Killing Hour

‘You want to know where they put him?’ Gabby replied, her tone hardening. ‘You want to know where they threw my son, like some sack of garbage? In this unsupervised home in Morro Bay. Completely unrestricted. With a bunch of fucking old people. Alzheimer’s patients. Walking around like the living dead. Evan called me. He said, “Why did they put me in here? Why did they put me with all these old people, Mommy?”

‘The woman who’s in charge there said he went to take a walk. She just let him go. Waved him out the door. They don’t give a shit. They get their money. Evan was just a voucher to her. A check from the state. That’s all! They had him on so much medication. Seroquel. Two hundred milligrams. Two hundred milligrams is enough to drop an elephant, Jay. You know this stuff. You know what it does. It makes you act like a zombie. It takes away your will. She didn’t care, as long as she got paid. My son went to take a walk and never came back. This woman, Anna, she called us late that night. Two days ago. Evan was missing. Where is he, she asks. She said she thought maybe he came home to us. But you know where he was, my son . . .? You know where Evan was? He had climbed the fucking rock there, that’s where he was. He was probably already dead.’

Anger flared up inside me. This just didn’t wash. Every patient had a medical history. Treatment charts. Diagnoses and evaluations. They don’t just dump people at will. In a place where they won’t be watched.

‘She just let him leave?’

‘Yes. Walk out. I told you, she don’t give a shit, Jay. That’s the way it is here. But, believe me – she was scared when she called us. She knew she screwed up. And the next morning, my son, he turns up dead. He was up there on the rock, Jay. The whole stinking night. In the cold. Alone. Without anyone to watch over him.’ She started to sob again. ‘My boy was on the rock. I want to sue that bitch.’

‘You want to know what really hurts?’ Charlie took her face and brought it against his shoulder. ‘We were watching the news that morning. Friday, I think. Or Saturday . . . I don’t keep track of time so well anymore. They said some kid had jumped off Morro Rock. A John Doe. No ID on him. We go, “Thank God, that’s not Evan. Thank God he is in a safe place.” And it’s our own son, Jay! They were talking about Evan. We’re listening to a report about our own son . . .’

He started to sob, loud choking tremors. Gabriella held his head in her arms. ‘We just failed you, Evan . . . We let you die.’

It was horrible. I didn’t know what to do or feel, other than my hands balling into tight fists. Rich or poor, it didn’t matter. There was a complete breakdown. Not only of treatment, but of responsibility. And Evan was the victim of it. I knew in my world, this could never happen. Not without some kind of response, accountability.

‘Where is he now?’ I asked.

‘At the coroner’s,’ Charlie said. ‘They’re doing their autopsy and tests. We can’t even see him.’

Gabriella wiped her eyes. ‘He called me, you know. The day before. I asked, “Are you all right, Evan? You know I love you, don’t you, my son?” And you know what he told me? He said, “I’m gonna make the best of it, Mommy.” Make the best . . . Does that sound like some kid who wanted to kill himself the next day? They say it’s a suicide, but it doesn’t sound like that to me. You know what I think? I don’t think my son would kill himself. It sounds like murder, Jay. By the state. They took my son and screwed his head up on drugs, then dropped him in a place that wasn’t right for him. They murdered him.’

As a doctor, I was always quick to assume that the system handled things correctly. Sure, mistakes were made, but generally it did things right. But as an uncle, I couldn’t disagree.

It was like murder.

We sat around in silence for a while. Charlie and Gabriella just hugged each other, helpless and crying. Then Gabriella got up. She cleared the table, put the coffee mugs in the sink, and ran the water over them. Then she turned and faced me, her palms back against the counter. ‘At the end, it was very, very bad, Jay. You have no idea. Our son never left the house. He would just sit there, on that couch all day, never even talk, just smile at me. You know that little smile he had, like he had the whole world figured out. Like he knew the truth and no one else did.’

‘I know it.’ I wasn’t sure whether to smile or shake my head in sorrow. I smiled.

‘He said to me, just last week, before he did this . . . He said, “I think maybe I’d like to be a cop. Or an FBI agent.” He said he was talking to the police and they wanted him.’ She cleared her throat derisively. ‘A cop? My son barely left the house. He didn’t talk to anyone, Jay. No friends. No girls. Not even us. Only to the fucking furnace! He was dreaming. Like he always did, Jay – dreaming.’ She looked at me. ‘He might never have gotten better – I understand that. But he didn’t deserve to die.’

