Festering Wound

By Don Higgins

Dear Uncle Jack, I've made a commitment to probe Dr.  Lawson's heinous world of rape and murder at the BMC. I'm hoping to attain hard evidence which will connect Lawson to a  conspiracy to make America a theocracy. I must be careful. If Lawson finds out I'm probing into his heinous world of rape and murder, I wouldn't put it past him to have me killed. If something should happen to me, let this letter speak for me at a congressional hearing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597051569

Book preview

One

Monday. January 4. 11 a.m. Alhambra.

A mental health clinic.

The therapist noticed the young man when he’d walked into the office. A fine specimen of the human male species , she decided in a moment of reflection. Except for his slight build and slumped shoulders. An attractive manly face with deep-set blue eyes and a head of thick blond hair. Looking younger than his thirty years, she watched him sit down; a movement in slow-motion like a cautious child, she thought. He crossed his legs, then clasped his hands together. She glanced at the data sheet.

NAME: JASON C. FARRELL

AGE: 30

MARITAL STATUS: Divorced

OCCUPATION: Presently Human Factors Engineer. Therapist

I see from your data sheet, you are a human factors engineer; and a clinician?

Yes...no. Well, I spent a year at a mental health clinic after receiving my Ph.D., but I’m currently employed as an engineer. He lowered his eyes briefly, then a clearing of the throat indicated discomfort of the subject. He continued. I work in the production department of an equipment manufacturer. Time and motion studies and some human factors research.

Ergonomics.

Yes.

From clinician to human equipment designer, that’s a notable change.

Jason’s full smile revealed a dimple in his left cheek. Yes, I know. His hand brushed the side of his head, then he massaged the back of his neck. That’s part of the reason I’m here. I’m not happy in my present job and I want to return to therapy. My desire is to work with children.

And.

I have this problem expressing emotion. It seems I’m always on guard of what I might say, fearing it will offend someone.

Someone in particular or anyone?

Well, I think this monkey on my back originated when I was a child. My father was a devout Presbyterian. He thought anger was a sin, direct from the devil. And my mother would tell me not to get upset, that it wasn’t becoming. Her favorite saying was, ‘No one will like you, if you show a repugnant face.’

Were you mad all the time?

Jason looked up, surprised by the question. I don’t think so.

Then, in your mind, your childhood was free of anger-producing incidents, nothing traumatic happened?

One catastrophe. I remember it well. I made a vow to myself then—never to harm anyone again with belligerent words or action. He rubbed his forehead. I’m sure it has everything to do with my present fear. I was eleven. My father bought me a puppy, a cuddly cocker spaniel. I fell in love with Buddy. About six months later a fire broke out in our house. My parents and I got out, but Buddy was still in there. I pleaded with my father to let me get him, but he said it was too dangerous. I got mad, tore away from him and started to run into the house. He grabbed me. I screamed at him, ‘Let me go! I hate you! I hate you!’ I can still see myself yelling at him. He told my mother to hold me, and he went into the house to get the puppy. He never came out. Jason pressed his lips together, trying to hold back the moisture that formed in his eyes. My father died because I couldn’t control my anger.

The therapist handed Jason a box of Kleenex.

I’m okay. Thanks.

By shouting at your father to let you go, you believe you caused his death?

Of course. He wouldn’t have gone inside the house if I hadn’t provoked him. I remember the entire structure was aflame. I don’t know why I thought he could survive going in there... Jason gazed into his lap. But Dad was fearless. I admired him so much. He treated me like a prince, called me JC. My middle name is Charles. I was an only child. He was my protector.

Is this the first time you’ve seen someone about the tragedy?

No. Over the years I’ve spent many hours retelling it, reliving the experience, but I haven’t been able to release it.

Jason, look me in the eyes. Momentarily, Jason’s head turned, his eyes lifted in line with the therapist. She asked, Why are you harboring these feelings? Why do you think you can’t let go?

He nodded. After all these years, right. Jason sighed. I guess I’m holding onto something for a reason.

