown checked his notes briefly and nodded in the affirmative.
“Okay. They wanted to take a walk, so we walked. I had them both on a leash of course, and you wouldn’t believe the weird looks I got, walking with a cat on a leash. But anyway, they walked with me to the corner of 2nd Avenue and Harvard St. You know the area?”
Dr. Brown nodded. “Right near the financial district.”
“Yes. We got to that corner, and suddenly they both stopped and wouldn’t move. I asked what was wrong, and Mr. Fluffybutt says, ‘See what I see,’ and when I look up Harvard St., I see all these things floating around. Not orbs of light like in my kitchen. These looked kind of like... black sea urchins, or really big cockleburs. They seemed to be falling out of the sky in slow motion, just sort of floating downward. And they were landing on people, and on animals, too. They would land and stick, and the person didn’t seem to notice. Have you heard of Homeless Hal?”
Dr. Brown looked up from his tapping. “Oh yes,” he responded sadly, “what a tragic character he is. That poor man has been homeless for over twenty years. I know that countless social workers and community action volunteers have tried to help him. But regardless of what’s done for him, he still winds up on the street. Really a terrible commentary on the condition of our society.”
“I agree,” said Emily. “Thing is, Hal was covered in those things. Covered! Head to toe, they were just stuck all over him! Sheila took one look at him and said, ‘See? He needs dogs to protect from doom bombs!’ That’s what she called those things: ‘doom bombs.’ I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
“As I watched, a squirrel was running up 2nd Avenue with a doom bomb stuck to it. The squirrel got run over right there in the street, maybe ten feet from where Hal was sitting. So I asked if all the animals could see the doom bombs, and Mr. Fluffybutt said ‘they see but don’t know.’
“Long story short, they both told me I had to stay away from 2nd and Harvard. Also, the neighbor they wanted me to avoid? He has those things all over him, too. They are all over his house.”
Dr. Brown tapped for a moment, then looked up. “Do you see any of those... doom bombs... here?”
Emily shook her head. “I can’t see them without Mr. Fluffybutt’s help. But apparently, they were all over some of the food I brought home, too. Sheila says doom bombs bring bad things, like losing a husband and daughter in a car accident.” Emily grew silent, looked at the wall, and a tear escaped, tracing its way down her cheek to her chin, where she wiped it with her sleeve.
“That neighbor had a business that failed. He lost his business last year. His wife left him and he’s started drinking. You can see the liquor bottles in his recycling bins. Five and six empty bottles a week.
“I asked if I have doom bombs, and Sheila said no, but they will keep watch for them and let me know if any show up.” Emily shifted in her chair and sighed. “I wish I’d known about this stuff five years ago,” she said almost in a whisper.
Dr. Brown tapped for a moment, then began to nod. “Emily,” he said quietly, “I think this is a delusion brought about by your unresolved grief. Don’t you see? A car accident, or any tragic occurrence for that matter, can make us feel completely out of control. We go through life thinking we have control over our own safety, and that of the ones we love.
“In truth, we have no control. Bad things happen. They happen to everyone, not just Homeless Hal, or the neighbor with the drinking problem, or you, Emily. Your daughter and husband were killed, which is tragic and awful, but this is about you trying to regain control that you never actually had. Even good decision-making can only prevent some bad occurrences. There are so many that can’t be prevented.” He paused. “What do you do for a living, Emily?” he asked.
A little surprised, Emily looked around as if confused, then answered.
“I’m a jewelry designer,” she said. “I’m actually quite good and very well paid. Well enough that I am currently taking a sabbatical. I have enough money socked away really to not ever go back to work, but I love designing jewelry. I’ll go back eventually.”
Dr. Brown nodded. “Good,” he said. “I want you to notice how you are feeling right this second. You appear calm. Do you feel calm?”
Emily thought. “Yes,” she said, “I feel calm.”
“But a moment ago, you were sad and emotional, were you not?”
“Yes,” she responded.
Dr. Brown smiled. “It’s a little trick I’ve learned,” he said. “Asking you a question that has a concrete, fixed answer causes you to move your thinking into your frontal lobe, the seat of logic. It can help you maintain calm and get back into the factual aspects of your life. Do you have any hobbies?”
“Gardening,” she replied immediately, then hesitated. “I’m also a ham radio operator. It’s something my husband and I did together before he died. Continuing the hobby, well, it makes me feel closer to him.” Emily laughed. “You should see my setup in the basement. It’s pretty impressive, the amount of money I managed to spend on it. We built all the components ourselves.”
Dr. Brown nodded again. “Very good,” he said. “You have a creative side and an analytical, technical side. Now tell me, if we were to switch places... what would you think was going on if I told you as a patient the things you’ve told me?”
Emily considered for a moment. “I would think you had lost it. I would probably prescribe medication.” She laughed.
“Yes, of course you would. I have a little idea, if you’ll humor me. Why don’t you bring Mr. Fluffybutt and Sheila to our next session? Let’s see if they’ll talk to me.”
Emily considered. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. But I won’t force them if they don’t want to come.”
Dr. Brown agreed.
As she left, Emily turned to Dr. Brown again. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but that really big colorful guy over here? He’s dying.” Emily pointed to the aquarium.
