Michael B. Mefford

WHOLE WORLD BLIND Reviews:

http://www.midwestbookreview.com/mbw/may_10.htm#vogel      

 http://thenybookjournal.com/?p=114

Synopsis: 

When Dr. Jack Carson fell asleep at the wheel and lost his son in a tragic accident, his life crumbled around him. Struggling to put the broken pieces back together, Carson faces death again three years later when he finds a body at the mental hospital where he’s a psychiatrist. A note on the body says the killing will only end with Carson’s murder.

Alex Tanner, the beautiful and intelligent detective assigned to the case, gives Carson reason for optimism. But hope proves to be as ephemeral as the killer’s trail. The murderer, who blames Carson for his mother’s suicide, is watching and waiting, whispering despair from the shadows. A childhood spent with a sadistic father has left the antagonist with a calculated and awful purpose. He doesn’t just want to kill Carson; he wants to create an existence so miserable the psychiatrist will understand the true genesis of evil.

In this novel, I strived to capture the gripping pace of INTENSITY by Dean Koontz and the gritty psychological interchange of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS by Thomas Harris. Further inspiration came from my years as a psychiatry resident at the state mental hospital in Columbia, South Carolina. During those years, I worked closely with murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and various other sociopaths. WHOLE WORLD BLIND is the product of my experiences in that ancient asylum combined with rumors about mysterious underground tunnels that network beneath the city. The central question that drove me to finish the novel was this: Could my protagonist swim through a river of darkness and come out clean on the other side, or would the darkness prove indelible?

The entire first chapter is included below. Take care and good reading.

 

Chapter 1

Dr. Jack Carson cupped his hand around his Camel cigarette and lit it in one quick move. He took a long drag, letting the unfiltered smoke hang in his lungs until the demand for oxygen took over. Two new admissions were already scheduled—a suicidal teenager and a man that ran off into the woods naked. The good news was the naked man was still at large, and with any luck, he wouldn’t turn up until the morning shift.

One of Carson’s partners had called in sick, leaving Carson to pull his second call in three days. Carson’s familiar headache was working its way up the back of his head and into his eyes. He sat on the concrete steps that led from the Taylor Pavilion of the J. Pickman Institute, the state mental hospital for South Carolina. The Taylor Pavilion was the home of the lifers: the patients who were so mentally ill they had no realistic chance of ever leaving. He gazed up at the night sky, watching as a heavy bank of clouds blotted out the full moon. There was a plane easing its way across the firmament, its lights like shooting stars disappearing and reappearing through the clouds. A wave of envy swept over him. He would give anything to be one of the passengers on that plane. It didn’t matter where it was going, so long as it was away.

When Carson first became a psychiatrist, he thought the pressure of dealing with people who were out of control was a rush, an added charge to a fascinating job. But after he watched his son die in a car accident three years earlier, the job began to eat away at him like a cancer. He spent so much time solving other people’s problems, he never got a chance to look at his own. On some level, he realized he worked hard precisely to avoid looking inward. The demons that lurked there were beyond anything he wanted to face.

Carson crushed out his cigarette. He needed to make evening rounds before the new admission arrived. He unlocked the door and entered the unit. He was greeted by the smell of old urine and cheap cleaning products.

Unlike the old part of the institute, the Taylor Pavilion had been built in the sixties when paneled walls and lime green furniture were all the rage. Strange sculptures adorned the unit that Carson hadn’t managed to figure out in nearly twenty years. It was the kind of place you might forget as soon as you left, except for the inmates. In the far corner, a woman sat in a rocking chair having a heated conversation with no one in particular. Down the hall, a young man walked delicately across the floor, eyes turned upward. His bare feet made a shuffling sound as he counted the panels in the ceiling. Near the exit, an old man stared vacantly into space. He was supposed to be attending to some craft involving yarn and paper, but his eyes were glazed over. His face looked like a clown mask made out of old leather.

Carson checked in at the nurse’s station. A severe looking woman popped up from behind the counter with a stack of files in her hands. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her nametag read: “Giles, Patricia R.N.”