The therapist wrote in her notepad, then leaned back into her chair. When we have experienced a trauma, either physically or emotionally, our memories of such experiences often continue long after any physical damage has healed. We tend to remember painful experiences because our brains are wired to do so. Our survival instinct mandates that we remember and avoid the things that are dangerous to us. But we can heal traumatic memories by consciously and intentionally remembering them and by gradually changing our reactions and our perspective with each memory. Sometimes this change can happen in a sudden revelation, but most often, it takes time. But we must want it to happen.

I do.

How long were you married?

Eighteen months. Jason sighed. It was a whirlwind romance. At the time I didn’t know what I wanted. I suppose it was someone to lean on. My father’s death haunted me constantly. I went to a therapist, which helped for a while. Then I went back to school and dove into a doctorial program in clinical psychology. Attending classes during the day and working full time at nights aborted my therapy sessions. And there wasn’t much time for marriage. She, Annette, filed for divorce, claiming irreconcilable differences. I guess we both agreed it was for the best. I suspect the real reason she left was because of my attitude of peace at any cost because of the turmoil in my mind of my father’s death. Looking away, he rubbed his forehead. I think I know what my problem is, but so far, I haven’t been able to resolve the guilt. He opened his arms in a gesture of recognition. I need help.

Okay. Jason, we’ll work together on the issues. First up, let’s get rid of the guilt. I think the therapy calls for a mixture of behavioral modification and psychoanalysis. She opened a drawer and pulled out a single piece of paper. Here’s a list of questions I’d like you to answer concerning your life as you remember it at the time of your father’s death. Bring it back with you at our next session. We’ll re-establish reality in your mind about the accident and explore your feelings in depth. Handing him the paper, she continued. I noticed a slight hesitancy when you mentioned returning to therapy as a therapist. Is there another reason besides your childhood experience that bothers you about working with clients?

I’m a procrastinator. I seem to take forever in making decisions. And I do have a feeling of inadequacy.

She noticed him crossing one leg over the other, then immediately reversing the position.

I’m uncertain if I can be of help to children.

Hmmm, two issues which may or may not be connected. Tell me, which of the two is stronger in your mind, procrastination or a feeling of inadequacy?

She could see he was having difficulty answering the question promptly.

I don’t know, he said, shaking his head.

She peered into his eyes, nodding, then made a few notes. Glancing at her watch, she rose to a standing position Jason, we’ll probe your procrastination and feelings of inadequacy at our next meeting. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you. We’ll start off with weekly sessions. Make an appointment with my secretary.

Okay. And thank you for seeing me. Sorry about my poor showing as a therapist, I mean, that I need to see one after all my schooling. I’ll work on that list you gave me, he said, looking up at her, but didn’t make a motion to move.

She got up and extended her hand. Well, if there’s nothing else... She paused, waiting until he rose. After shaking his head, she said, I’ll see you soon. Have a good day.

He felt a little better talking with the therapist, but still, in the back of his mind, he wondered if he would carry the burden the rest of his life.

After exiting the building, Jason hurried toward his SUV, still thinking of the traumatic event when he was eleven. On the way past a hedge he felt a chilly wind on his neck. Stumbling into the hedge, he fell, but caught himself before landing on his hands and one knee on the walkway. Immediately, a pain shot up his right leg. He grabbed his ankle and rubbed it gently. A passerby came to Jason’s aid offering help.

Are you all right? the tall man said, holding out his arms.

Jason lifted himself up, exercising his right foot. I’m okay, just twisted my ankle.

Are you sure? I tripped on something one time similar to what just happened to you and thought it was just a sprain, but by the time I got home, it was swollen and was forced to go to the doctor. Turned out to be a fractured bone.

Jason pulled up his pants leg and looked at the ankle, rotating it a number of times. The pain is going away. It’s okay, he said, extending his hand to the man. Thank you for your concern. My name is Jason Farrell.

Roy McFarland here, the man said, shaking Jason’s hand. Well, you know, what would this world be if we didn’t help our neighbors? His grin widened. That’s one of the great things I love about America—to move about freely helping one another, don’t you think so?

Jason nodded. Yes, I do. He enjoyed the stranger’s friendliness, and at the same time, he wanted to go home. I think often we take it for granted."

