The Syndrome

“Go on.”

“Well, she had a little ceramic case. A special case that was shaped like a tooth.”

Duran laughed.

“Really! And it had a hinge that you opened, and ‘Tooth Fairy’ was engraved on the top. I thought it was wonderful,” Adrie

She giggled nervously.

“Go on.”

“Well, the tooth went in the box and the box went under my pillow and, when I woke up in the morning, there was always a dollar bill—all folded up in a tiny little wad—instead of the tooth. Gram didn’t understand how mercenary I was—I was ready to pull out the rest of them.”

“You see,” Shaw said, gesturing toward Adrie

He glanced at Duran, who shrugged.

“Anyway, as I was telling Jeff—I have a catalog of unimportant incidents of that kind. Things we all did—like eating lunch in elementary school, going out for a haircut, going to the dentist. I could give you dozens of examples of what amount to collective memories, memories that you might say are common to the human condition—or at least to the American condition. But—” Shaw turned to Duran with an apologetic smile. “Our friend, here, might as well be from Mars. Of all the events I suggested—and there were a dozen of them—Jeffrey responded to exactly two.” He held up his fingers, like a peace sign. “He remembers going to the beach—Bethany Beach—with his parents. And he remembers blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. Everything else is a blank—and that’s not what I expected.”

Adrie

Shaw tilted his head from side to side. “Yes, but we also know he’s a confabulator. And that’s what makes the case so interesting: he’s a twofer. And not just any twofer. Mr. Duran is convinced that his recollections are true—that’s why he passed the lie detector test that you mentioned, and that’s why he naively took you to a beach cottage that didn’t exist. All of which is consistent with what I learned this afternoon. When I asked Jeff about these insignificant events that we’ve been talking about, he made no effort whatsoever at invention. Either he remembered them, or he didn’t. Mostly, he didn’t.”

“But what does that mean?” Adrie

“That he’s not a conman.”

“And?”

“That he’s delusional as well as amnesic.” Shaw turned to Duran. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with me discussing you in this way?”

Duran rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Adrie

Shaw looked surprised. “You’re suing him?”

Adrie

The psychiatrist took this in stride. “At any rate, we went through some of the clinical tests I mentioned earlier.”

“And?”

“Everything’s normal—except the patient.” He smiled. “So I hypnotized him.”

Adrie

“On the contrary. It’s a useful tool—and I thought it might relax him. Loosen his inhibitions.”

“And did it?” Adrie

“No—even under hypnosis, he was still drawing blanks. But the incidents he did recall—going to the beach, his first birthday cake (and first birthday party)—well that was even more interesting.”

“How so?”

“He told me the same stories. And I mean, exactly the same stories. Almost word for word. As if he were reciting a poem, or a speech.”

“Which means what?” Adrie

Doctor Shaw shook his head. “Too soon to say. But there are a couple of tests I’d like him to take—just so we can rule a few things out.”

“Like what?”

“Hippocampal damage.”

“And these tests… what are they?” Adrie

“CAT scan. PET scan. MRI.”

It was Adrie

“He’s insured,” Shaw told her. “We checked.”

“Is he?” she asked. “With Mutual General?”

“No,” Duran told her. “I’ve got Traveler’s. The other was malpractice insurance—for the tapes.”

Shaw got to his feet, and went to the receptionist’s desk. Opening one drawer after another, he finally produced a map and some papers, which he handed to Duran.

“What’s that?” Adrie

“A map of the hospital, shows you where the lab is. Consent forms.” Shaw glanced at his watch, and made a helpless gesture. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, “I’m going to catch hell.”

“Sorry,” Adrie

The psychiatrist waved away her concern. “Won’t be the first time.” He led them out the door to the elevator. “You the nervous type, Jeffrey? Claustrophobic?”

Duran shrugged. “How would I know?”

Shaw chuckled. “Well, if you think you’ll have a problem with the MRI, tell the technician. He’ll give you something that will help you chill out.”

The car had a ticket tucked under its windshield. “God damn it!” Adrie

He could sense her frustration, and knew better than to test it. So rather than making a wisecrack, or replying that the trip was her idea, he said, “I don’t know. I’m sorry you had to wait.”

Two minutes later, they were in the car, heading toward lower Manhattan, and she was apologizing. “It’s my fault,” she said, her tone emphatic and remorseful. “I parked there. I forgot to feed the meter. I don’t know why I’m yelling at you.” She sighed. “Sometimes, when I get stressed out—”

“Forget it.”

“No, that was bad. I know it wasn’t your idea to spend all that time in his office, being grilled from A to Z. I’m just a jerk.” She seemed so disconsolate that he wanted to put his arm around her.

Instead, he said, “I know you’re worried about money. You didn’t even want to spend the night here.”

“Yeah, but don’t try to talk me out of it,” she told him, begi

“Where are we going?”

“I made a reservation at a hotel on Washington Square.”

“Great.”

She laughed. “I doubt it. It’s going for seventy bucks a night.”

“Ah… and what does Lonely Planet say about it?”

“That it’s ‘reasonably clean. Safe. A budget alternative.’”

“There you go!” Duran exclaimed. “That’s the trifecta.”

“Well… “ she said, her voice doubtful.

“What’s not to like?” he asked.

She thought about it for a moment, and said, “‘Reasonably.’”