Gods in the Garden
Case Presentation
CLIENT
Case File A186
Date Examined: January 5th, 2020 (Feb. 1st
Warner State Penitentiary and Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Civil Status: Single (Widowed)
Educational Attainment: College (Engineer)
Purpose for Referral: Evaluation
CASE BACKGROUND
Mr. Carmichael suffers from a dissociative disorder due to a psychotic break after allegedly murdering his daughter on February 1st, 2017 at approximately 4:25 in the morning. Neighbors recalled hearing strange noises coming from the Carmichael house followed by frantic screaming from Mr. Carmichael. Police found Mr. Carmichael in the living room of the family home. He was in an extreme stress state and reports claim he had been pawing at the earth. His fingertips had been worn raw and caked in dirt and blood.
Mr. Carmichael has spent the last two and a half years at the Warner State Penitentiary and has undergone extensive psychiatric examination to little effect. Mr. Carmichael shows signs of severe bi-polar disorder expressing elevated states of mania and depression followed often by extended bouts of schizophrenia. Mr. Carmichael reports hearing music and speaking with disembodied entities that visit him at these times.
It is within the interest of the Penitentiary to have Mr. Carmichael evaluated for replacement into the Canary Meadows Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center where he will receive around the clock surveillance. This is due to a shift in Mr. Carmichael’s behavior to include occasional violent outbursts against orderlies and doctors.
I have been appointed Mr. Carmichael’s therapist for the purpose of evaluation. We will begin by recording Mr. Carmichael’s recounting of the events of February 1st, 2017. It is my understanding that he offers an exact retelling of the account with near one hundred percent accuracy of the event regardless of efforts to disseminate fact from fiction by way of carefully prescribed medications and psychological deceptions to evaluate Mr. Carmichael. Beyond this data I have requested no further information from previous evaluations.
I will transcribe recordings of my interviews with Mr. Carmichael and provide them in the case file along with personal evaluation impressions.
Dr. Eleanor Fogg, PhD
CLIENT
Case File A186
Date Examined: January 6th, 2020
Warner State Penitentiary and Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Civil Status: Single (Widowed)
Educational Attainment: College (Engineer)
Purpose for Referral: Evaluation
Case Presentation
“Hello Mr. Carmichael.”
“Hello.”
“Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything before we begin?”
“A taxi?”
“Where do you plan to go Mr. Carmichael?”
“Nowhere, it was a joke. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I see. If we are ready, I would like to begin with your retelling of the events of that evening.”
“I’ve already told a dozen shrinks what happened. What REALLY happened.”
“I understand, but if you will indulge me. I will need to hear your recounting myself. Trust me, it will be the last time you will have to recount those events.”
There is a long pause. Mr. Carmichael is slumped in his chair. His head hangs limply and his eyes stare at something far away. He smiles for the briefest moment. Then he begins.
“It was really cold that February. I remember because we had already gone through all the firewood I had purchased. That had gotten us through the previous year, but that February was so cold. There was ice on the windows all the time. It spread like spiderwebs up the glass. Debbie, Debbie is my wife, Debbie was complaining about how expensive the oil bill was going to be. She wanted me to switch to natural gas. I hadn’t. Debbie wouldn’t let me forget that.”
Deborah Carmichael filed for divorce, but never followed through. She is deceased.
“We slept with our door open. It let the heat circulate, but also we could hear the children get up in the night. Sometimes they got up to go to the bathroom or sneak down the stairs to get a drink of water. Debbie always woke me up to check on them if they didn’t go back to their rooms. I’d sometimes find Jonathan watching television in the living room. He’d like to sneak late night horror shows. He’d fall asleep on the couch, and I’d carry him back to his bed. “
“Lily would sometimes be cuddled up next time him. Her eyes wide in terror. She admired her older brother and always wanted to do everything he did. They were only two years apart, but they were inseparable. Jonathan was very protective. He would tell her not to watch, but there she was each time huddled next to her brother, blanket over just enough of her face to let her still watch the movie, but to keep the monster at bay.”
Mr. Carmichael smiles wide, but then it fades.