“You pulled call again?” Giles asked.

“Yeah, lucky me,” Carson said. “Anything happening on the unit tonight?”

“Not so far,” Giles replied. “Let’s hope it stays quiet.”

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” Carson said. “I can’t remember the last time there was a quiet call night.”

A loud buzz interrupted them. A door at the front of the ward opened and a giant walked in. His stringy brown hair fell down to his shoulders. His balled fists, the size of small hams, were close to his side.

Carson and Giles approached the big man. “Daniel, what’s wrong?” Carson asked. “You look all worked up. Are you hearing voices again?”

“Don’t talk to me,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “I’m going back to my room. Just leave me alone.”

“But Daniel,” Giles continued, “if those voices are acting up, we’ll need to get you some medicine. You know that.”

Daniel ignored them both and walked back to his room.

“What was that about?” Carson asked.

“I don’t know,” Giles said. “He was fine earlier when he went out on his day pass. I haven’t seen him shaken up like this in ages.”

A loud crash echoed through the room. They ran toward the noise and found Daniel slamming a chair against his shatterproof window. Giles immediately retreated to an intercom on her desk and shouted into the device: “Code blue, Taylor Pavilion! Code blue, Taylor Pavilion!”

Dr. Carson was wise enough to wait for help. Within minutes, two burly men known as mental health workers—the psychiatric equivalent to bouncers—arrived. The three of them tried to keep Daniel contained. He started screaming at them: “You have to let me out! We all have to get out of here!”

Giles frantically prepared several different medicines in syringes.

By the time the four uniformed officers from the public safety division arrived, Daniel had moved his rant into the middle of the unit. He still screamed, but now the words were indecipherable. The public safety officers and mental health workers slowly formed a loose circle around him. Dr. Carson stood face to face with Daniel.

“Don’t get in my way, Dr. Carson,” Daniel said. “I mean it. I’m getting out of this place.”

“Just slow down a minute,” Carson said, his voice quiet and smooth. “Slow down. You’ve got to breathe for me, Daniel. Tell me what’s going on.”

Daniel shook his head violently. “I don’t want to talk about it. If I talk, it’ll get worse. Please get out of my way. Come on, Dr. Carson, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Nobody needs to get hurt, Daniel. You’re safe here. Nobody means you any harm.”

“Nobody is safe here!” Daniel shouted, his wide eyes scanning the room. “I have to get out of here.”

Without further warning, Daniel lunged at Carson. When Carson leaned back to avoid the rush, Daniel stepped to the side and got behind him, catching him in a vice-grip. The public safety officers moved in, closing their ever-shrinking circle.

“Don’t get any closer,” Daniel growled.

When the officers didn’t stop, Daniel pulled out a toothbrush that was filed to a sharp point. He pressed the tip against Carson’s neck.

Carson held Daniel’s arm back with one hand, and with the other hand, he started a countdown: one finger … two fingers. The whole takedown team was watching, ready to pounce when he got to three.

“Don’t start that countdown shit!” Daniel yelled, realizing what was happening. “Everybody back up!”

When the public safety officers opened the circle, Daniel pushed Carson away and ran for the exit. The door was magnetically sealed and Daniel hoped to knock it open by sheer force. As he charged, he let loose a terrible cry. He hit the door with a thunderous crash, and despite the horrific racket, the door didn’t budge. Carson and the public safety officers descended on Daniel and pinned him down in a matter of seconds.

“Five of Haldol and two of Ativan now!” Carson yelled as he scanned Daniel for signs of injury from his wreck with the door.

Giles produced the syringes, medicines already drawn. She slammed them into the outer quadrant of Daniel’s rear end, and stepped back.

“Dr. Carson!” Daniel yelled. “Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me. Look down by the basketball court. The devil is down there. I swear.” The mental health workers escorted the big man to his room.

“Repeat the Haldol and Ativan in thirty minutes if he’s not calm,” Carson said. “Watch for muscle stiffness, and call me if anything else happens.”

