The psychologist sized up the man in front of her. Having so few patients she found little need to take physical notes, instead recording them in her mind alone.
A middle aged appearing male. Underweight. No history of hyperthyroidism, etc. Referred due to suspected alcoholism. No tremor. Dark circles under the eyes indicating sleeplessness but denies insomnia. Self-reported as having 'ludomania' (gambling addiction) during college and notes intrusive, obsessive thoughts and anxiety. First time seeing a psychologist. Stated goal, returning to his wife's side during her recovery from traumatic brain injury.
"I think you'd appreciate me getting right to business, so let's get started. I see that you complained of intrusive thoughts and anxiety. What do you do when you are bothered by these thoughts?" The tall well-dressed man across from her smiled with rather insincere charm. "I work. Working has always helped me distract myself from any worries. After all, it's best to take action-" Dr. Newman raised her hand, "Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to tell me what these thoughts are about specifically."
The overly wide smile froze on his handsome face, "Ah, it's just unimportant stuff. Things I know aren't true, but keep coming to mind." She let the silence stretch and watched as the smile disappeared. "I'd rather not talk about it. It's personal." She nodded slowly, then changed tacks. "Alright, how about your drinking. I see in your chart that you've been referred by Dr. Zimmerman, your boss-" She noted the angry look that flashed over his thin face then continued, "He suspects that you are an alcoholic. Do you think that's a fair description?" "Absolutely not. I don't binge, at least not often. When, very, very occasionally some terrible thing has happened to me, I might have overindulged in a little brandy, but it's only human, isn't it?" He said the last in such a bitter tone of voice that she was slightly taken aback.
"I sense that you wish you were a bit better than 'only human' is that right?" He smiled darkly, "Yes. Precisely." Dr. Newman felt a chill run down her spine, suddenly feeling not quite safe, until that predatory look seamlessly melted back into the charming grin and he said, "I believe in high standards, don't you?" She nodded slowly, then asked carefully, "I think then that maybe you let yourself down two days ago then?" He suddenly became quite serious and sad. "Yes, I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have said such a thing...My wife feels insecure since the accident you see, and I said that I missed how she used to be. I was so drunk I didn't realize, I couldn't even remember..." He wrung his hands, looking down, obviously ashamed.
Dr. Newman found herself feeling genuine compassion for him for the first time. This was the key to him then; the love he felt for his wife. "Are you willing to work with me, to better yourself, to make sure such a thing never happens again?" A determined gaze me her own. "Yes, I'll do it."
...
"Why do you want to know so much about my childhood anyway? Just read my biography." Mr. Tesla frowned, obviously annoyed by her line of questioning. She tried to maintain a straight expression. "I assure you that I have, but I'm also aware that people generally put themselves in the best light in an autobiography, not to mention the fact that there are things too personal to include-" "Then why would I want to share things like that with you?" Mr. Tesla snapped at her. Dr. Newman let him stew for a moment then said simply, "Have you told your wife about these things?"
Mr. Tesla sighed and muttered, "She knows that I had...problems, but I grew out of most of it and the rest I learned how to compensate-" "Does she know that you starved yourself from a young age?" The Serbian flushed, "No, because that's not what happened," he ground out angrily. "I was trying to..." He trailed off, unwilling to continue. Dr. Newman watched him carefully, sensing that there was something vital there. She decided to apply some pressure, "This is important. I need to know what you were doing and why. Why did you restrict your eating back then? Why do you still do it today? Some people develop dual disorders of anorexia and alcoholism. You certainly show every symptom."
"That's not true! I am not an alcoholic! I just drink wine with meals, and I'm just not used to eating a lot. You know that I could hardly eat at all for over a century. Why won't you just believe me?" He seemed completely sincere but she needed to make progress with him. "Alright, I believe you have mitigating circumstances, and most people don't understand them, but you admitted that you started restricting how much you ate from a young age. Obviously that was well before you became a vampire. Did it help alleviate your anxiety after your brother-" "I really don't want to talk about it! Please, I just-can't we talk about something else?" He was starting to look a bit panicky, so she decided to give it a rest.
"Alright, why don't we talk about your gambling addiction in college. What happened just before-" Mr. Tesla interrupted again, "No, I really don't want to talk about that either." Dr. Newman sighed frustrated, "Look, I know you're having a hard time here, that this wasn't your choice, but if you want to be a part of your wife's life again, you have to give me something to work with here. What are your anxious thoughts about?"