“It was a Tuesday. Debbie woke me up. I went down. Jonathan was there like always. Lily hadn’t come down this time. I flicked off the television. It was Salem’s Lot. Not the remakes. It was the original in black and white. I flicked off the television and grabbed Jonathan up. He was seven and slight. He played soccer. I always pushed the kids to be active. I had been fat as a kid. It isn’t fun, being a fat kid. You get picked on a lot and it’s tough to break those bad habits as an adult. I’m sorry, this is about Lily, not about me.”
I inform Mr. Carmichael that this is a safe space and that he is free to share. I instruct him to continue.
“Anyway, I brought Jonathan to his room. I tucked him in. I went to check on Lily. I always did that if I had to get up. Check on both the kids. It’s a comfort thing, you know? You can sleep a little better knowing they’re sleeping safe in there rooms.”
“When I got to her door I noticed that it was ajar. We didn’t leave their doors open. We knew it might be a little colder, but it was easier to hear them at night if they had to open the doors. I figured that I had just not closed it tight enough. Or maybe she had gone down stairs, but finally chickened out and sneaked back up to her room. Salem’s Lot is a scary movie. I remember it scaring me as a kid.”
“I opened the door slightly. I let just enough light in to catch the headboard of the bed. When I didn’t see her, I pushed the door open more. The blankets were down by the foot of the bed. She had definitely gotten up, but she was nowhere to be found.”
“I didn’t panic yet. I walked back down the stairs and flicked on the lights. First to the foyer, then the kitchen, and finally back in the living room. I still couldn’t find her. Now I was beginning to worry. Lily was not the adventurer. She probably would never get up if she didn’t hear Jonathan doing it. She was content with her story time and her sleep. Jonathan had started sleeping over houses that year. Debbie always remarked how peaceful it was when he was out. I mean, we loved our son. Of course we did. But those nights Lily would be snug in her bed the entire time. We really liked those sleep over nights.”
“I walked the house once. Twice. I called out her name. Now I was in a panic. I screamed out her name. I remember the living room being cold, but it was February. A really cold February. The coldest I had remembered in a long time, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
“I was in the kitchen and checking the door to the back yard when Debbie came down stairs. I told her I couldn’t find Lily and she darted into the living room. I checked the back door. It was locked. We had bolts and key locks. The front door was locked too. I checked the downstairs bathroom when I heard Debbie call out.”
Debbie was already heading into the back yard when I entered the living room. We had sliding doors that went out to the back yard. I remember them white with frost. I scolded myself for being so stupid. That’s why it was so cold in the living room. The sliding door must have been open slightly. I made my way through the living room and out onto the patio. It was cement with a nice pergola and a built in grill.
“We really loved hosting in the summers. We have a great in ground pool and an outdoor bar. Debbie loved her gardens and her friends were always envious. I found them to be just a lot of work. There was always trimming or watering or raking to be done. Debbie loved it though and I liked seeing her happy.”
Despite his awareness of time, the house in question his been sold.
“You probably think I was afraid she fell into the pool. Isn’t that how these stories go? I have a lovely in ground pool. ‘Oh, no! She probably fell into it!’ Well I didn’t even get that far. Lily was sitting at the edge of the pergola wrapped tightly in a quilt she had taken from the living room. Her back was too us and she didn’t move. Debbie had frozen from fear. I stepped furtively toward her. I called out her name. I think my voice cracked. Yes, it did, because I remember my heart sinking into my chest thinking my little girl might be dead from hypothermia. It was really very cold that February.”
“I knelt beside her. Her skin was pale, almost bluish. Her little eyes were closed and I saw weak trails of mist escaping the smile on her face. She was nearly frozen to death, but she was smiling. I scooped her up in my arms and raced back into the house. I remember jostling Debbie. I didn’t mean to, but she just didn’t move.”
“Anyway. I placed her on the couch and started throwing blankets on her. I ran to the fireplace and I remember cursing. I never cursed in front of the children, but we had used all the wood. I saw that Debbie was sitting with her, rubbing her little hands between her own. I sat down with them both. I gently massaged her little cheeks. I remember trying to will warmth back into her. I don’t remember how long we sat there. I thought Debbie had started humming to her, but before long I noticed it was Lily. She was humming. It was weak but she was humming. She hummed herself to sleep in our arms.”
“I remember the sun shining through the sliding glass doors the next morning. The sun rose at the back of the house and streamed right through those doors. We hadn’t moved all night. Lily was sleeping soundly between us.”