She came back to the table and sat down next to me. ‘We took care of our boy for twenty years. Then we give him to the state – for four lousy days . . . And he’s dead! Maybe we don’t deserve medals, Jay. But we damn well deserve to know why, don’t we? We deserve to know why my son had to die!’

I looked back at her, my gut tightening.

Years of the differences between us peeled away.

I said, ‘Yes you do. You damn well do deserve that, Gabby.’

Chapter 7

My life had been easy, to this point.

I mean, we’ve all faced hardships and disappointments. I was no genius, but I always did well in school. I could whip a mean underhanded crank shot that got me a ride to Cornell; I married the girl of my dreams. We raised kids who seemed to be equally achieving, who were polite and self-assured and didn’t seem to mind being around us.

I’d worked my butt off to get where I was: I’d put in the eighty-hour weeks and still remained on call twice a week. We had friends; we went on bike trips to Spain and Italy. For my fortieth birthday I got myself flying lessons and now had my own Cessna. Two years ago, when it came time for the hospital to name a new head for our department, the chief of staff didn’t hesitate and turned to me.

Still, I felt like I’d barely broken a sweat in life. The world always seemed to open up just enough for me to slip through. But for Charlie, the world always seemed to close at every chance and shut him down.

I don’t know if I was a good brother. I don’t know if I ever lived up to that vow I made regarding Evan. I knew I’d always done just enough to keep them from sinking.

Enough, but no more.

Maybe now it was too late to put myself on the line for Evan.

But I could damn well start doing it for Charlie and Gabby.

I checked myself into the Cliffside Suites, the nicest of the motels perched along a high bluff overlooking the Pacific. My room was at the end of a long outside corridor above the parking lot. Inside, it was clean and large and I stepped out through the sliding glass doors to the terrace with a panoramic view of the ocean and the steep cliffs below.

I threw myself on the bed and thought about Evan and his last visit to our house. How everyone thought he was so weird, no matter how much I tried to defend him: He was smart. The odds were stacked against him. He was my brother’s son.

‘He doesn’t even know how to order food, Dad,’ Sophie had said. ‘He always seems a bit stoned out.’

‘He does spend a lot of time off in space,’ Kathy said. ‘You have to admit he’s a bit weird.’

I told them, ‘He’s on medication, guys. Cut the kid some slack.’

‘I’m sorry, but he gives me the creeps,’ said Maxie. ‘How much longer is he going to stay?’

I spent the next couple of hours watching a baseball game and picking at a burger from room service. Around four my phone rang. I was happy to see it was Kathy.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey . . .’ I exhaled wearily.

‘You sound exhausted. How are they doing? I called a little while ago, but neither really wanted to talk.’

‘Devastated. How else could they be? You’re not going to believe how it happened, Kathy.’

I told her everything I’d learned. How Evan had been looking to buy a gun. How he was taken in and put in isolation after trying to beat up Gabby, and then released after only a couple of days. To the care of a halfway house that let him walk out the door.

‘That’s just so awful, Jay.’ ‘Someone has to get to the bottom of this for them. They’re not capable. It’s tearing them apart.’

She hesitated just a bit. ‘Get to the bottom of what, Jay?’

We hadn’t always seen eye to eye about things with my brother and Evan. Usually, it was how we were always coming to their rescue. First, for a nicer place for them to live. Then tutoring for Evan. Then when he smashed up the car. And finally bailing them out from under all that credit card debt. ‘When do they try, just a little?’ Kathy would say. ‘Gabby can work. Our kids get summer jobs; why not Evan?’

But mostly, it was that incident with Max.

It was on Evan’s last trip east. He and Maxie were playing a little one-on-one in the driveway. Something set them off. Things always seemed to cross the line with Evan.

I was in the den, flipping through some medical magazines. Suddenly I heard screams. Sophie’s. From outside. ‘Get off, Evan. Get off! Mom! Dad!’

I bolted up.

Somehow Kathy, who was in the kitchen, got there ahead of me. She jumped on Evan’s back, Evan’s arm wrapped around Maxie’s neck; Maxie was turning blue.

‘Evan, let him go! Let him go!’ Kathy screamed, but at six feet, close to two hundred pounds, Evan was too big for her. ‘You’re going to kill him, Evan!’