He stared at her quietly for several long moments. Finally, he opened his mouth and said softly, "I see people I care about getting hurt. Then I get the thought that it's my fault, because I'm a bad person. Then I think that I should have been able to prevent it, or that I need to do something to fix it. Everyone I care about, I have these thoughts about them, so I try not to, have too many...I don't get close to very many people." He went silent again, his eyes tired and sad.
Dr. Newman nodded gently, "How often do these images bother you?" He cleared his throat and gathered himself, "Oh, most of the time, unless my attention is taken up by something else. It used to be a lot worse though. I'd have the thought that I had to do any particular activity three times or my friends would get hurt or die. I would end up doing it just to make the thought go away for a while. But I haven't had problems like that for over fifty years; not since I took up meditation." Dr. Newman smiled, "That's wonderful you found such an effective coping strategy."
Apparently now that the ice was broken he felt more comfortable talking about his difficulties, "It does make it difficult to fall asleep unless I'm really very tired. That's part of the reason why I don't sleep very much and why I swim every day." Dr. Newman hummed, pleased with his honesty. "Thank you for telling me about this. I really think that this information will help bring the separation from your wife to an end sooner." Mr. Tesla nodded, "I certainly hope so."
...
"Today I wanted to ask about how your relationship with your wife has changed since the accident. I understand that she was quite different before." "Yes, she was very independent, strong and fiery. Extremely challenging and well, forceful." The man described his wife with a rueful smile. "Now she...she is obviously quite anxious after what happened to her. It must have been frightening, and she came so close to death...it's, well, she's very different than she was. " She had never heard him stumble over his words so much before. "How would you describe her personality now?"
Mr. Tesla sighed and buried his face in his hands momentarily. "Uh, she gets upset easily and stays upset longer. She asks for reassurance constantly. She has difficulty focusing on reading for very long. Well, I'm not sure that is really about personality. The neurologist said that learning difficulties were...inevitable..." He looked desperately sad as he said that final word. Dr. Newman asked delicately, "Was your relationship based a great deal on your scientific work together, your intellectual pursuits?" He nodded and sighed frustrated, "But, that doesn't matter now. She's different yes, but she is still my wife and she needs me more than ever. She needs me to make her feel good about herself, to feel safe. She needs to know she can count on me to take care of her. I just wish I hadn't-been-so stupid and selfish-"
To Dr. Newman's shock her usually guarded patient was choking up. She grabbed the box of tissues and handed it to him. He angrily wiped his face and apologized, "Sorry, I'm just, I miss her so much. I'm worried about her." She nodded and said sympathetically, "It's perfectly understandable." After a moment or two she asked quietly, "Have you taken the time to grieve?" Her patient looked up surprised, "What? She didn't die-" "I'm aware, but the Helen you married is gone. It must hurt a great deal to have lost her." He sat there frozen, a horrified look in his eyes then stuttered, "Y-yes, it, it's awful. I miss her...God, I miss her!" His voice broke as tears ran down his cheeks. "I wish I'd never let her go on that trip. Why didn't she let me go instead? I asked her if I could do more fundraising for her. She shot me down, rolled her eyes at me and everything." He laughed bitterly, "Just another one of my sneaky ulterior motives, I'm sure!"
She let him clean himself up before asking a follow up question, "Did she have reason to distrust you?" He just nodded. "Oh, I guess I forgot to mark it on the form. I was apparently extremely manic the whole time I was a vampire. A side effect I suppose, or maybe all vampires are like that. Certainly explains a lot of their history..." He trailed off morosely. Dr. Newman interjected, "Lies, grandiose delusions, violence?" He nodded sharply, "Yes, to all of them. Though I was most dangerous when we first got back together. I had run out of the medication I was taking for it." Dr. Newman nodded, "I see why she might have been in the habit of not giving in to you." "Yes, she was always giving me a lot of push back."
Dr. Newman hummed thoughtfully, "What is it like not to get that anymore?" Her patient looked to the side pensively. "It's a heavy burden to bear. I've been worried I would screw this up, let her down, let her get hurt again. And now, now I have. And I miss the equality we had. Though that's not really...I don't think that we're unequal...it's just that before we were the same, two of a kind. Now we're not. I'm having to be the oak and she's the ivy. Before we were separate and equal; two individuals coming together in a partnership with definite limits and a definite power structure. She was my boss before she was ever my wife, and she let me know it all the time. And now, I don't know what the limits are. It's like there's less and less space between what's me and what's her. And I don't exert any power over her, at least not that I know of. She still has all the power over me, it's just the opposite sort of power than the kind she used to have, I think."
