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Searching For My Shadow – Part IV
For the next few days, Raphael never failed to turn up at the hospital, standing patiently at his mother's side, never sitting down or opening his mouth to utter a word. He stood by her and stroked her hand, and she responded by closing her fingers around his. No words passed between them. Dr. Crane, observing that Mrs. Peacock no longer revealed that she possessed any suicidal thoughts nor had any apparent suicidal tendencies, had approved for her transfer to a more peaceful regular observation ward. He kept her hospitalised for she was still unable to care for herself.
Every time the doctor made his rounds and met the boy, Raphael would look intently at him, and his eyes would say, I have something for you to see. It was a taunting, mocking gaze, and Dr. Crane hated it. He hated being in the dark, not knowing, as always, a child at a table of grown-ups. It was this urge to eliminate his ignorance that brought him to confront the boy one day, as the latter was about to leave the hospital. It was the burning in Raphael's eyes that he recognized, a reflection of his own that had not faded but instead hardened like a thin film of glass.
"You said you have something to show me," Dr. Crane said, his tone of voice doing nothing to betray his interest.
"Yes."
"Well, I am free this afternoon."
"All right. Follow me." Raphael flashed an enigmatic smile, and led the way to the apartment.
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They boarded the bus. Along the way, the boy said, "You know, I had to do that; you know, provoke you to come."
Dr. Crane raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He was curious as to why he did not feel anger even though he knew he had played into the hands of the child.
"Everyone thinks that I'm a freak. But I've discovered something," he lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced around quickly before saying, "A weapon." He didn't wait for the doctor to reply, and continued, "You're the only one I can show it to."
Dr. Crane was sincerely puzzled, "Why is that?"
"Because your eyes are like mine," Raphael explained simply, "You would understand."
He looked away and replied coldly, "I understand nothing."
The bus suddenly came to a stop without warning; an irresponsible pedestrian had dashed across the road and the driver jammed the brakes in desperate attempt to avoid hitting him. For lack of a handhold, Raphael lost his balance and lurched forward, grabbing the doctor's hand for support. It was as though an electric current had passed from the boy's hands into his and started coursing through his body.
Hold my hand, he commanded.
I'm not a child, Jon, she pouted. I'm six years old!
That, unfortunately, means you are still a child. Besides, he smirks playfully, your behaviour already classifies you as one.
Am not! But she still clasped her hand in his, softness against softness, his long fingers enveloping hers.
Now, stop skipping around and watch out for the cars, he says, resuming to the task at hand. He warns jokingly, One day when I'm no longer around to guide you across the road, you'll get knocked down and flattened like a pancake.
She laughs, but stops short, the happy moment suddenly lost. She tugs at his hand and asks, Why wouldn't you be around? You aren't going to leave like Daddy did right?
He forces a careless laugh and replies, No, of course I'll always be here, holding her hand even more tightly to reinforce his point, watching her as she slowly becomes certain that he'll never leave her, ever.
Dr. Crane felt Raphael release his hand, and heard him say, "I'm sorry," but the boy's voice seemed far away, and only brought close to his ears by the wind.
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The social workers had done their job. The apartment, although not spotless, was reasonably cleaner. At least there was no longer a stench of vomit and one could walk around without stepping on random items lying on the floor. The boy walked to his room, with Dr. Crane following him behind.
"Here it is," Raphael announces, pointing at two cages by the window, and other apparatus at the side.
The first cage was empty, but had an opening in which a tube was inserted; and this tube carried the gases that came from an adjacent flask into the cage. The flask, tightly sealed, contained a dubious-looking liquid and was placed atop a heating plate. The second cage contained several white mice, and was well ventilated, unlike the first.
Shaking the flask slightly, Raphael switched on the heating plate, encouraging the liquid to vaporise. He points to a tray of dried blue flowers, and the doctor nods, recognising the poppy flowers. The boy continued, "After drying, I grind them into powder and mix it in a solvent, getting the liquid you see here in the flask. When it boils," bubbles started to appear in the liquid, "a gas is given off, which affects a normal mouse" he lifts up a mouse from the second cage and puts it in the first one, "like this."
As the fumes started entering the cage, the mouse was evidently curious, scampering about and trying to catch them with its nose. But upon inhalation, it stopped behaving in a normal fashion. It darted around the cage in all possible directions, knocking into the cage's walls many times, on purpose or by accident. After a while, it scampered to a corner and lay there, twitching and burying its head in the sawdust.
Dr. Crane was aware that the fumes, if inhaled in small quantities by humans, resulted in hallucinations. In more concentrated doses, the victim would be swallowed by fear and a sense of imminent doom, resulting in the onset of panic attacks in weaker individuals. He had, however, never observed a mouse's reaction to such fumes. He was faintly amused.
"As you can see, that mouse is clearly frightened," Raphael says. "And when I add in another mouse..." He picks up another mouse and places it in the first cage. Dr. Crane had a vague inkling that it was previously oblivious to the fate of the mouse in the other cage and currently still ignorant of the fate that would soon befall it.
The second mouse started to react to the fumes in the same way as the first mouse, but upon discovery of its counterpart, it sprang back and bared its teeth. The first mouse responded likewise, and both mice, feeling threatened by each other, ended up in a brawl. It was no play-fighting; they were both trying to tear each other into pieces. In the end, the second mouse stood victorious over the body of the dead mouse beside him. Raphael switched off the heating plate.
By the time the fumes in the first cage had dissipated, the second mouse was sprawled on the sawdust, motionless. It was dead.
Raphael, satisfied by the outcome of his little "experiment", walked away. Dr. Crane turned to face him, and asked, "Is this all that you have to show me?"
"Yes, but..."
"You intend to use the gas on humans," Dr. Crane stated matter-of-factly. "It's impossible. This concentration that works on mice may not have the same effect on humans."
"I know it's difficult, but that's why I need your help..." The boy's voice had taken on a dejected tone, and he stared hard at the dead mouse, shoulders hunched.
Dr. Crane continued, "And how are you going to carry the entire set-up along with you? It only works in a gaseous state. Have you thought about how you're even going to..."
Raphael interrupted, "They tried to touch me!" His voice broke, "I'm sick and tired of being weak, being beaten up, everything!"
Dr. Crane started. He wouldn't allow himself to be emotionally involved in this; he reminded himself that he was only a spectator. "I'm just telling you it isn't going to work. You're going to..."
"And now, you, you're not even going to help me. I thought you would..." He cries, his breath hitching.
The doctor almost flings his hands up in exasperation. Knowing that he would regret this later, he says, in a controlled voice, "I've tried it before,"
The boy looks up, "You, you have?"
He breathes hard, holds back the wave of memories. "Look. How are you going to use it without being affected yourself?" He nods to the cage, "You've seen how fast the gas disperses." He sighs, "Give up the idea, Raphael." He stands up, and leaves.
Raphael was still adamant. "I won't," he whispers to himself, and then he shouts, to the footsteps that were retreating further and further away, "Did you hear that? I WON'T!" He slumps back, cradling his head in his hands.
To be continued...