I call a break for the day. Mr. Carmichael thanks me. He says he’s very tired. It is probably the medication.
Personal Impressions: Mr. Carmichael has an almost preternatural ability to recount this tale. I am told that each one has had a nearly eidetic similarity. I am eager to find out if he is still consistent. It is true that he embellishes moments, but the details pertaining to the daughter and the rest of the family seem unwavering.
Dr. Eleanor Fogg
Case Presentation
CLIENT
Case File: A186
Date Examined: January 9th, 2020
Warner State Penitentiary and Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Civil Status: Single (Widowed)
Educational Attainment: College (Engineer)
Purpose for Referral: Evaluation
I am meeting with Mr. Carmichael for a second time. He has been recounting the events that transpired before February 1st, 2017. This was the night of his daughter’s disappearance and the night he allegedly murdered her.
I am told that Mr. Carmichael has had an episode since we last met. He evidently beat an orderly so severely that the man has been hospitalized. The Warden has informed me that for the rest of our encounters Mr. Carmichael will be in handcuffs. My protests went unheeded. This has been a routine with Mr. Carmichael and I am informed that each time he recounts these events he becomes increasingly agitated. It had been some time since Mr. Carmichael had received any visitors and had been on good behavior for months.
I will begin today’s session by addressing this agitation.
“Hello Mr. Carmichael.”
“You can call me Stephen.”
“Would that make you more comfortable?”
“No, but it might make you more comfortable.”
“Mr. Carmichael, would you like to discuss the events that transpired since our last meeting?”
“No, would you?”
“I would as a matter of fact. This is not the first time you have shown levels of agitation when recounting this story. Can you explain to me why retelling the story makes you uncomfortable?”
“Are you fucking serious? Are you even a real fucking therapist, cause honestly lady that is the stupidest fucking question I have been asked, and I have been asked a lot of fucking questions since that night let me tell you.”
“Mr. Carmichael, please calm down.”
“Strike two! Honestly, did you get your PhD out of a cracker jack box? Telling people to calm the fuck down? I am calm. I am real fucking calm right now. Ask that orderly how fucking calm I am right now. You’d know it if I wasn’t fucking calm.”
“Let’s talk about the orderly.”
“Ho-le-shit lady. Alright, you know what. Fine, let’s talk about the god damned orderly. You see, they don’t like that I’m not insane. They hate that I’m not going to forget every god damned detail of the night my daughter was taken. So sometimes they come and try to make me forget. They try to make me forget about Lily and how cold it was that February and they try to make me forget about the Sidhe.”
“And, what ARE the Sidhe Mr. Carmichael.”
“I should put you in a fucking bed right next to Kamal. You know that? That’s the orderlies name. Gokunesh Kamal. Good guy. At least until he tried to take away my memories. Now he’ll be sucking his meals from a straw for a while.”
“You people come here and you repeat the same god damn thing every time. And that monotone detachment you people use as if you’re above the whole fucking thing. Like your gurus on top of the fucking mountain listening to the confusion of the howling masses below. Well, I got news for you lady. If you knew what I know you’d be smashing your ears with hammers so you’d never have to hear another fucking thing again. You’d be clawing out of your fucking eyes only to realize the horrible mistake. Cause the things I’ve seen. They’re in here. Forever.”
Mr. Carmichael jerks at his restrains trying to pound his fists against the sides of his head. I notice that there are several large welts on his head. I will speak with the Warden to get an account of the event.
“Alright then, Stephen. What happened next.”
I didn’t know what to expect. Like a spell, Mr. Carmichael calmed. He sat there for a time. His heavy breathing subsided and his expression blanked and his eyes drifted to somewhere far off.
“It was the next Friday. Not three days after. The Friday after that. It was snowing. School had already been canceled. Jonathan had planned ahead. He had invited two of his friends over and then proceeded to plead with us to allow them to spend the night on account of no school. We cleared it with their parents and allowed them to stay.”
