Knock it off! Okay?
“Look, sweetheart,” I say, “I’ve really got to cut this short. I have a lot of work to get done.”
“Of course,” she says, leaving so much unspoken between us. “We’ll see you tonight.”
28
I enter the consulting room and immediately observe that Donny Ray continues to show signs of improvement. His cheeks, though still a little pale, have gained significant color. Even more interesting is his shift in demeanor. He’s calm, lips leaning toward what could be an expectant smile, like he’s been waiting for me. His composure does nothing to abate my lingering discomfort over what happened on Alpha Twelve yesterday, but I have to push those feelings aside. I’ve got four days to complete my evaluation, and while Donny Ray may be strange, none of his strangeness adds up to a diagnosis—nor does it mean that he deserves a prison sentence or the death penalty.
I settle into the chair, bring up his case files on the consulting room computer, then an odd sound from above distracts me, as does a quick and vague movement off to my side. I glance to the left, then at the ceiling, but see nothing. I swing toward Donny Ray, but he seems more surprised by my jitteriness than anything else.
Was it nothing?
Concentrate, Chris.
I refocus on Donny Ray. Prepared to look at him more objectively, I observe as he now curiously—and rather leisurely—takes in his surroundings.
Today, his striking appearance is even more evident. While this, of course, has no direct bearing on whether he’s malingering, it’s still worth noting. Physical beauty can have interesting effects on the psyche, not to mention on those who fall—willingly or unwillingly—into its path.
I return to his files. A short while later, I look up and realize that he’s been observing me with interest. I stare back, and he quickly, perhaps even bashfully, averts his gaze.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask.
“How are you feeling today?” he replies.
“Fine, thanks,” I answer a little hesitantly. It wasn’t what he said, but, rather, how he said it. The inflection in his voice sounded like he was repeating my question instead of asking one himself.
I’m reading too much into it, I decide. After taking another look at his files, I roll my chair toward him until we are face-to-face.
“I’d like to continue,” I say, “with what we were discussing before.”
“Before,” he repeats.
“Yes. Going back to when you were a kid.”
“Going back.”
“Donny Ray,” I say, “are you having difficulty understanding me?”
He shakes his head. His expression appears innocuous, and yet . . .
“Can you give me just a minute?” I ask.
He nods.
I return to the computer and skim his case files. The automatic and repetitious vocalization pattern he’s exhibiting has overtones of what could be echolalia. Since the action can be the byproduct of a closed head injury, it’s worth examining. I didn’t pick up on this during our last session, but with the behavior very prominent now, I feel certain in identifying it. Did I miss something in the notes about this?
But after going through Dr. Philips’ file again, I find nothing to reference any sort of speech abnormalities. No differential diagnoses of autism, Tourette’s syndrome, epilepsy, or any other disorders that might also be culprits.
Strange.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, as if unaware that anything might be.
Not wanting to further influence his behavior until I get a better understanding of it, I smile and say, “No. Just checking on some information about your case.”
“Oh.” He smiles back.
I roll my chair toward him and continue. “I was thinking about your mention of feeling alone as a kid. I’m just wondering how your sister played into all this. Did you have a relationship with her?”
“I adored her,” he answers immediately.
I hear the statement but detect an odd glitch in his tone—not quite the level of detachment I witnessed while he spoke of having pets but something similar. Of course, since Miranda disappeared, and since his father was at one point the key suspect, Donny Ray could be blocking out tragic feelings about his sister.
“How close were the two of you?” I ask. “Can you tell me more about that?”
“More about that . . . ,” he repeats.
I elaborate. “You said you adored her. How did she feel about you?”
“I guess the same,” he says, and I notice his hand closing around the chair’s arm.
“You guess?”
“No, she did. We got along great.”
“So, did that connection between you help at all? With the loneliness?”
“In some ways, yeah. But she was so much younger than me, you know?”
“How about your father? What was your relationship like with him?”
“Okay . . .”
“Just okay?”
Donny Ray is silent for a moment, then says, “He worked a lot.”
“Meaning?”
“Just that he wasn’t around much.”
“And Miranda? How did she get along with him?”
“She was always his favorite,” he says through a laugh that sounds a little tight.
“Do you know why?”
Donny Ray shrugs and shakes his head with an indecipherable expression.
“Were you bothered by that at all? Your sister and father having a relationship that you didn’t?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck. His foot is bouncing. “It was what it was, I guess.”
“But you’d said you felt lonely as a kid, so why wouldn’t that bother you? I mean, it would be natural to feel some jealousy.”
He looks down at his feet and shuffles them back and forth along the tile. “Maybe it did, sometimes.”
“Can you tell me about specific times when it felt harder than others?”
“I’m not really sure if I can remember anything.”
With a raised brow, I wait him out.
“Well . . . there was this one thing,” he says a moment or two later. “They used to go off together a lot and leave me behind.”
“Where would they go?”
“I didn’t know.”