Carson sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Looks like another fun night of call.”

Grace Jennings approached Dr. Carson as he scribbled away in Daniel’s chart. “Dr. Carson, excuse me,” she said, her voice tremulous and soft. “I’m Grace Jennings—your new medical student.”

Carson immediately stood and shook her hand. She was somewhat tall and had long, sandy blonde hair that fell down either side of her face. She wore black rectangular glasses that made her look urbane and nerdy at the same time. “Welcome aboard. So are you going to be with me for two months?”

Grace forced a smile. “I sure am.”

“Were you here for the wrestling match?” Carson asked.

“I’m afraid so,” she said.

Carson shook his head. “Did you ever pick the right day to come on service? It’s not always like that, so don’t let it scare you too much.”

“That was a little freaky. How many times has that happened to you? Are you okay?”

Carson smiled. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, though. Let’s see, counting the encounter with Daniel just now, I’ve been attacked a dozen times or so in almost twenty years. Most of them harmless enough, but there is something you need to learn here: Always keep yourself safe. As a medical student, don’t ever try to be a hero. If you think someone is dangerous, you just leave. Don’t try to talk them down or any of that stuff. It won’t get you a better grade and it very well could get you hurt.”

“Don’t worry about me, Dr. Carson. I’m completely deficient in the hero gene. I’ve never done a brave thing in my life.”

“Good. Why don’t we take a walk? I’ll show you some of the places we’ll be working.”

They left the Taylor Pavilion and went to a large courtyard that formed the center of the massive, two hundred year old mental hospital. Over the main entrance the word “ASYLUM” was spelled out in big letters. Above that rose a huge, coppery red cupola. Surrounding the center building on two sides were smaller wings that formed a horseshoe. The entire edifice was built of deep red brick.

“Asylum? That sign isn’t very politically correct, is it?” Grace asked.

Carson smiled. “I guess not. But I don’t think that was a big concern in the eighteenth century when they built this place. Back then, people with mental illnesses used to come here to live permanently. The institution had farms and kitchens and everything it needed to be a self-sustained unit. There’s a lot of history here.”

“It’s so Gothic,” Grace said. “Why would a mental institution need a big dome like that?”

Carson looked at the cupola that towered over the top of the institution. “They believed in doing things big back then, I guess. There’s a story about that cupola. A long time ago, a patient went missing. They searched everywhere, but there was no sign of her. Nobody had a clue. Then one day, her body dropped from that cupola and nearly hit one of the doctors. She’d hanged herself and nobody ever thought to look up.”

“Oh my God!” Grace said. “That’s horrible.”

“Yes it is,” Carson said. “Before we had good medicines, people just had to suffer. We did the best we could to help them, but sometimes that wasn’t much.”

Carson could see from the strange look on Grace’s face she was overwhelmed. “Listen,” he said, “why don’t you knock off for the night? You’ve seen enough for one day.”

Grace’s face lit up. “You mean it? I don’t have to stay all night?”

“Not tonight. You can head on home.”

Grace lingered for just a moment, seeming unsure if she should really leave. “Should I go round on the patients or something before I go?”

Carson smiled. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the three cardinal rules of being a medical student?”

Grace looked horrified when she couldn’t come up with the answer. “I don’t think so,” she said, her voice sheepish. “What are they?”

“Never stand when you can sit. Never sit when you can lie down. And never, for any reason, hang around after someone says you can go. More work will always find you.”

“Okay, Dr. Carson. Thanks. I’ll use the time to study.” This time Grace disappeared in the direction of the parking lot without hesitation.

Carson remained in the courtyard. The ancient buildings had been his second home since he was twenty-three years old. Now he was just a few weeks away from retirement. His mind flashed to Daniel and his sharpened toothbrush. He rubbed the small indentation on his neck.

I’m not going to miss this, he thought. Not at all.

http://www.amazon.com/Whole-World-Blind-Michael-Mefford/dp/144869437X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1258384093&sr=8-1