Story of a Sociopath

  “I don’t know, Esther or Olivia, or the pair of them…But I know they’re poisoning me.”

  “Right. And how do you know?”

  I told him about the documentary, and how each of them had watched it by chance and how I had become a witness to what they had seen.

  “If you’d only seen how interested they were when they were watching it. I saw the first half of the show with Olivia, but when I got home I found Esther caught up in it as well, watching the second part. And since then…”

  “Okay, I’ll write the rest. Esther and Olivia went to the Amazon to pick strange roots and turn them into powder, which they’ve started putting into your food or drinks. Is that what you’re telling me, Thomas?” Paul seemed about to laugh again.

  “I didn’t say that they went to the Amazon…I guess anyone can buy any kind of poison nowadays over the Internet. I don’t know if it’s Esther or Olivia, or the pair of them; all I know is that it could only be the two of them who have a strong interest in getting me out of the picture.”

  “Are you serious, Thomas? Look, I’ve booked you an appointment with Dr. Taylor for a checkup, but I think he’ll send you to the psychiatrist when you tell him that you think your wife and your lover are poisoning you.”

  “Paul, I’m serious. I…I have no one else to turn to.” My voice trembled and my eyes grew vague and I think at this moment Paul started to take my fears seriously.

  “Come on, come on. I’m sure there’s an explanation for whatever it is that’s happening to you. Have you seen Dr. Douglas?”

  “I’ve spent months feeling like death and Dr. Douglas has seen me twice. The only thing he says is that I’m feeling bad because the amount of medicine I’m taking needs to be changed. Apparently we’re not hitting the right level of anticoagulant for my needs. Otherwise, he says, I’m in good health—aside from suffering a heart attack and two or three ‘cardiac episodes,’ as he stupidly calls them. He says I’m stressed and should go on a diet. A diet that would involve dying of hunger.”

  “And he’s right, I’m sure he’s right. You’re a rational man, so you can’t actually believe that Esther and Olivia have decided to poison you simply because they saw a show about poisons on TV.”

  “I think the show gave them an idea about how to get rid of me.”

  “But, Thomas, do you really think Esther is capable of killing you? Or Olivia? Please! They’re not psychopaths. They might have grudges against you. You haven’t made Olivia’s life easy.”

  “Esther loves Jaime, I know that. We’ve been sleeping in different bedrooms for months now. She sold her jewelry to help him and in the end I had to give in as well and give money to my stupid brother.”

  “In exchange for what?” Paul asked, knowing that I didn’t give things away for free.

  “In exchange for her not abandoning me. I don’t care if she doesn’t love me, you know that, but I don’t want to lose her.”

  “You know what? I think that instead of a cardiologist you should go to a good psychiatrist, as I’ve spent years telling you. Your childhood traumas are following you around even today. You aren’t upset that Esther doesn’t love you, but you can’t bear for her to be with your brother. You should have gotten divorced years ago.”

  “I don’t want to get divorced.”

  “Everyone gets divorced, you don’t need to be an exception to the rule. I’ve been divorced three times.”

  “I’m not going to let Jaime get her.”

  “That’s exactly the kind of thing that’s making you sick. And as for Olivia, why don’t you leave her alone? She has the right to a life and you won’t give her one. Let her marry that hardware store guy.”

  “I’m not going to do that. I’ve kept her all these years and I’ll be the one to end it.”

  “You really ruin these girls, Thomas, but that doesn’t mean that they’ve decided to poison you. I think you’re sick from the poison you generate. You’re getting obsessed and making yourself ill.”

  “I’m not throwing up because of an obsession; this is real. I’m not imagining feeling nauseous, or having tachycardia. I’m being poisoned, Paul. I don’t know what they’re using, but I know it’s what they’re doing.”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas, but you’re not going to convince me that Esther has become a murderer in order to run off with Jaime, or that Olivia is one either. I’ll come with you to Dr. Taylor’s tomorrow. I hope he’ll be able to give you a real diagnosis.”