You are so right. Our freedom is not a given, McFarland said, frowning. To my way of thinking, changing the amendments of the Constitution is bordering on hypocrisy. I’m not for it, he said, taking a stance of resentment. Damn! Changing the first Amendment is akin to giving the government reign over our Bill of Rights. What the hell are they thinking?

Seeing the man’s posture tense up, the sensation of anxiety in the pit of Jason’s stomach called out for attention. The stranger’s opinion may have merit, but he didn’t want to get into an argument. Let peace begin with me, he reminded himself. Smiling, he shook the man’s hand hurriedly, then made a motion to leave. I’m sorry, I can’t debate the subject with you now, I’m late for an appointment. Have a good day, sir. Jason walked quickly to his car. Once inside the late model Dodge Nitro, he fired up the engine, turned on the radio to his favorite jazz station and drove toward his apartment. Stopped at a signal light he watched a man strut across the street, arms swinging wide. Jason, stop worrying about what other will think. You need to be more aggressive. Easier said than done.

Two

Monday. January 4. 1 p.m. Monrovia

Jason’s apartment.

L ee! Jason called out, as he entered his apartment. He turned on the TV on his way to the kitchen, poured milk into a bowl, and placed it on the floor. A black and white kitten, tail in the air, bounded across the tile. She licked at the milk as though it might be the last drink of her life, Jason thought. He’d named her Swimmer having rescued the feline from a flooded storm drain during a severe downpour. He reached down and stroked Swimmer gently. The kitten looked up at him, which brought a smile to his face.

Hearing the newscaster on TV, he made a quick trip to his roommate’s room and knocked on the door. Lee! Senator Thompson is on. Do you still want to see it?

With no answer, Jason returned to the kitchen and fixed himself a piece of toast heaped with peanut butter, then walked into the living room, his eyes focused intently on the screen.

As soon as he sat down on the sofa, Lee Wong stumbled into the living room rubbing his eyes and yawning. Still in his boxer shorts, the short, muscular Chinaman sat down beside Jason. Thanks for the wake-up. I need to see this for one of my classes at the college.

The screen illuminated Arcadia’s city hall, where a large group of people surrounded the small gathering of dignitaries in front of the main entrance. A bevy of reporters fronted the group. A newscaster thrust a microphone into the congressman’s face. Senator Thompson, I know you have an interest in the Sanders’ case, since it addresses the new 28th Amendment to the Constitution. Sir, what do you think of the court’s decision?

Well, I’m pleased. The tall man beamed a smile and stuck a fist in the air. The intent of the 28th Amendment remains a sound idea. The court has given a thumbs up decision with only two opposing opinions. Ethical instruction in the public school system of this great state of yours will continue, regardless of those uninformed individuals, who mistakenly desire to see it abolished.

What was it that you believed swayed the court’s decision in favor of the ruling?

No violation of the law, that’s the bottom line. The local school in question doesn’t establish religious training, it provides ethical instruction. As long as God isn’t mentioned in any of the language, it’s not deemed religious. The majority opinion wrote that the language in the curriculum doesn’t violate the intent of the amendment because of the difference between religious and ethical instruction. Their argument that religion is faith-based, while ethics is pragmatic carried the majority decision. Five out of seven justices agreed. To me that’s clearly a plurality.

In effect, the repeal of the First Amendment was replaced by the new 28th Amendment. The reporter smiled. Senator, with the added phrase to the new amendment, ‘except in times of national emergency,’ there are those who strongly believe it allows a loop hole in the law that would endanger our freedoms. Would you care to comment?

Let me refresh everyone’s memory of the exact words of the 28th Amendment.

The middle-aged politician pulled a notepad from his suit coat pocket and began reading aloud. Let me refresh everyone’s memory of the First Amendment article. Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. Now, I’ll read the new 28th Amendment. Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, except ethics instruction in the public schools shall be permitted. The freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances shall not be denied or abridged, except in times of national emergency. The senator held up his hands. You see, very little change. Senator Thompson raised his head, glancing around the gathering with an expression of arrogant confidence. "Bottom line—the 28th Amendment is a necessary step in our war against terrorism and immorality."