“We had ordered pizza. Lily loved pepperoni. Jonathan is more of a pineapple kid. The kids ate and then Jonathan and his friends had run upstairs to play video games in his room. Debbie and I were cleaning up in the kitchen when we heard a loud thud in the living room. I went to check on Lily. She was sitting on the floor near the coffee table. I’d gotten more firewood so the fireplace was lit. I had asked her if she had heard anything. She shook her head, but I saw her cast her eyes toward the sliding glass doors. I asked her if she was sure. She nodded.”
“I always loved when she nodded. Her little curls would bounce like springs. It was really cute.”
“Anyway, I went over to the sliding doors. They were locked. Spiderlines of frost covered almost half the door. I rubbed my hand on the glass, but that didn’t do anything. I tried to look out, but my breath only fogged up the glass. I pulled open the door slightly. It had been so warm inside I had forgotten how frigid it was. Man, it was cold. I remember my lungs aching almost the minute I breathed the outside air.”
“I tried to keep as much of myself inside as possible while looking around. I was ready for bed not for trekking out into the snow in the back yard. It was quiet. The kind of quiet you only get in winter. Nothing moved. I imagined the air itself was frozen in place. It was easy enough to see even though it was nighttime. The snow refracted the moonlight making everything blue, white and black.”
“I didn’t see anything unusual at first, but then I noticed the little trail cut into the snow that led from the sliding doors out into the darkness in the yard. I closed the doors. Debbie asked me what it was. She was still a little shaken from the week before. Lily had told us that she had gone outside to hear the music. We were worried that maybe she had some sort of hearing issue. The doctor reassured us nothing was wrong with her ears. I quickly forgot about it. Kids were weird sometimes. They did weird things and you just had to go with it. If I had taken everything my kids said as gospel I would have ended up here much sooner.”
“That wasn’t a joke.”
Mr. Carmichael pauses. I assured him I understood what he meant. I called him Stephen. This seemed to set him right. Mr. Carmichael seems to be showing signs of responding to the stimuli of familiarity. His son has not been to see him since his wife committed suicide. Jonathan now resides in Maine with his grandparents.
“I told Debbie it was just some animal that had come to the doors. Probably the stray cat that lived under the hedgerow. It wasn’t really a stray. It was Miss Cafferty’s cat, but the old woman barely took care of it so it had taken to depending on the kindness of neighbors to survive. Lily enjoyed the cat’s company from time to time. Debbie had forced me to catch it and take it to the vet once. She wanted to be sure it was safe for the kids to be around. Turned out the thing was right as rain and healthier than I was. It was a she, and her name was Cyclamen. Lily named her that. Debbie loved flowers and she always brought Lily to the flower stores when she went. There’s a plant called cyclamen. Lily loved the way it looked.”
“We were all sleeping. I had gotten up three times already to tell the boys to quiet down. This was the forth and by now I was exhausted and pissed. They weren’t in their room. Neither was Lily. I was ready to ground Jonathan for a year for keeping his sister up all night.”
“The lights were all on downstairs. I made as much noise as I could and warned the boys loudly that I was upset. My words failed me when I got to the bottom floor. A cold waft of air hit me. The living room was lit and a heavy mist hung in the air. The sliding door was wide open. Jonathan’s two friends stood with their backs to me. They shivered uncontrollably, but seemed locked where they stood. I called their names as I got closer. One of the boys, a rail thin, lanky kid, stood in a puddle of what looked to be piss. I shook the boys. Their mouths hung open slightly and their eyes were shut tight. Their hands were clenched at their sides. I shook them gently and called out their names.”
“When this didn’t work, I left them and headed for the door. I just left them there. Full disclosure. I didn’t care about them. I was even mad that I had found them first. They could have been frozen solid and I think I would have just left them there. God, I think I would have just left them there.”
“I stood in the portal of the door. I tried to ignore how cold my feet were, but I couldn’t. Damn, it was so cold. I did forget about my feet some time between seeing Jonathan face down in the snow and Lily traipsing off into the back yard. By this time Debbie had come down stairs. She was calling to me. I was on my knees in the snow. I had turned Jonathan over. He was convulsing. I cradled him and called out to Lily. Debbie arrived quickly and took my son. We were in our pajamas, our bare feet deep in heavy snow.”
“I trudged through the back yard as fast as I could. I didn’t understand how Lily could be moving so much faster. I fell, what, a dozen times. My hands and feet were numb. I remember thinking that my feet weren’t going to get through this. I’d probably have frostbite. I didn’t care, but you think about things at the weirdest moment.”