  “Why don’t you believe me, Paul?”

  “Because I know the three of you and I know what you’re capable of. No one turns into a murderer just because they saw something on TV.”

  “So who’s poisoning me, Paul?”

  “No one, that’s what you won’t accept—that no one is trying to kill you. But I want you to tell Dr. Taylor the truth. Tell him what you think, and he’ll know what to do. And now, let me give you some more advice: Don’t torture them anymore. What kind of a man are you, keeping a woman who you know doesn’t love you? Or two women, in your case. You’re destroying their lives and losing your own. There are a lot of girls out there.”

  “I know, Paul, but I’m not interested in that kind of girl.”

  “Olivia isn’t Mother frickin’ Teresa, Thomas.”

  “Olivia isn’t just a whore. She’s intelligent, she’s been to college, she’s been beautiful, she still is. And, most importantly, she knows how to listen to me. She knows how to listen to me without prejudice, without judging, she even gives me good advice.”

  “And she gets along well with your wife. Yes, you’ve been lucky. And now you’ve brought this beauty along with you to visit me.”

  “Doris is no Olivia, she’s only good in the sack. She’s fairly dumb.”

  “I think she’s cleverer than she looks, but she’s very young. Just give her time.”

  “The only thing she cares about is money,” I said disdainfully.

  “You weren’t expecting her to love you. Why should she? You’re not really a lovable guy. You’re…”

  He fell suddenly silent. What did Paul think about me that he didn’t dare say to my face?

  “What am I, Paul?”

  “You’re a complicated man, full of complexes, insecure, wicked. And it’s not like you have a perfect body. You’re a scoundrel.”

  We sat without speaking for a while, looking each other straight in the eye.

  “And you’re still my friend?”

  “Because I’ve always been out of your jurisdiction. You’ve never been able to hurt me, Thomas, because you’ve never really paid me any attention.”

  His clarity surprised me. He was right, I had never thought of him as particularly valuable. He was there; he was useful to me, and nothing more.

  “And so…Why have you helped me all these years?”

  “Well, it’s not that I’ve helped you. I’ve just been around to tell you the truth. Nothing else.”

  An hour later I found Doris at the hotel swimming pool talking to a kid her age with a muscled body and a stupid smile. She seemed to be having a good time. Her face darkened when she saw me. I went over to where they sat.

  “Is this your dad?” the boy asked. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  “I’m not her father, I’m the man who’s paying for her to stay in this hotel, and for the bikini she’s wearing. Get out of here. You’re old enough to be able to recognize a slut.”

  The kid looked at me aggressively, then over at Doris. She had turned red and didn’t say anything, which confirmed that I had spoken the truth: she was a whore.

  When we were alone together, Doris shot me a look full of anger, or perhaps hatred.

  “Why did you do that to me? We were only talking.”

  “I pay you to smile at me, not to have fun with any handsome young thing who happens to be bobbing around. If you want a guy like that, then all you need to do is give up whatever I give you. You can leave right now. I don’t need you. One phone call and I can have anot
her model just like you.”

  She pouted. It looked like she was about to cry but she stopped herself. I guess she must have known that if she caused a scene, I would hit her as soon as we were in the hotel room together.

  “All right, Thomas, I’m sorry for upsetting you. That guy was nothing to me. We were just talking.”

  —

  The next day Paul took me to the doctor’s office and then left, winking as he did so. He had already done more for me than I deserved.

  Dr. Taylor looked through all the tests they had performed.

  “I really don’t know why you want me to give you a checkup; you’re already in the best of hands, Mr. Spencer. Dr. Douglas is an expert when it comes to heart problems. But if you insist…”

  He left me in the care of a nurse who led me through the hospital all morning, from one room to the next. It took me seven hours to get through all the tests and checkups and meetings with doctors. I was exhausted.

  Dr. Taylor told me that he needed a few days to get the results, so I spent that time getting drunk with Paul and enjoying Doris’s splendid body. She was a very patient girl.

