"You are acting like vermin animal, young lady. You are going to live like vermin animal and you will end up dying like vermin animal. And then he'd go into these detailed descriptions of how vermin lived and died and how no one loved them and gave them good love because they didn't deserve it and how the only thing they deserved was bad love and filth and humiliation."
She reached for her mug. Her hand shook and she braced it with the other one before raising the coffee to her lips.
"He'd keep going like that. Don't ask me how long because I don't know- it felt like years. Chanting. Over and over and over. You will get the bad love, you will get the bad love… pain, and suffering and loneliness that would never end- prison, where people will rape you and cut you and tie you up so you can't move. Horrible diseases you will get- he'd go into the symptoms. Talk about the loneliness, how you'd always be alone. Like a corpse left out in the desert to dry. Like a piece of dirt on some cold, distant planet- he was full of analogies, Dr. B. was, playing loneliness like an instrument. Your life will be as empty and dark as this room we are sitting in, young lady. Your entire future will be desolate. No good love from anyone- no good love, just bad love, filth, and degradation. Because that is what bad children deserve. A cold, lonely world for children who act like vermin animals. Then he'd show photos. Dead bodies, concentration camp stuff. This is how you will end up!"
She shifted closer.
"He'd just chant it," she said, touching my cuff. "Like some priest… throwing out these images. Not giving you a chance to speak. He made you feel you were the only bad person in a beautiful world- a shit smear on silk. And you believed him. You believed everyone was changing for the better, learning to control themselves. Everyone was on his side, you were the only piece of shit."
"Cutting you off," I said, "so you wouldn't confide in the other kids."
"It worked; I never confided in anyone. Later, when I was out of there- years later- I realized it was stupid, I couldn't have been the only one. I'd seen other kids go into the rooms- it seems so ridiculously logical now. But back then, I couldn't- he kept focusing me in on myself. On the bad parts of me. The vermin animal parts."
"You were isolated right from the beginning. New environment, new routine."
"Exactly!" she said, squeezing my arm. "I was scared shitless. My parents never told me where we were going, just shoved me in the car and tossed in a suitcase. The whole ride up there, they wouldn't speak to me. When we got there, they drove through the gates, dumped me in the office, left me there and drove away. Later I found out that's what he instructed them to do. Have a happy summer, Meredith…"
Her eyes got wet. "I'd just repeated seventh grade. Finally faked enough to barely pass and was looking forward to a vacation. I thought summer would be the beach and Lake Arrowhead- we had a cabin, always went there as a family. They dumped me and went without me… no apologies, no explanation. I thought I'd died and gone to hell- sitting in that office, all those brown uniforms, no one talking to me. Then he came out, smiling like a clown, saying, what a pretty girl you are, telling me to come with him, he'd be taking care of me. I thought: what a jerk, no problem putting it over on him. The first time I stepped out of line, he let it pass. The second time, he pulled me into a room and bad-loved me. I walked out of there in a semi-coma… blitzed, wasted- it's hard to explain, but it was almost like dying. Like bad dope- I felt I was on a rocky island in the middle of a storm. This crazy, black, roaring sea, with sharks all around… no escape, him working on my bad parts- chewing me up!"
"What a nightmare," I said.
"The first week I hardly slept or ate. Lost ten pounds. The worst part was that you believed him. He had a way of taking over your head- like he was sitting in your skull, scraping away at your brain. You really felt you were shit and belonged in hell."
"None of the kids ever talked to each other?"
"Maybe some did, I didn't. Maybe I could've, I don't know- I sure didn't feel I could. Everyone walking around smiling, saying how great Dr. B. was. Such a beautiful guy. You found yourself saying it, too, mouthing along without thinking, like one of those dumb camp songs. There was this- this feverish atmosphere to the place. Grinning idiots. Like a cult. You felt if you spoke out against him, someone would pour poison Kool-Aid down your throat."
"Was physical punishment ever part of bad love?"
"Once in a while- usually a slap, a pinch, nothing that hurt too much. It was mostly the humiliation- the surprise. When he wanted to hurt you, he'd poke you in the elbow or the shoulder. Flick his finger on the bone. He knew all the spots… nothing that would leave a scar, not that anyone would have believed us, anyway. Who were we? Truants, fuckups, rejects. Even now, would I be credible? Four abortions, Valium, Librium, Thorazine, Elavil, lithium? All the other things I've done? Wouldn't some lawyer dig that up and put me on trial? Wouldn't I be a piece of shit all over again?"
"Probably."
Her smile was rich with disgust. "I'm jazzed that he's dead- doubly jazzed he did it to himself- his turn for humiliation."
She looked up at the ceiling.
"What is it?" I said.
"Killing himself- do you think he could have felt some guilt?"
"With what you've told me, it's hard to imagine."
"Yeah. You're probably right… yeah, he slapped me plenty of times, but the pain was welcome. 'Cause when he was getting physical, he wasn't talking. His voice. His words. He could reach into your center and squeeze the life out of you… did you know he used to write columns in magazines- humane child rearing? People sent in problems and he'd offer fucking solutions?"
I sighed.
"Yes," she said. "My sad, sad story- such pathos." Looking around the restaurant, she cupped one ear. "Any daytime-serial people listening? Got a bitchin' script for you."
"You never told anyone?"
"Not until you, dear." Smile. "Aren't you flattered? All those shrinks and you're the very first- why, you've deflowered me- busted my psychological cherry!"
"Interesting way to put it."
"But fitting, right? Therapy's just like fucking- you open yourself up to a stranger and hope for the best."
I said, "You said you saw other kids going into the rooms. Were they taken by other people, or just de Bosch?"
"Mostly by him, sometimes by that creepy daughter of his. I always got personal attention from the big cheese- Daddy's social position and all that."
"Katarina was involved in treatment? When exactly were you there?"
"Seventy-six."
"She was only twenty-three. Still a student."
Shrug. "Everyone treated her as if she was a shrink. What she was was a real bitch. Walking around with this smug look on her face- Daddy was the king and she was the princess. Now there's one dutiful daughter who really did want to fuck Papa."
"Did you have any direct dealings with her?"
"Other than a sneer in the hall? No."
"What about other staffers? Did you see any of them doing private sessions?"
"No."
"None of those names I mentioned rang a bell?"
She gave a pained look. "It all blurs- I've been through changes, my whole life until a few years ago is a blur."