Sean was asked one question: Have you or anyone in your family ever suffered from any mental illness? Sean answered no. He had never been diagnosed or treated for his anxiety and had spent most of his life believing it was just “who he was.” Until he came to see me.
I am angry. There is no use continuing the story without making this additional confession. I am angry that Sean Logan suffered for nine months before he was sent to me. I am angry that Jenny Kramer was given the treatment and that I was not employed to observe her in the months that followed. Surely the Kramers would have sought my help sooner had they known that right here in their little town a doctor was treating a man who had been given the same drugs and suffered as a result. What might have come to pass? I will tell you what. Jenny Kramer would have studied math instead of techniques for ending her life. She would not have taken a blade to her soft pink flesh and cut into her skin and then deeper into her veins until her blood spilled onto the floor.
Looking back on the months between the rape and the suicide attempt, it all makes sense to me now. Everyone in Fairview knew about the attack. But the use of the treatment to make her forget was not widely known. It was certainly not known to me. And yet, when I saw her around our town, the same way I had before, at the movie theater or the ice cream shop, I was surprised by her demeanor. Not that there is one way a rape victim should behave. I have treated victims of trauma for most of my career. I suppose it is odd, my work with the criminals in Somers and my work with victims of the same crimes they have committed—rape, murder, assault, domestic abuse. It makes perfect sense to me. Most of the men in Somers were victims before they were criminals. You would be surprised at how many people have been victims of trauma. Most of them (unless they have become criminals) seek help years later, when they have stopped moving and settled down into a family life. It is then, while they sit at their desks or drive their children to school, that the pain resurfaces. My practice in Fairview is thriving. The line outside the metal door in Somers grows longer each week.
I cannot pinpoint what it was about Jenny that did not ring true. Is it enough to say for now that after all my years as a psychiatrist, I know it when I see it? And while I am confessing things, I will add to the list that it bothered me. Knowing something was not right but having no business to inquire—it was not easy to sit with this. I wanted to know why no one was treating her. I wanted to know why she did not behave the way I would have expected. I wanted to know why I could not see the rape in her eyes. Not knowing was causing me to question myself and my professional competency. As angry as I was with the local medical community when I learned the truth, I was admittedly relieved that my observations had been correct. And I was beyond eager to help.
Charlotte Kramer came to see me while Jenny was still in the hospital. Dr. Markovitz had refused to release her without a course of therapy in place—a therapist on board and a plan for her care. Charlotte did not resist. Whatever responsibility any of us, including Tom and Jenny, might ascribe to her for Jenny’s suicide attempt, Charlotte took it on tenfold. Soaked in her daughter’s blood, she spoke to Detective Parsons about how she found her daughter. And while she managed to cover her tracks with regard to Bob Sullivan, I believe she was sincere about her feelings of remorse.