  “You shouldn’t worry, Mr. Spencer,” Dr. Taylor said when I went to his office three days later.

  “Are you going to tell me I’m fine?”

  “For someone who’s had a heart attack and several cardiac episodes, you could be worse. Your liver is swollen, your kidneys aren’t working one hundred percent, your blood sugar level is too high…I can’t say anything other than what Dr. Douglas has been recommending. You have to change your lifestyle. You have to stop smoking and drinking and eating fatty food; all of that is hurting you. Also, you’re on the wrong dose of anticoagulants, which you should still be taking as well. But that’s not uncommon. As soon as we get the dose right, you’ll feel better.”

  “It can’t be,” I said in anguish.

  “What do you mean?”

  I confessed all my fears. I overcame my reticence and told him that I was scared that someone was poisoning me. He listened to me very seriously and seemed worried. He insisted that I tell him whom I suspected and why. But skepticism appeared on his face when I told him about the show on the Discovery Channel and the reasons my wife and my lover might want to kill me.

  “Mr. Spencer, what you’re telling me is very serious. Perhaps you should go to the police,” he suggested, upset by my revelations.

  “I want you to find traces of poison in my body. They have to be there.”

  Dr. Taylor paused before speaking.

  “Maybe you should see Dr. Austen, who is an excellent psychiatrist. I’ll call him personally, and he can see you tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m not crazy, Dr. Taylor.”

  “I’m not saying you are, but after what you’ve told me…well…your relationship with your wife and your lover…I think you should talk to Dr. Austen, and he’ll help you.”

  “How?”

  “He’ll help you get things in order in your mind, Mr. Spencer, to see if this is merely a paranoid episode. I’m sorry to put it like that, but sometimes words are more alarming than they need to be.”

  “I’m telling you, I’m not crazy. Give me another test, find the poison they’re using to kill me.”

  “Dizziness, general ill feeling, vomiting, high blood pressure…None of these are symptoms that would lead me to think that you’re being poisoned. You’ve told me yourself that you drink too much and it’s clear that your body can’t process that much alcohol. You’re not following the diet that your doctor prescribed. You’re smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. It’s madness. Keep in mind that your personal situation might be so upsetting that it causes you to feel physically ill—these things do happen. Mental illness can have a devastating physical effect.”

  “I know they’re poisoning me!”

  “Do you hear what you’re saying? You’re accusing your wife of wanting to kill you. It’s an extremely serious accusation.”

  “It’s either her, or my lover, or the pair of them together.”

  “Look here, Mr. Spencer, the only thing I can do for you is send you to Dr. Austen. Talk to him. If the doctor thinks you’re telling the truth, then come back here and I’ll run all the tests again, though I don’t think we’ll find anything. Dr. Douglas, in his report, says that you don’t follow his recommendations, and that you’re stressed and urgently need rest. And I agree with him.”

  I saw Dr. Austen the next day. I didn’t like him. He had a madman’s face. He ordered me to lie down on a sofa and made me answer stupid questions. And so on for a week.

  Esther called me every day. She didn’t seem to worry that I was delaying my return. She encouraged me to have fun and enjoy the weather in Miami, which was always better than in New York.

  “Are you well, Thomas?”

  “Yes, of course, why?”

  “Well, you seemed to be pretty ill before you left.”

  “I’ve felt pretty good ever since I got to Miami.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Why? Should I have kept feeling ill?” I asked suspiciously.

  “No, I didn’t say that. Well, let’s change the subject.”

  “All right, let’s change the subject.” She was worrying me.

  “You know what? I think things are starting to go better for Jaime now. He has a couple of very interesting clients. The boys are spending a lot of time with their grandfather, but Jaime isn’t prepared to give up on them. He says he’ll get them back, get himself back on his own two feet.”

  “And why should I care about that?” I asked.

  “I thought you’d be pleased…If he’s doing better now, it’s thanks to your help.”