“Time seemed to freeze in that cold. I remember feeling so sluggish. I remember the moonlight on the snow. How it rested on the bare branches of the shrubs, or blanketed the tops of the evergreens. I remember Lily’s little trail. How effortless it looked. I remember how I devoured it as I trudged forward. She was so far away. Nearly to the back of the yard. The massive hedgerow loomed in the darkness crowned with snow. I remember seeing the glint of two small eyes.”
“I tackled her. I tackled my daughter with too much force. I was so scared and she was so fast. I shoved her into the snow. I pulled her out quick, but I had shoved her down to stop her. I remember hearing her humming and giggling. I remember being mad. Mad at her for not being cold, for not having a hard time moving through the snow. Mad at her for scaring her daddy so much.”
“I drew her in. She started crying, because of course she was crying. I had just checked her into the snow like this was a Devil’s game. I held her close and just stared out toward the hedgerow for a moment. I thought I heard. I thought I saw. But before I knew it I was running back through the snow toward the house. I didn’t think I was going to make it through the doors. I was so cold. Lily clung to me like a sopping wet blanket. I nearly threw myself over the threshold.”
“Debbie was sitting next to Jonathan holding him. The two boys were crying on the couch across from them. She looked at me when I came in. I remember keeping conscious just long enough to fall to one knee and let Lily go running to her mother. Then I passed out.”
Mr. Carmichael seems physically effected by his recounting of the story. He’s become increasingly drawn and has broken out into a sweat. He shivers as if feeling the memory and, if his hands weren’t bound, he would have probably held himself. I ordered the guard to bring a glass of water. Mr. Carmichael finished it in one protracted gulp somewhere in the middle of his tale.
Personal Impressions: It seems like Mr. Carmichael was truly devoted to his family. He admits to certain behaviors that seem reasonable if the circumstances are to be believed. Ms. Carmichael never refuted her husband’s devotion and never intimated any signs of abuse. Even his acknowledgement of his bias toward his own children over his son’s friends suggests his devotion and love toward family. There is no suggestion of deviancy.
Dr. Eleneaor Fogg, PhD
Case Presentation
CLIENT
Case File: A186
Date Examined: January 14th, 2020
Warner State Penitentiary and Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Civil Status: Single (Widowed)
Educational Attainment: College (Engineer)
Purpose for Referral: Evaluation
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Stephen seems withdrawn. He stares off into space and his tone is as if in a dream. He is largely unresponsive to stimulus. Light, sound, touch: nothing seems to break the ennui. Perhaps he has detached and is now compartmentalizing. I still need to get the rest of his retelling of the story to compare it to the versions I possess. They remain untouched until I can get my evaluation finished. I hope he is capable and willing to speak.
“Good morning Mr. Carmichael. May I call you Stephen?”
“Yes.”
His voice is distant. His answers are curt. He does not seem mad, and I have been assured that he has required no sedation since our last meeting. They even released him from his restraints. His arms almost hang lifelessly by his sides. His pupils are dilated almost to the point of being entirely black.
“Are you willing to continue with the story Stephen?”
“You mean the story about how I killed my daughter?”
“Are you confessing to killing your daughter?”
This was something new. Was he willing to admit what he had done? It is likely that he had a psychotic break that reinforced this fabricated tale that he has recounted, but now, maybe he was seeing reality for what it was.
“No, but I know you want me to. The Sidhe took her, like I’ve said. The police, my own wife, think I hurt her. I would never hurt her. You know what I’m going to say. I either am delusional or you are hoping I will slip up.”
“I am hoping you will accept the truth Stephen.”
“The truth? The truth is that the Sidhe took my daughter. The truth is that I am a scapegoat for the police because they don’t know where she is. The truth is that you are not going to be the last shrink to question me.”
“It will only be true if I find you mentally unfit. Otherwise, you will be shipped off to prison where you will likely vanish into the system. You don’t want that right?”
“I want to get out of here so I can find my daughter.”
“Will you harm someone again? You were arrested trying to strangle your neighbor, but you know that. It is detailed in your transcripts.”
“Mrs. Cafferty is a witch and her cat is evil. Or, at least that’s what I thought. It is a Sidhe. They took my Lily. You stopped me from killing her. She will probably kidnap another child.”