Terrorism? The reporter looked shocked. Senator, my idea of terrorism is killers blowing people up.

But all violence comes from bad thoughts, immoral thinking, Senator Thompson answered with aplomb. The goal of ethics instruction is to eliminate the bad thoughts, the immoral thoughts, before they germinate into action. You can’t predict, but you can prepare. That’s one of our slogans in the Redemption Party. There was a moment of silence, then the senator continued. The last phrase of the 28th Amendment, ‘except in times of national emergency.’ is our safety net. We all remember the tragedy of September 11, 2001. Response time is essential when faced with an emergency.

And the war against immorality is an emergency?

My friend, the stats that were made public last year revealed what we all knew—a flood of home invasion robberies, a substantial increase in school shootings, rapes and robberies across the land are endemic to a decadent society. We, of the Redemption Party believe that an immoral thought put into action can be as deadly as any extremist with a bomb. Immoral thinking is like an infectious SARS disease, spreading out among the multitudes, destroying everything in its path. Wouldn’t you agree?

The reporter shrugged his shoulders, and then said quickly, In the Sanders case wasn’t there some implication that the boy’s Fourth Amendment rights were violated? If I’m correct, the police involved in the case obtained information from his home without his permission.

The police said there was probable cause. The boy told the psychologist at the Behavior Modification Center that he had a gun in the house. There was every reason to believe the boy was telling the truth since he had made threatening gestures toward another student in school. In this situation, yes, the boy was arrested without a warrant, a violation of the search and seizure law, but there were extenuating circumstances.

Then, in your opinion, the 28th Amendment is here to stay?

Of course. It has the backing of the people. Ethics instruction is the only way to combat moral decay in America. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Teaching ethics in the public schools may not prevent every disaster, but it will go a long way toward that end. With an expanded chest, the senator raised both arms. America’s future is our children. They must be protected and taught right from wrong with a strong belief in God.

You mean a Christian God?

The senator nodded. Sir, that’s the only one there is. His smile expanded. Only then can they grow up to be responsible, productive citizens in this great country of ours.

Thank-you, Senator Thompson. Looking directly at the camera, he added, Well, you heard it first here on MSNBC. The state‘s highest court has affirmed that there was no violation of the 28th Amendment in the Sanders case. An in-depth report will be presented this evening at the eleven o’clock news.

I knew it would be affirmed. Lee Wong raised his fist in the air in a gesture of approval.

Jason turned off the TV. Do you think it was a prudent decision?

A majority opinion, five to two. What are you talking about?

The police went in the boy’s house without a warrant.

As the congressman said, they had probable cause. Are you saying they shouldn’t have gone into the house?

Jason shrugged his shoulders. I don’t know. I’d like to know more about the details, especially the privacy issue. I think this is still a nation that believes in the Fourth Amendment against unreasonable search and seizure.

Oh yeah! Lee sneered at Jason. Privacy means so much when someone’s breaking into your home firing an automatic weapon. He cocked his head. I’ll take stopping violence over privacy any day.

Jason’s tone of voice was almost an apology, But do we know all the facts of the case?

You’re too slow to judge, old man. Lee’s smile widened. You’ve hit that 30 mark, over the hill now. Hey, get rid of those gears so you can make a digital decision.

Jason took the position of a boxer, fists stuck out in front of him, ducking his head. A grin emerged. Watch it!

I’m not afraid. Your boxing career was...what...12 years ago?

I haven’t forgotten how to plant a haymaker, he replied, grinning.

You wouldn’t hit me. You’re a peacemaker. Lee held up his hands in surrender. Okay, so you’re not ready for the rocking chair yet.

Jason finished chewing on his toast, thinking. Lee was right about his slowness to respond, his inability to make a decision was another flaw in his personality that he was aware of only too well. Jason forced a smile. But I can promise you a quick decision if I’m offered a job today.

That’s right, you have an interview.

In two hours. Jason glanced at the wall clock. Wish me luck. He finished drinking his soda. A shave and shower, suit up with tie. I’ve got to look my best. This is the position I really want. I think I’ve made the right decision. I just hope I have the experience they need.