"So, what I'm hearing from you is that this experience, in addition to being a kind of loss, has also resulted in you and your wife becoming closer." He nodded. "And, that's anxiety producing for you, because you're worried about hurting the people you love." He sniffed and softly said, "Yes." Dr. Newman nodded thoughtfully then asked the crucial question, "So, how have you been able to cope with all this pressure so far? And why did it all break down and you ended up on a binge?" He shook his head frustrated, "I didn't have time to fuck things up. Helen did so much of the work of the Sanctuary that I was utterly swamped dealing with all of that plus taking care of her. There wasn't one spare moment...until Will got back..."
"Ah, you mean Dr. Zimmerman. He returned from the hospital and took up many of the duties that you had been occupying yourself with. Then when you tried to go back to your regular work I understand that he put you into enforced idleness. Given that distracting yourself with work is how you cope with your anxiety and negative thoughts, doesn't it follow that this is why you became overwhelmed and went on a binge?" Nikola nodded slowly, then said, "It doesn't excuse what I did." His psychologist nodded back, "But it does explain it, and once we know cause and effect we can make a plan to prevent it from happening again."
...
"Tell me about your work. I understand that you first wanted to become an inventor during your youth. Tell me more about what inventing means to you." Dr. Newman watched her patient's face carefully, looking for tell tale expressions that might give away his secret motivations.
"Well, inventions not only make life easier, faster or more convenient, they also make the world a much cleaner, safer and more comfortable place. They help people have more time to spend with each other instead of being occupied with drudgery. They prevent disease, injury, famine, etcetera. Really, invention is about enhancing survival. It gives the individual or group an edge over the dangers of life."
She watched as his expression came alive with passion, his eyes sharp and intense as he described the power that invention had for him. "Yes, I see. And, what did your family think about your ambitions to become an inventor?" He laughed, "Well, they thought it was the fancy of a young boy, of no consequence and soon to pass, but it never passed! It only grew and grew until it became an all consuming passion. For many, many years I thought of nothing but my inventions. They were everything to me, more important than relationships, the past or my present circumstances, more important than anything."
She nodded, "Yes, you talk a great deal about the possibilities for the future that your inventions hold in your autobiography. But what about how you disregarded the present? Do you ever think that perhaps you missed out, that you neglected your friends and family during much of your life?" He shrugged, "Yes, but sacrifices needed to be made. And inventing made me so happy, it was hardly a burden. At least until...well, after the war, I did feel regret."
The bitter, morose look on his face invited comment. "Many people felt disillusioned after World War Two. The personal losses, and the loss of faith in science and progress was universal." He cut her off with a sharp gesture, "The Ustashe killed members of my family! Perverted the theory of evolution to try and justify-ha! as if anything could justify that! And the Allies, did they sweep in and save the day? No, just violated and debased nature with their infernal bomb. I warned them they were courting destruction by splitting the atom! But they had to win and wouldn't give my ideas the time of day until it was too late. Then both sides began their manhunt, but I would have no part in their Cold War, so I died. I ran. I hid and bided my time..." He trailed off, eyes staring off into the distance vacantly, overcome with memories.
"Where did you go? I imagine it must have been somewhere incredibly isolated, to be able to hide from both the USSR and the United States governments." His eyes snapped up to her face. "Oh, I went to Nepal, joined a monastery there." He left it at that, leaving a yawning silence in the room until she asked slowly, "Were you there the entire sixty years?" He nodded, "The monks were surprised that I didn't age, but accepted me the way I a-uh, the way I was." She nodded, then asked delicately, "And did you find what you were looking for while you were there?"
He shook his head quickly, "No, I just learned not to react to my thoughts and got pretty good at Tummo." At her confused look he explained, "That's a technique to consciously control one's body temperature among other things." He sighed, "After a lifetime's worth of practice I came away just feeling empty, lonely. I tried to realize their ideal of 'no self'; I thought I could escape suffering that way, but eventually I realized my suffering gives me purpose. It has meaning. It's-it makes me who I am, and I didn't want to let go of that. So I left them and came back into this new world."
He smiled genuinely, "Seeing all the progress was fun. And seeing everything that hadn't progressed made me want to get back to work. Then I realized that the Cabal was tailing me and I started having to hide again. I lost track of my medication at some point. Then I thought I needed protection, so...well, you know the Sanctuary files I'm sure. At least I had enough presence of mind to contact Helen for help. She could always tell when I was in trouble."
Dr. Newman hummed thoughtfully, "Did she often do that for you, help you when you were in trouble?" He nodded. "Is she still able to help you like that?" He thought for a moment then shook his head, "I can't bother her with that kind of thing anymore. That was my mistake, telling her that I wished she could help me, that she was in charge of the funding for my work." Dr. Newman stated incisively, "So, you find yourself without the person that you have relied upon for most of your life to help you when you get into trouble." He shook his head, "I can't rely on her like that anymore it's true."