  “I haven’t changed my feelings about Jaime at all. I’ve just given in to your blackmail, Esther. I paid the price so you wouldn’t abandon me.”

  I hung up and cursed myself for not having been able to keep my mouth shut. Paul was right. All I was doing was giving her excuses to distance herself from me.

  I called Olivia. She wasn’t at home. When she answered her cell phone, she said she was out buying curtains for the new house.

  “Don’t get too excited about that house, it’ll be a long time before you’ll be able to live in it,” I warned her.

  “I don’t think so, Thomas. You’ll see how lucky I can be. And how are you, anyway?”

  “Fine, my dear, enjoying Miami with a willing girl by my side.”

  “Enjoy it, Thomas. While you still can.”

  Just as Esther had, Olivia managed to worry me. It was as if both of them had expected me to continue feeling bad. The doctors could say what they wanted; they were all a bunch of useless pricks. It was clear that Esther and Olivia wanted something to happen to me.

  Dr. Austen concluded that I was stressed and was suffering from persecution mania. He prescribed me certain medicines, which, although I didn’t tell him so, I had no intention of taking. While he was explaining his diagnosis to me I asked him and Dr. Taylor to give me a chance.

  “A chance? What do you mean? What sort of chance could we give you?” he asked with interest.

  “Doctor, I can accept that as a consequence of being poisoned I might feel a certain degree of paranoia, but I don’t understand why both Dr. Taylor and you so clearly reject the possibility that what I’m saying might be the truth. If I die in a few days or a few months, will you wonder if maybe I was right after all? Will you feel bad for not having paid attention to what I’m telling you now? I’m not saying that Dr. Taylor and Dr. Douglas haven’t given me extensive tests, but none of you has looked for poison in my bloodstream. I know there’s something inside me that’s killing me. Please, please look for it.”

  I convinced him. Not completely, but enough for him to come with me to his friend Dr. Taylor’s office and ask him to carry out a precise analysis of my blood to make sure there was no poison in it.

  At first Dr. Taylor refused. Then he accepted, warning me that we would be wasting our time.
r />   I underwent the next round of tests. It took them four days to get the results back to Dr. Taylor.

  “Mr. Spencer, my conclusion is the same as Dr. Douglas’s: you’re not reacting well to anticoagulants, and these are vital for your cardiovascular problems. What we need to do is find the correct medication for your particular case. Dr. Douglas said in his report that he recently changed your anticoagulant. You’ll have to wait to see if the one you’re taking now makes you feel any better. It’s also possible that you suffer from some kind of allergy. That would explain the continuous sense of illness.”

  “Allergy? To what?”

  “That’s what we need to find out now. You could be allergic to certain types of food, or even to some of the drugs in your heart medicine, or the medicine for your hypertension, or your cholesterol, or your sugar levels. Perhaps they’re interacting in some way that makes you feel unwell. I think this is more likely to be the cause, rather than poison, as you are so determined to believe.” This last sentence Dr. Taylor pronounced with barely contained irony.

  —

  My doctors had settled on their conclusion, and I had reached mine. My suspicions had become certainties, although I could prove nothing. Esther, who was in charge of giving me my anticoagulants, obviously wasn’t giving me the dose that the doctor had prescribed, but was killing me little by little. My inertia, because I trusted her, had led me not to check that I was being given the correct amount. All I did was put the pills in my mouth and swallow them with a little water. And the doctors had made it clear to me: anticoagulants could kill.

  I suspected that Esther was not acting alone, but in conjunction with Olivia. I realized that Olivia’s stews, always so highly spiced, could also be the cause of my illness because of the symptoms that tended to appear after one of her substantial meals. I was sure that my “cardiac episodes” were triggered by a combination of the anticoagulants and Olivia’s meals.

  There was empirical proof of this: I hadn’t had any health problems at all since coming to Miami. With every day that passed I felt better, stronger.

  I called Esther to tell her that I was seeing a doctor in Miami.

  “But why? You just had a checkup.” She seemed worried.