So, you’re going to be counseling children?

I hope so. I’m not exactly sure in what capacity. The Behavioral Modification Center, which handles school discipline problems, is part of the ethics instruction program. It’s my second interview with the president of the BMC, Dr. Robert Lawson, a psychiatrist. Jason raised a thumb in the air, an attempt to show his confidence. It’s in the bag, right?

Hey, Jason, with that positive attitude, you’ve got no problem. Don’t take all day fussing with your hair, old man!

Jason took his time in the shower, lathering up, scrubbing down, with a little off-key singing. In his room, he laid out a few garments for consideration, then selected a new blue suit with a striped white shirt. He thought the ensemble looked business-like. He took a little extra time in front of the mirror parting his hair on the left side. Combing through the thick mane reminded him of Lee’s remark. Perhaps he did spend an excessive amount of time on his grooming, but he wasn’t one to rush through life as Lee Wong was inclined to do. That was the perception he had of the twenty-one-year old, always in a hurry, quick to make judgments.

He and Lee had their differences, and he accepted that fact, still, he was grateful to have a roommate for the past year in their combined effort to save on living expenses. Things were looking up with the completion of Lee’s degree at the local university, now only months away, and himself, the job of his dreams counseling children. Conscience, you’ve got your hands on the steering wheel of a new direction in your life. He held up a palm in front of the mirror to check his ego. Providing you get the job, he said in a tone of concern. Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, old man.

Three

Monday. January 4. 3:30 p.m. Arcadia.

Behavioral Modification Center.

It was a short ride by freeway to his job interview at the BMC. Jason pulled into the complex, six stories high, which looked like a warehouse with its gray exterior and opaque windows. A block wall surrounded the acre of land. An imposing structure, it was one of the largest buildings in Arcadia. Built in just nine months, he’d heard its purpose was to provide therapeutic services to students enrolled in the government’s new ethics instruction program. Looking around at the massive grounds, he felt insignificant.

Jason parked in the underground garage. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes early. He waited in the car another ten minutes. He checked his watch again, then got out, took a deep breath, and marched with feigned confidence toward the administrative offices, but he couldn’t deny the tingling in his arms—fear.

After giving his name to the receptionist and an access badge pinned to his coat, another lady escorted Jason to the third floor and left him in front of a cubicle adjacent to an office. A petite lady rose, dressed in a business suit, her hair in a bun, and without smiling, she said, my name is Mia Chang. She wrote his name on a notepad and disappeared through two large mahogany doors, then returned shortly. Dr. Lawson will see you now. She led him into a large room and offered him a chair at a conference table. A middle-aged man with a goatee, wearing a suit with a bow tie, who he assumed to be Dr. Lawson, was on the phone at a huge desk. A younger man about thirty, who he’d spoken to before at an earlier interview, sat next to the desk with a pen in hand, waiting. As soon as Lawson got off the phone, both men moved quickly to the conference table and sat down across from Jason. Lawson glanced at the resume in his hand. You’re Farrell, is that correct?

Yes. Jason Farrell.

Lawson didn’t smile or show any acknowledgment. Moran held out his hand. Hi, Jason! Good to see you again. This is Dr. Robert Lawson. Jason shook Moran’s hand and was about to extend it to Lawson, when the psychiatrist’s abrupt statement left him a little bewildered.

We can dispense with the salutations; I’ve got a busy schedule. Lawson’s friendliness left a lot to be desired, Jason thought. The thick, bushy eyebrows appeared as though pasted on the round face, he noted. Green eyes that squinted through half-closed eyelids suggested a man who trusted no one. You don’t have a lot of clinical experience, Lawson said. And your last year has been in industrial psychology. Human Factors Engineering?

Yes, sir. I have a BS degree in Electrical Engineering.

Why the change?

