Do No Harm

"I came by to follow up on a complaint you made a few months ago, against a Douglas DaVella."

"So you believe me that guy came in here was harassing me something awful and I told him to go stuff it. Stuff it I said but he kept on and kept on about my meds like he was asking everyone and he seemed scared really scared and angry just to be there."

"Where did this take place?"

"Out in the rec room. Arts 'n' crafts. We were doing arts 'n' crafts. Popsicle-stick men. Ever make those?"

"Yes," David said. "Though I'm not much of a craftsman."

Mouse threw back his head and laughed. And kept laughing. Finally, David interrupted him. "Do you remember any specifics of your conversation with him?"

"He saw me taking my morning meds and he came over and asked me what they were for. And I told him I'm manic, a bit manic, but there's a downswing to that, you know, not just all high flights of fancy, and so I get depressed and sometimes, only sometimes, I've been known to get agitated and the meds keep me from getting agitated or anxious or violent." He flashed a toothy grin. "Don't worry. I won't get violent now."

"I'm not worried," David said. "If you don't mind my asking, what medications are you on?"

Mouse spat in the corner. "Do you have any Tic Tacs?"

"I'm afraid not. If you don't mind my asking," David repeated slowly, "what medications are you on?"

"I don't mind, not at all. Not at all. That's what he asked too. I'm on risperidone and Cogentin and lithium."

"And what happened? Between you and Douglas DaVella?"

"He tried to steal my pills. But I fought him I didn't want him to I need those pills to keep me glued together you know that's what they're for to arm against delusions and hallucinations and… and

… and… "

"I can understand why that would be upsetting," David said. "Did he say why he wanted your pills?"

Mouse regarded David, and his close-set eyes glowed with a sudden clarity. "He said he didn't want to be violent."

If Clyde had in fact given Mouse a reliable answer, the ramifications were fascinating: Clyde was self-medicating to try to cure himself. And poisoning himself by overdosing.

"But I bit him," Mouse continued. "And then the orderlies came and tackled me. But I wasn't lying. He tried to steal my meds."

"But no one believed you."

"Of course not." Mouse's words trembled with indignation. "They told me I was delusional."

"Thank you so much," David said. "You've been a tremendous help."

He backed up to the door until he felt it against his shoulders, then he reached behind himself for the handle.

"Hey, Doctor?"

David paused halfway out the door. He leaned back in the room. Mouse pulled his gown down tight across his chest, and David noticed for the first time that he had gynecomastia, increased breast tissue pushing out two bumps in his thin gown. Another side effect. Mouse released the gown and regarded David with a piercing stare.

"We take medications and do these things to ourselves, to our chemistries, to be well. It's courageous of us. We are willing to tamper with… tamper with… "

David nodded at him, a brief, sad tilt of the head, and closed the door.

He followed Dash back to his office. "There is definitely something going on with Clyde and the NPI," he said. "Remember how agitated he became when you were introduced by title, and then there was this incident with… Mouse… and Mouse reported that Clyde seemed scared and angry when here."

Dash closed his office door and unbuttoned his shirt. Beneath, he wore a tank top that barely stretched across his torso. He retrieved a gym bag from the corner, which he hefted with some exertion. "I'd agree-he probably has some phobia about the place."

"Maybe Clyde witnessed something here when he worked at the hospital," David said, following Dash back out to the main hall. "Something traumatic to him."

Dash leaned forward and hit the elevator's down button. "Doesn't explain why he'd go to all that trouble covering himself with a fake name before he worked here." He readjusted the bag's strap across his shoulder as the elevator dinged and opened.

"Diane's following the prescription trail as we speak. I'm checking medical records this afternoon. Any way you could check NPI records?"

Dash's hesitation showed in the four lines that momentarily etched across his forehead. "I'm only playing with a half deck here. You want to bring me up to speed?"

By the time David finished filling him in, the elevator had hit the ground floor and Dash's face was far less placid. They walked in silence through the lobby. Stepping out into the warm afternoon, they headed for the track.

"Is there any chance someone like him could be rehabilitated?"

"What are you trying to do here, David? Assimilate him back into society?"

"What's the prognosis?"

"Not good," Dash said. "Delinquency problems, withdrawal, bad history of adjustment. Expunged juvie record would indicate early age of onset. Add the gender bias to that, and it don't look pretty."