'You said!' Clyde bellowed. 'You said you'd help me!'
'I'm trying to,' David said.
Clyde's frantic eyes flickered to Dash. 'Get him away.'
'Dr. Nwankwa is here to help y-'
'Get him away!'
Dash took another calm step back and sat down in a chair against the far wall. Clyde stopped thrashing and lay flat on the gurney, his chest heaving.
'Don't let him near me,' Clyde said. He tucked his chin to his chest, hunching his shoulders, his eyes turned to the wall.
'I won't come near you,' Dash said softly. 'I'm just going to sit right here.'
Clyde flopped over, his eyes darting to David and then quickly away. 'Where were you? You went away. You said you would help me, but you didn't. Why is he still here? Have him go away. You said he would-'
'Dr. Nwankwa is here to try to help you. There are just a few-'
With renewed strength, Clyde thrust his torso at the ceiling, his arms bent back like wings. 'Don't let him near me!' Veins stood out on his neck as he let forth a forceful, lengthy scream. His entire body strained. David waited for him to stop to catch his breath, but he only sucked in air and screamed again. His eyes were scrunched shut; his face was turning red.
Dash rose and stepped forward, touching David on the shoulder. He had to put his mouth to David's ear for David to hear him over Clyde's continuous, wavering scream. 'I don't think we'll make much headway now.' He tilted his head, indicating the door, and David followed him out. The officers outside regarded them with raised eyebrows.
Dash and David walked silently down the hall and into the empty doctors' lounge. David closed the door behind them. Dash sat heavily on one of the couches, resting his hands on his knees, and David took a seat opposite him.
David said, 'Maybe he's got an aversion to psychiatrists.'
'Or to black people,' Dash said. 'I got that reaction in a Denny's once.'
David laughed. 'Maybe it is race-based. But if we assume he's venting some hostility toward the hospital or its employees with his attacks, it's also relevant to see which staff members agitate him the most. He was largely cooperative with the ER staff-the first real fear and anger I've seen from him was directed toward you.'
Dash pushed his fingertips together, musing. 'He's too agitated right now for me to push him. It's unfortunate we don't have the luxury-or the opportunity-to wait for him to settle a bit so I can attempt a prolonged interview or formal assessment.'
'Any guesses?'
'Obviously, I can't glean much from that little exchange, on top of which the environment is less than conducive to interpreting his behavior, but I'll throw around a few hypotheses if you promise not to quote me.' Dash settled back on the couch. 'Deterioration of hygiene could indicate depression or schizophrenia, and means he's probably not well assimilated into a peer environment. Low-set ears might be a red flag for developmental problems or might not-at some point, one might check for spacing between his first and second toes. He seems to be fixated on you.'
'Why do you think that is?'
'Maybe in light of what happened this morning, he views you as a savior.'
'I barely interacted with him.'
'Yes, but for all we know, you're the first person in his life to show him kindness in the face of opposition.' Dash swept a stray dreadlock off his forehead. 'He appears to be terrified of eye contact-he looks away almost constantly. That could be linked to insecurity resulting from his general unattractiveness-that he's afraid to be seen-but I think it's a bit more complex. I'm thinking his fear is linked to the nature of the crimes.'
'How so?'
'He attacks women's faces. Their eyes.' Dash smiled. 'What do staring eyes represent?'
Despite the fact that Dash was nearly ten years David's junior, David didn't mind being treated like a resident. 'Intense intimacy, usually hostility,' David answered.
'Why hostility?'
'Because staring eyes presage an attack?'
Dash shook his head, dreadlocks swaying. 'No. Because for those with low self-esteem, for those who are painfully insecure, staring eyes are the wellspring of shame. Think about it-Delilah blinding Samson, Oedipus putting out his eyes, Adam and Eve hiding themselves beneath fig leaves-all these acts took place after the real harm had already occurred. They are a reaction to the awful act, not the awful act itself. When we dream of shame, we're naked before others, caught with our pants down. A person who feels shame wants to turn away the eyes of the world, so they can't see his exposure, his vulnerability.'
'Magical thinking. If you can destroy the eyes of those who look upon you, you can destroy shame. And your feelings of vulnerability and exposure.'
'An oversimplification, of course, but yes.' Dash shifted, and the couch creaked and groaned. 'Clyde throws alkali in women's faces. It destroys their eyes so they can't shame him, destroys their beauty so they can't appear superior to him, destroys their mouths so they can't say bad things about him or laugh at him. The most efficacious way to keep someone from laughing at you is to make her weep.'
'Well, he's certainly succeeded at that,' David said.
'Yes. I'd guess that inflicting fear is one of his primary motivations. Replacing his own fear with that of someone else.'
'I suppose it explains what seem to be motiveless crimes.'
The first notes of Dash's laugh startled David in his seat.
'I've been on the stand enough to know there's no such thing as a motiveless crime,' Dash said. 'All violence is an attempt to achieve justice. All violence stems from perceived self-defense. Most crimes are an attempt to replace shame with pride.' His smile gleamed white in his dark face. 'Violent crime and state-condoned punishment are remarkably similar when you think of it. They both aim to avenge injustices.'
'In Clyde's case, he must be avenging some injustice that has to do with the hospital. Or psychiatrists.'
Dash shrugged, dreadlocks swaying. 'Or nurses. His victims were two women in scrubs. He probably believes he attacked two nurses.'
'Do you think he's a psychopath?'
'I don't. Psychopaths are glib and superficial. He seems to have deeply felt emotions. Rapidly fluctuating emotions. He went from cooperative to scared to angry like a Porsche going zero to sixty. I wouldn't be surprised to find some guilty rumination, depression, internal conflict, chronic feelings of emptiness-you know the symptom cluster.'
David nodded. 'Differential diagnosis. Not Otherwise Specified.'
'NOS. The psychiatrist's crutch. Until I can get more out of him.'
'I'd like to turn him over to LAPD a bit more sorted out. He certainly won't be in the most sympathetic hands.'
'He seems to have some sort of bond with you. Maybe you should see if you can get him to open up. If you lead him to talk about the fear behind his crimes, rather than the crimes themselves, he might be more likely to talk. Zero in on his sense of injustice.'
David stood, squeezing his fist so his knuckles cracked. 'Well, I need to check in on him anyway. See if he's ready to ship out.' He rested a hand on Dash's massive shoulder on the way to the door. 'Thanks for the input.'
Dash drew himself to his feet and glanced down. 'Hey, David?'
One hand on the doorknob, David turned, an eyebrow raised quizzically. Looking at Dash's face, he could not locate the affability to which he had grown accustomed.
'Be careful.'
Chapter 25