Jason blinked a few times before speaking. I’m working on a personal problem, and I thought it best to separate myself from counseling activity until I straightened things out. I’m in therapy now and feel confident that I have it under control. It was a partial truth. He had just begun to understand the confusion in his mind, and the fear in his heart. He watched Lawson’s hand move up to his shirt pocket. The hand stayed there as though poised for action, then the removal of a notepad completed the movement. Jason added, Sir, it won’t affect my work here at the BMC.

Is this personal problem alcohol or drug related?

No.

I see you’ve been schooled in psychoanalysis.

Yes, sir. Jason put a hand to the back of his neck, an unconscious reaction to his low self-esteem. He realized the gesture and took it away quickly.

Lawson tapped a pen on his desk a number of times, and then grunted. Even though traditional psychotherapy is helpful in certain limited situations, it’s not based on verifiable results. I know you’re aware of this, but it’s worth repeating. In a humanistic approach, problem behavior isn’t examined as important subject matter in and of itself, but thought of as an indication of some underlying disorder. The plump man squinted at Jason. Often referred to as a neurosis. Lawson’s bushy eyebrows raised purposely, clearly a snub at the discipline. Lawson continued, Thus, the patient’s neurosis, a guess at best, is treated rather than the patient’s behavior.

Lawson looked at the resume then nodded as though verifying his own opinion. He leaned toward Moran and pointed to a section on the application. I am pleased that you have engineering experience. I assume you’ve worked on equipment design for human use; time and motion study, training, that sort of thing, including math analysis.

Yes, sir, all of the above. At Sayers Equipment Company, I performed calculations to determine electrical loads for military equipment, part of the Army’s human factors program.

Lawson nodded again. I can use your engineering talents in our medical facility. I have a need for someone with analytic skills. One of my researchers, Dr. Meese, a medical doctor, won’t be back to work for a while.

Jason held his briefcase tightly. Am I a replacement?

No. Lawson leaned forward. This special project—we call it the DNA/Emotion Project—won’t affect your work at the treatment center. You’ll be given the latest figures, including Meese’s notes. We have computer programs for randomized distribution, discrete and continuous probability and matrix statistics. You can perform the math analysis at your home. Of course, you can expect compensation in return for your services.

Jason glanced at Moran, then back to Lawson. May I ask the nature of this special project?

The control of emotions in the human species, Lawson said, frowning, I’m working on two approaches—one; by manipulating DNA, the long endeavor; and the other is locating ecstasy, fear, rage, etc. in the frontal cortex, then controlling these and other emotions with drugs. Lawson tapped his fingers on the table during a pause. Or physically changing the neural structure.

Jason glanced at Moran then back to Lawson. Lobotomy?

Lawson shook his head. A form of stereotaxic biopsy in which computer guidance allows a probe to reach almost any area of the brain through a small hole in the skull.

Dr. Meese is a brain specialist, Moran said. He has a state-of-the-art lab set up in the Med Unit, but the facility is off limits to most personnel, including you, Jason. I’m sure you can understand the need for secrecy.

I do. How long will Dr. Meese be gone?

A few months. He’ll need physical therapy. Moran frowned. Meese was in an auto accident. A drunken driver. Crossed the double line, smashed into the driver’s side of Meese’s car. Fortunately, he wasn’t injured severely, only broken bones.

The drunk tried to flee the accident, but he was caught! exclaimed Lawson. I hope the judge gives him the maximum penalty. Punishment is the only thing the miscreant understands!

Jason reeled back, surprised by the psychiatrist’s sudden outburst of emotion. He wondered if the esteemed psychiatrist had a vendetta against drunk drivers.

Lawson cleared his throat, stroked his goatee, then looked at Jason. Would you be able to work on this special project of mine a few hours each week?

Jason hesitated. If I’m needed, I’ll do what I can. But my desire is counseling children.

Good. The math analysis won’t interfere with your main duties as a therapist. Concerning the treatment center, what experience do you have working with children?

About a year, one on one counseling, and role-playing sessions with families.

Lawson scrutinized the resume. I see your dissertation was on moral reasoning. Interesting. Are you a moralist?

No, sir. Comparing empathy to moral dilemmas was given to me... I should say it was highly recommended by the faculty for my research project.

What did you discover?

"Based on a sample size of 64 high school students, female