“Look, he’s beginning to breathe,” one of the aides said. And the others, like a Greek chorus, agreed. “Oh, yeah. He’s breathing again.”
Lucille continued rubbing the doll for a few more seconds, then handed it back to Margaret. “There you go, little guy. He was just in a deep sleep, but he’s fine now.”
The others cheered quietly, as through huge eyes Margaret reexamined the doll for a second. Then she kissed it on the head and pressed it to her chest as if nothing had happened.
“Very good,” Moy said. And he gave a thumbs-up sign to the nurse.
“Something about fighting fire with fire,” Nick whispered.
“We’ve had several dress rehearsals,” Lucille said.
Nick was about to tell Moy that Margaret had lost an infant child decades ago, when somebody shouted,
Louis Martinetti.
He had stepped out of his room in a bathrobe and pajamas. “Just a stupid doll, anyone can see that. She’s nuts. She does this five times a day. You can’t even get any sleep around here.” Then he shouted,
One of the aides went over to Louis in an effort to console him. “Oh, Louis, poor Louis, were you asleep?” Yolanda asked. “We’re sorry.”
“Goddamn loony bin in here,” Louis continued. “Take that thing away from her. She’s only going to do it again.”
Margaret scowled at Louis, clutching the doll to her chest, trying to block its eyes against the bad man.
“It makes her feel good,” Lucille explained.
“Thing’s made of rubber,” Louis said. Then to Margaret he yelled, “Rubber. It can’t be dead, right?”
Margaret began to whimper and sway with the doll clutched to her breast.
“Oh, forget it,” Louis said. “Just don’t get so damn noisy next time.” Then he rubbed his face in exasperation. “I want out of here,” and he glared at Nick. “I don’t belong here and you know that. I’m all better.”
He started back to his room when his eyes fell on the men with Nick. Instantly Louis froze. His eyes filled his glasses as he glowered at them. “Uh, uh, uh!” he muttered.
“Louis, what’s the problem?”
Suddenly he became very agitated, muttering to himself and cowering. “Louis, calm down. What’s wrong?” The nurse tried to take his arm but he yanked free, then began to chop at his forehead with his right hand.
“What the hell’s he doing?” Moy asked.
Louis looked possessed, standing there in a slight crouch with his eyes bulging while muttering nonsense syllables—“koppy choppy tu san ingee jop jop”—all the while chopping the side of his forehead.
“Louis, calm down,” Nick said. He tried to take his hand, but Louis jumped away. “Come on, Louis. Everything’s okay. Nothing to be afraid of.”
Louis glowered at them, and for a moment he looked as if he were about to attack. Then he seemed to realize something. “Buster,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” Nick replied. But Louis shook his head, then let out a howl and bolted back into his room, slamming the door.
“Louis! Louis!” Lucille called through the door. “What’s the matter? Everything’s okay.” She opened the door, but Louis shouted for her to leave the room.
“What’s his problem?” Moy asked.
Nick shook his head. “Something spooked him.”
“He was looking at us,” Jordan said.
“But who knows what he saw.” Nick moved to Louis’s door and tapped. “Louis, it’s Dr. Nick. May I come in?”
No answer.
“Louis, I think Margaret’s okay now, and you can take your nap. But you seem pretty upset. Maybe you can tell me what the problem is.” None of the patient rooms had locks, but instead of pushing his way in, Nick decided on giving Louis an option to open up and explain what had spooked him. Nick tapped again. “Louis, may I come in?”
Nothing.
Nick whispered to Lucille to get some meds, and he tapped once more. “Louis, I’m going to come in if that’s okay. Then we can talk about it.” He opened the door.
Louis’s single was empty. The windows were closed and still intact. The bed was flat. Nick opened the door to the toilet and pulled back the shower curtain. No Louis.
On the small bureau sat familiar photos of a younger Louis posed with other GIs in Korea. On the floor, probably tossed off when Louis got out of bed, were two CD cases,
“Louis, I know you’re here,” Nick said to the closed closet door. “There’s nothing to be upset about. Those gentlemen with me are my friends.” He tapped the door. “Louis, it’s Dr. Nick. I think it’s a good idea if you came out so we can talk about what’s bothering you.”
Nothing.
“Then I’m going to open the door.”
Nick opened the door. Louis was there all right, but he was crouched down among his slippers and shoes and a suitcase.
“Hi, Louis. It might be more comfortable if you came out into the room.”
Louis looked terrified. He mumbled something incoherent, but after a few moments Nick coaxed him into standing up.
But then Louis spotted Jordan, Moy, and the others behind Nick. His pupils dilated and he began to jabber nonsense syllables again, his voice rising in a ululating pitch. “I swear I don’t know nothing. Please.”
“I think it’s best if you waited outside,” Nick said to the others. Then to Louis, “It’s okay, Louis. Everything’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you. You can come out now.”
Jordan, Moy, and the rest began backing into the dayroom. But before they disappeared, Jordan looked back.
Louis Martinetti was standing in the closet dressed in army fatigues, combat boots, and fatigue cap. Although it was too small for him, his shirt was adorned with ribbons, a Bronze Star, and a Purple Heart. A set of metal dog tags hung around his neck. In his left hand he held a furled umbrella.
Louis muttered something to Nick.
“What did he say?” Moy asked.
“His name, rank, and serial number.”
53
“HE HAD A FLASHBACK.”
“A what?” asked Coleman.
Nick had filed several reports to GEM Tech scientists with cc’s to Gavin Moy about the seizures. But apparently Coleman had not been informed. “A flashback seizure,” Nick said after they had settled in the conference room. “It’s what I called you about. We have a problem.”
The nurses had given Louis Martinetti an injection of Haldol and put him back to bed. Nick put his hands on a stack of notebooks of cumulative data on the trials. “As we all know, the majority of test patients have experienced reversals of their pathology and are enjoying increased functionality and lucidity—a success level as defined by the company’s end-point objectives. But for some patients the turnaround works too well.”
Moy looked at him nonplussed. “What do you mean ‘too well’?”
“By stimulating the growth of new neuron formations in the hippocampus, memory functions are regained.”
“We know how it works,” Moy snapped.
“Of course, but over the last several weeks, we’ve noticed some disturbing side effects that we need to
