Fever Dream

"Missing me at Penumbra and hitting Vincent instead."

54

New York City

DR. JOHN FELDER STEPPED DOWN FROM THE witness stand at the involuntary-commitment hearing and took his seat. He avoided looking in the direction of Constance Greene, the accused; there was something profoundly unsettling about the steady gaze from those violet eyes. Felder had said what he had to say and what his professional belief was: that she was profoundly mentally ill and should be involuntarily committed. It was moot, because she was already charged with first-degree murder with bail denied, but it was still a necessary stage in the legal process. And, Felder had to admit, in this particular case it was an eminently valid determination. Because despite her self-possession, despite her high intelligence and apparent lucidity, Felder was now convinced she was deeply insane--unable to tell right from wrong.

There was some shuffling of papers and clearing of throats as the judge wrapped up the hearing. "I note for the record," he intoned, "that the alleged mentally ill person has not availed herself of legal counsel."

"That's correct, Your Honor," said Greene primly, hands folded on her prison-garb skirt.

"You have a right to speak at this proceeding," the judge said. "Is there anything you wish to say?"

"Not at present, Your Honor."

"You have heard the testimony of Dr. Felder, who says he believes you are a danger to yourself and to others and should be involuntarily committed to an institution for the mentally ill. Do you have any comment on that testimony?"

"I would not wish to dispute an expert."

"Very well." The judge handed a sheaf of papers to a court officer, and received another in return. "And now I have a question of my own." He pulled his glasses down his nose and looked at her.

Felder was mildly surprised. He had attended dozens of involuntary-commitment hearings, but rarely, if ever, had a judge asked questions directly of the accused. Usually the judge concluded with a pontification of some kind, replete with moral urgings and pop-psychology observations.

"Ms. Greene, no one seems to be able to establish your identity or even verify your existence. The same is true of your baby. Despite a diligent search, there appears to be no evidence that you gave birth. The latter point is a problem for your trial judge. But I also face significant legal issues in committing you involuntarily without a Social Security number or evidence that you are an American citizen. In short, we do not know who you really are."

He paused. Greene looked at him attentively, hands still folded.

"I wonder if you're ready to tell this court the truth about your past," the judge said in a stern but not unkindly tone. "Who you really are, and where you are from."

"Your Honor, I've already told the truth," said Constance.

"In this transcript you indicate that you were born on Water Street in the 1970s. But the record shows this ca

"It isn't true."

Felder felt a certain weariness creep in. The judge should know better; this was fruitless, a waste of the court's time. Felder had patients to attend to--paying patients.

"You say it right here, in this transcript I have in my hand."

"I do not say it."

The judge, exasperated, began to read from the transcript:

Question: When were you born?

Answer: I don't recall.

Question: Well, of course you wouldn't recall, but surely you know the date of your birth?

Answer: I'm afraid I don't.

Question: It must have been, what, the late '80s?

Answer: I believe it would have been more in the early '70s.

The judge looked up. "Did you or did you not say these things?"

"I did."

"Well, then. You claim to have been born in the early 1970s on Water Street. But the court's research has proven this to be untrue beyond any doubt. And in any case you look far too young to have been born more than thirty years ago."

Greene said nothing.

Felder started to rise. "Your Honor, may I interject?"

The judge turned to him. "Yes, Dr. Felder?"

"I've already thoroughly explored this line of questioning with the patient. With respect, Your Honor, I would remind the court that we are not dealing with a rational mind. I hope I won't offend the court by saying that in my professional opinion, there will be no useful result from this line of questioning."

The judge tapped the folder with his glasses. "Perhaps you're right, Doctor. And am I to understand that the nominative next-of-kin, Aloysius Pendergast, defers to the court in this matter?"

"He declined any invitation to be heard, Your Honor."

"Very well." The judge gathered up another sheaf of papers, took a deep breath, and looked out over the small, empty courtroom. He put his glasses back in place and bent over the papers. "This court finds--" he began.

Constance Greene rose to her feet, her face suddenly flushed. For the first time, she looked like she was experiencing emotion; in fact, to Felder she looked almost angry. "On second thought, I believe I shall speak," she said, her voice suddenly possessing an edge. "If I may, Your Honor?"

The judge sat back and folded his hands. "I will allow a statement."

"I was indeed born on Water Street in the '70s--the 1870s. You will find all you need to know in the city archives on Centre Street, and more in the New York Public Library. About me; about my sister, Mary, who was sent to the Five Points Mission and later killed by a mass murderer; about my brother, Joseph; about my parents, who died of tuberculosis--there's a fair amount of information there. I know, because I have seen the records myself."

The silence stretched out in the court. Finally the judge said, "Thank you, Ms. Greene. You may be seated."

She sat down.

The judge cleared his throat. "The court finds that Ms. Constance Greene, age unknown, address unknown, is of unsound mind and represents a clear and present danger to herself and others. Therefore, we order that Ms. Constance Greene be committed involuntarily to the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for appropriate observation and treatment. The term of this commitment shall be indefinite."

He gave a tap with the gavel for emphasis. "Court dismissed."

Felder rose, feeling oddly dispirited. He threw a glance toward the unknown woman, who had risen again and was now flanked by two muscular guards. Standing between them, she looked small and almost frail. The color had left her face, which was once again expressionless. She knew what had just occurred--she had to know--and yet she showed not the slightest hint of emotion.

Felder turned away and walked out of the courtroom.

55

Sulphur, Louisiana

THE RENTAL BUICK HUMMED ALONG THE diamond-cut concrete of Interstate 10. Hayward had set the cruise control at seventy-five miles an hour, despite Pendergast's murmured observation that, at seventy-nine miles per hour, they would arrive in town five minutes earlier.