He is using you here to describe anyone else. I had not met Mr. Carmichael before these sessions and I have never met this Mrs. Cafferty.
“Mrs. Cafferty moved shortly after she was released from the hospital.”
“Of course she did. Find out where she went. I bet there will be more missing children.”
“Unfortunately, there are missing children everywhere Stephen.”
I refrained from adding that it was usually a relative that harmed them.
“Now, please continue with your story.”
“Fine.”
His eyes became normal and he almost seemed to return to the present. I would have expected the opposite. He seemed to be living the moment in real time and the rest was a dream. Talking to me, this place, all phantoms in his mind. Perhaps this was all a form a schizophrenia? There would have to be rigorous testing before we could determine that.
“I spent the next few weeks bringing my daughter to doctors. Regular doctors and shrinks like you. Lily had become distant. She was distracted. Always humming, and laughing, and talking to imaginary friends. If only I had known they weren’t imaginary at the time. They tell us when we’re children that there are no monsters. We regurgitate that when we become parents, but it isn’t the truth. There are monsters. It’s more than just metaphor. Sometimes they’re under your bed, or in the closet. Ours was in the hedgerow outside our house. Of course, if anyone said that at the time I would have said they were crazy.”
Mr. Carmichael laughs bitterly. It was cold and bereft of mirth.
“Every test came out fine. Her pediatrician gave her a clean bill of health and the psychiatrist said she was a normal, happy little girl, and there was nothing to be worried about. Nothing to be worried about. They hadn’t chased her in the snow. They hadn’t seen those eyes. And she always stopped the humming when she saw the doctors.”
“It wasn’t a tune I was familiar with. Lily would just say it was something in her head. That it had to come out. She seemed happy when she was humming, and I was just glad to see her healthy and well.”
“I had started sleeping on the couch downstairs. Maybe she was sleepwalking out into the yard.”
“It ruined Johnathan’s nighttime horror movies, but he had become more secluded in those weeks. We almost ignored him. Maybe it was unfair. I hope he understood. He tried to tell us there was something out there. That something attacked him when he went to stop Lily that night. We didn’t listen. It was likely his overactive imagination playing tricks on him. He loved horror movies and he had failed to stop his sister. Debbie nor I blamed him, but I thought maybe he concocted a story because he blamed himself.”
“Why don’t we ever listen to children?”
Mr. Carmichael tilted his head and regarded me as if I was hiding the answer.
“He was trying to tell us about the Sidhe, but we just dismissed it. We were his parents. We should have listened. Really listened. Lily might still be here if we had listened. Instead, we dismissed him. Got mad at him even. He secluded himself in his room only coming down for meals. When he did, he was always wary of the living room and the sliding doors. Even on snow days he had stopped hanging out with friends and refused to go into the back yard. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Do you think that make’s me a bad dad?”
Mr. Carmichael was weeping. I shook my head no. We are taught that we are in charge. That we know better. Usually, we do. We know how to hold down jobs, pay bills, all the things that made a stable life. The whimsy of children is beneath us. That might be to our detriment. We’re so busy mattering. So busy knowing how the world really works. We tell ourselves children believe in fictions and we believe in reality. It is little wonder adults consider themselves the authority and dismiss their children. Whether that was good or bad was another matter.
This diatribe was likely new, but it was just rumination on the consequences of his actions.
“We can stop there and continue when you feel up to it.”
“Have you found her yet?”
How did he know I was looking for his neighbor? Yes, I had tracked her down. She had moved to another house in another suburb. Only, it was across country. There was no way for me to speak with her just yet. I didn’t answer him. I picked up my materials and left.
Personal Impressions: He seems distraught. He displays no signs of antisocial behavior. He seems deeply aware of what has occurred, what it implies, and how it impacts everyone in his immediate family. Mr. Carmichael seems like a man who has experienced something he cannot reconcile.
Dr. Eleanor Fogg, PhD
Case Presentation
CLIENT
Case File: A186
Date Examined: January 17th, 2020
Warner State Penitentiary and Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Civil Status: Single (Widowed)
Educational Attainment: College (Engineer)
Purpose for Referral: Evaluation
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Mr. Carmichael doesn’t seem to be interested in anything but his past. He seems calm, but anxious to continue. We will now discuss the night of the alleged murder.