A moment of silent contemplation descended over them until he slowly said, "But, she is, she is still trying to help me. She, well, she has become...nurturing. Motherly even. It's so strange to be treated that way..." he got a faraway smile, bemused by the situation, then said with a sweet confidential air, "She's gentle, tender in a way she never was before." The woman across from him smiled broadly, "It seems like she's helping you more than you realize. Well, let's leave it there for today. I think that we're getting very close to resolving the situation."
...
"When did you have your first drink?" The slim dark-haired man across from her grinned with a rakish air. "Nine. It was slivovica too, plum brandy. Oh, wait a minute, do you mean wine too? I really got into the church wine when I was six. I was never scolded either. It was no big deal. And for as long as I can remember I drank weak beer. Like everyone else, of course. Safer than water." He frowned darkly as he said the last and looked away. Dr. Newman tilted her head, "Ah, yes, you got cholera once from drinking water. Do you ever drink water now?" He scoffed, "Not if I can avoid it! I know it's dehydrating to drink mostly wine, but I feel nauseated after drinking water. And if I'm really thirsty I drink milk, tea or juice."
Dr. Newman nodded, giving him the benefit of the doubt. "Since you don't eat much, doesn't wine hit you kind of hard? I see here that you drink six glasses a day. That's above the recommended daily allowance for a man of average weight and you're definitely underweight." He frowned resentfully then said soft and seriously, "I get a little bit of a buzz, but I'm fine to work, fine for anything." "Are you ever concerned about your health now that you are mortal again? I know that you suffered from a germ phobia earlier in life-" He interrupted, "Of course I am! But there's no help for it at the moment is there! The focus here is on clearing me to see my wife again. She needs me-"
Dr. Newman raised a hand, halting his protests, "Yes, that is our focus. I need to know that you are not going to slip up again. We both need to know that, and the only way to make that happen is to identify the cause. I understand that you've grown accustomed to drinking alcohol every meal since a very young age, that you grew up in a time when it was the only truly safe beverage, that wine was the only thing you could bear to drink to relieve the torment of your constant thirst as a vampire, but why do you now, now when you are made constantly intoxicated by it, continue to drink just the way you used to?"
"Something has to remain the same doesn't it!" he cried out in frustration. "I like drinking wine! There, I've said it. Are you happy now? Confirmed your suspicions, is that it?!" She let his outburst ring in the heavy air between them. "Do you think that..." she began gently, "...that you've struggled with addiction in your life? Gambling as a young man, working as an adult, maybe even something as innocuous as daydreaming and reading when you were a child?" Nikola huffed and ran his hands through his hair, mussing it. "Yes, I guess so. But I always managed to either stop completely or turn it to my advantage-" "And have you done that with drinking?" she interrupted. "No, obviously not," he admitted, "but I could if I wanted to. But there's no need. It's not like I'm driving Helen around all the time or something. Why should I bother cutting back? Everything is fine."
"Dr. Zimmerman and Mr. Foss don't think so, and ultimately they are the ones you have to convince. Until you do that they won't let you spend time with your wife. Besides that, she told me that she doesn't trust you when you're drunk-" "What?! When did she say that?" Dr. Newman put up a hand, silencing him. "Yesterday, at the end of our session together, she told me to tell you that." His face fell. "Oh," he murmured, looking like a chastened child. "I-Alright, I'll cut back. How much can I drink a day?" Dr. Newman blinked, surprised by his abrupt turnaround. "Three glasses a day is considered the maximum for good health. Let's agree to that, alright?" He nodded firmly. "Good, now can I see my wife?"
She quickly got up, went to her phone and called Dr. Zimmerman. "Hello, I'm here with Mr. Tesla. He says that he will limit himself to three drinks per day. Is that adequate to clear him to see his wife again?" A moment passed. "Yes, I agree with continuing our sessions to observe his progress." She hummed with agreement as she listened to a few more suggestions. "Well, he seems highly motivated to me. He's been cooperative and I believe no further progress can be made until he can rejoin his wife. Also, it's important that he get back to his normal routine, work and all that. I trust you'll assign him some duties, preferably in his previous post." She scoffed lightly as a raised voice could be heard through the headset. "Ah, no. I really don't care about that. Ask Mr. Foss how he feels about it, but this is important for his progress. Get him back to work. Now." A moment passed. "Yes, yes. Very good. Goodbye."
Dr. Newman turned to her patient with a smile. "Well, you're going home."
...