Dr. Brown got up from his chair and looked to see which fish she indicated.
“Did he tell you that?” Dr. Brown asked.
Emily nodded. “He says he’s old and there is nothing you can do. But he would like to be alone. He says it’s too crowded in here and he doesn’t want to be eaten once he’s dead.”
Dr. Brown thanked her and sent her on her way.
Perusing his notes, Dr. Brown shook his head. This poor young woman was showing the signs of a serious mental illness and, like so many, refused the only treatment available that might help. He wished he had some sort of magic treatment that could just make mental illness... well, go away!
Having grown up with a father who battled bipolar disorder and a mother who enabled his father’s erratic behaviors, he was well acquainted with the pain and suffering involved. It was why he had become a psychiatrist. He was fully committed to helping patients, so much so that he remained unmarried, had no children, and not many social contacts.
“Just me and my cat,” he said to no one in particular. “And my beautiful fish!” he added, admiring the aquarium.
* * *
The next morning, Dr. Brown’s favorite fish, a beautiful peacock Cichlid, was floating belly up. The other fish had nibbled on his fins and eaten his eyes. In spite of his certainty that Emily Turner was delusional, the doctor felt a pang of guilt for not placing the fish in a separate bowl overnight.
“He just wanted to die in peace,” Dr. Brown said to the other fish as he lifted the little body out of the aquarium. “Was that really too much to ask?”
Realizing that he had just tried to “guilt” a bunch of fish for doing exactly what fish do, Dr. Brown shook his head and sighed. Emily Turner was getting under his skin.
Emily did not turn up to the next appointment, which greatly concerned Dr. Brown, and he was just about to give her a call when Vera advised that Emily was on line 2.
“Mrs. Turner,” he said, “I was very worried when you didn’t make it! Is everything okay?”
At first there was no response, and Dr. Brown was poised to hang up, when suddenly a breathless, quivering voice answered.
“They’re after me now, Dr. Brown,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears.
“Who is after you, Emily?” he asked gently.
“The Makers, they... they... they want to kill me!”
“Now hold on, Emily,” Dr. Brown said, “take a deep breath for me and hold it for a count of five, okay?”
He waited, listening to Emily’s shaky breathing.
“Very good,” he said soothingly. “Now, do it one more time. And... there. Try starting from the beginning.”
“Okay,” she began, sighed, took another deep breath, then started again.
“It began yesterday afternoon,” she said. “Sheila came charging up to me in a panic saying the Makers were in my bedroom. I followed her in there, and Mr. Fluffybutt was staring at my walk-in closet, and he did that ‘See what I see’ thing, so I could see them. They were floating near the closet door, and Sheila said they were discussing... they were talking about... getting rid of me. That I was dangerous and could put everything at risk.”
“And how are you dangerous, Emily?” the doctor asked. “You seem like the most harmless person to me.”
“I know, right?” she responded. “But I guess, just because I know about them, that makes me dangerous. Anyway, that’s not the worst of it. Sheila said they were talking about how I was going to die. They were saying things like cancer, and robbery gone wrong, and all these other horrible ways to die! Sheila was so upset! Then, Mr. Fluffybutt went to the window, and I followed him because he was still showing me things, and those... those doom bombs...”
Emily began to cry, and Dr. Brown remained silent for a moment to let her collect herself.
After a moment of breathless, quiet sobbing, she continued. “The doom bombs are all over my house and yard,” she said hoarsely. “They’re everywhere. I can’t leave my house, Dr. Brown! They’re going to make me get cancer or killed by some criminal or something! I wanted to come to the appointment, but I’m afraid to leave my house!” There was one great gulping sob, then she continued. “I can’t even go in my garden,” she said, her voice sounding hopeless.
“Emily,” he said soothingly, “it’s okay for you to miss the appointment. If you don’t feel comfortable leaving your house right now, let’s just put it off to next week.”
“But what if they’re still there?!” She was almost shouting at this point.
“Okay, okay,” he said, “just take some more deep breaths for me... There we go. Now let’s make a plan. What if... what if I came to you?”
“NO!” she shouted. “If you come here, the doom bombs will stick to you! You have to stay away, Dr. Brown; I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because you were trying to help me!”
“Okay,” he said, using the calm and soothing voice again. “Do you have any ideas? Because the thought of you being stuck in your house... I mean, let’s not add agoraphobia to the list here. Come on Emily, let’s think. What can you do? What can I do?”
Dr. Brown listened to Emily breathing for a moment. As he listened, her breathing began to slow and become less panicked. Good, he thought. She’s using her problem-solving brain, and that’s helping her calm down.
“I guess...” she said haltingly, “I mean, I suppose I could maybe wear a raincoat and gloves if I need to go out, and then put those in a trash bag once I get home. If I go out with no exposed skin, then take off that clothing and bag it, maybe dispose of it... Sheila and Mr. Fluffybutt will tell me if I bring any inside.”
“Okay,” he said, a little disappointed that the solution to the problem still involved delusional thinking but relieved that her panic was subsiding. “Why don’t you try that plan for now, and maybe by next week you can manage to get to your appointment. If not, Emily, I will put on a raincoat and gloves and a ski mask if necessary, and I’ll come to you.”
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by A. M. Johnson
