All of Us. A. F. Carter

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      “But you do know what happened, even if you can’t remember?”

      “Yes, Doctor, I do know. And I’m reminded every time I step out of the shower and count the scars on my body.”

      “The physical abuse.” His tone is eager and he’s leaning forward. “Victoria was very forthcoming about the physical abuse, but the other part, the sexual abuse … like you, she claimed to be totally unfamiliar with that phase of Carolyn Grand’s life.”

      “Like I already said, Victoria and I were born on the same day, a week after Carolyn’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

      Halberstam waves me off. His features are relaxed now, relaxed and confident. “Your father made movies, Martha, made them and sold them, movies that still circulate among pedophiles. You’ve seen these movies, so your childhood cannot be as remote as you make it out to be.”

      Fifteen years ago, one of our therapists, Dequan Cho, decided that it was time that we confronted our past. We’d been running away for years, he explained, and look where we ended up. Our desperate attempt to escape a past that couldn’t be escaped had left us at the mercy of psychological forces we’d never vanquish. Not unless we confronted that past, unless we acknowledged the damage done to us. How? By reviewing some of the movies made by our father.

      Cho had a combative personality. Fight, fight, fight. He’d grown up a privileged child in Riverdale and didn’t have a clue about the effect of that footage on poor Tina. Tina had been the star of those movies. Coerced into them by her father, Hank Grand, a malignant narcissist who loved to hurt the people closest to him. And nobody was closer than his daughter.

      Unfortunately, Cho’s suggestion wasn’t a suggestion. We were guests of the state, restricted to a locked ward at Creedmoor Psychiatric Center after a now-banished identity took a nap on the Long Island Expressway. Life was crazy then. Identities came and went so fast it was like flipping through a deck of cards. Victoria and I weren’t around at that time, only Kirk, the oldest of us. He wanted out of Creedmoor—desperately, desperately, desperately, as Serena would say—and so he and the others agreed to watch.

      Cho played the movies, maybe a dozen in all, for many hours over the next ten days. And I have to suppose our cooperation made a difference because Cho released us a few months later. Kirk and the rest were euphoric—free at last—and they might have remained euphoric if Tina hadn’t made her first attempt at suicide a week later. It took a day and a half to clean up the blood.

      “The movies were unbearable, Doctor. But that’s only what was told to me by Kirk. The rest of us, except for Tina, had yet to be born.”

      Halberstam spun a pen on his desk for a moment, the flick of his fingers so precise the pen described a perfect circle. I watched his tongue swish over his lips, but when he looked at me again, I saw only indifference in his gaze.

      “Let’s talk for a moment about the incident that preceded your confinement at Kings County Hospital. One of your identities, I believe her name is Eleni, made an obscene proposal to a stranger. Do you think she meant to follow through? If the man agreed?”

      Victoria’s as outraged as I am. I know Eleni considers me a prude, but that’s not remotely true. If she’d only be discreet. If she’d stop coming home with STDs, stop using whatever drug her partners chose to share, she could indulge her perverted desires from night until morning. There’s no moral issue here, not as far as I’m concerned.

      I have a response to Halberstam’s question prepared, just not the one Victoria and I agreed on. “You have a computer on your desk, Doctor. Do a Google search for ‘swinger clubs in NYC.’ You’ll find page after page, club after club, many open to couples only. And if you search a little more, you’ll find agencies dedicated to making your deviant sexual fantasies come true. Just tell ’em what you want and they’ll arrange it. Craigslist, as well. Anything you want. Now, tell me, how many of the men and women who took advantage of the ads were threatened with involuntary commitment as a result?”

      Halberstam only smiles. “The incident that brought Eleni to the attention of the police didn’t take place inside a club and it wasn’t arranged by an agency. It happened on a public street, stranger to stranger. The inherent risk is obvious.”

      “Really?” I’m going too fast now, but I can’t stop thinking about all those construction workers who make sucking noises when an attractive woman passes by. “How many young men and women do you think visited the bars and clubs in Manhattan last Saturday? How many sought casual sex? How many went home with a stranger? They call them hookups, Doctor, and they happen thousands of times every weekend. But nobody goes to jail because they want to get laid. Except us.”

      “Kings County Hospital is not a jail. It’s an ordinary hospital with a short-term psychiatric facility. In addition, you haven’t been charged with a crime and you won’t be. In fact, I’ll probably recommend that your therapy continue long enough for me to fully understand your situation and formulate a course of treatment. I hope things go well, of course.”

      Halberstam smiles at that moment, perhaps expecting me to express my eternal gratitude despite the implied threat. That won’t happen because life under Halberstam’s thumb will include the fear, more or less constant, that we can still be committed. That it’s up to him.

      “That works for us,” I say.

      “Excellent. Now, you were late today, and I understand why. But I can’t have you perpetually late or skipping sessions altogether. And I must become acquainted with each of your identities, including Eleni and”—he glances at his notes—“and Tina, the young one. You’ve said that individual identities can’t be ordered to appear and I believe you. But I’m hoping you can work on it.”

      “We’ll do what we can, Victoria and I.”

      “Excellent.” Halberstam looks down at his watch. “Well, we got a late start and our session is at an end. But there is one other thing and I’m going to put the matter bluntly. I only found out this morning, but your father will be paroled in less than a week.”

      I can’t process the information at first, and I stammer, “What, what, what?”

      “You were ten years old when Henry Grand was sentenced to thirty years in prison for what he did to you and many others. He’s now served twenty-seven. I don’t have any details, not yet, but he obviously convinced a parole board that he no longer poses a significant threat to the community. In any event, there’s nothing you or I can do except deal with it in the course of your therapy.” He gestures at the door. “I’ll reach out to the parole board for more details tomorrow morning. More than likely, some kind of restraining order will be issued. Now, if you’ll be so kind.”

      As the door closes behind me, I hear Eleni’s voice in my ear. “Thanks,” she says, “for standin’ up for me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

       KIRK

      I roll out of bed at three o’clock, in sole possession of the body, everyone else asleep. Yea, team. I yank on my usual costume, gray sweats, top and bottom, and a navy watch cap to cover my too-long hair. Then I’m out the door.

      I don’t get much time with the body and tonight I need to make the most of it. That’s because I’m convinced that Halberstam is more than an asshole therapist. The scumbag’s running a game and I can’t see us sitting СКАЧАТЬ