“It was late when I woke up with a start. Johnathan had shaken me awake. I was about to ask him what was wrong. I was groggy, but sort of alert. I was supposed to be keeping watch. I was supposed to be protecting my family.”
“I sat up and let the blanket I had thrown over me slide off. Damn, it was cold. I shivered, looked around, and then looked toward Johnathan. He was holding a mop like a spear and he had a colander on his head. I think he might have stolen Debbie’s lipstick. His face had red markings like war paint. He looked like something out of Lord of the Flies.”
“He nodded toward the sliding doors silently. His eyes were wide, but his brows were furrowed. He seemed to be deciding between fight and flight. I turned my head to follow his gaze. The sliding doors were wide open. The frigid air was wafting in from outside.”
“I was ready this time. My shoes and jacket were in the living room. I tussled Jonathan’s hair. I would take it from here. I stood, threw on my jacket, slipped sockless into my sneakers, and bolted out the sliding doors.”
“It was like another world. Everything was a shade of frozen blue. It was quiet. The world had been subdued. The backyard was a field of unblemished snow except for a small trail that led off into the darkness. It was both beautiful and menacing. Icicles hung like jagged teeth from the shed, and everything sparkled in the moonlight. Ahead of me was a little shadow.”
“I called out but she didn’t respond. I broke into a clumsy run. The snow was deep. I fell face down in the snow. It crumpled beneath me like a soft pillow. That soft crunching sound as it compacted. I hate that sound. It was probably cold, it always seemed cold, but I couldn’t feel it, my whole body was numb. My mind was flooded with fear. Lily had slept-walked right past me. I hadn’t wakened. What kind of bad father doesn’t waken?”
He begins crying again. The questions and the remorse denote empathy.
“Do you want to stop Mr. Carmichael?”
He sniffled and shook his head. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and glanced at the table between us. His voice was broken when he continued.
“I couldn’t save her. I tried, but she kept moving. I kept tripping. Then she was gone and there were only those eyes. At least I think they were eyes. They were yellow and were coming for the hedgerow. I stared at them for a long moment. Whatever it was knew it had won. Those eyes were cold. Somehow colder than everything else. They were cruel, triumphant. I think I imagined a smile. A wide, rictus grin. Maybe there wasn’t a smile.”
“I pictured the Cheshire Cat. Those eyes were happy. Well, satisfied. Fulfilled. I imagined an indolent, fat cat that had won its prize. It must have felt so satisfied with itself. It was defiant too. I think it wanted me to try to come closer. I felt it daring me. Threatening me. Stretching its sharp claws awaiting my approach.”
“I didn’t.”
His head hangs crestfallen.
“When those eyes vanished, I stumbled back to the house. Johnathan was standing in the doorway. He was ready to fight. He had a mop. He looked at me confused. He looked passed me for his sister. He glanced at me and I think there was a little blame in his eyes.”
“I was suppose to protect them and I failed.”
“I think Johnathan had tried to defend his sister that fateful night. He had failed, but he had tried. He trusted me to try, and I failed. My young son was braver than me. How do you reconcile that? You don’t. Maybe he should have tried with his mop and colander. I think that was the realization that was washing over him. His sister was gone, his father was a coward.”
“I mean, those eyes though. They were attached to something. Johnathan only saw his sister in danger. He was simple. Pure. Whatever had those eyes could have killed us all. At least that’s what I told myself at the time. That was the excuse I made at the time.”
Mr. Carmichael has a short outburst. He pounds his hands on the table in frustration. I didn’t move and I wasn’t alarmed. This man does not exhibit any tendencies toward violence. Yes, he struck an orderly. Yes, I was here to evaluate if he had hurt his daughter. After hearing his testimony, however extraordinary, I do not think he premeditated or carelessly hurt his daughter.
“I should have tried harder.”
Mr. Carmichael breaks down after this. He starts crying and his form nearly crumples. The orderlies rush into the room and help him up.
“We’ll finish up next time Mr. Carmichael. Get some rest.”
Personal Impressions: Mr. Carmichael continues to display remorse and empathy. He seems fully aware that his daughter is gone. There is no delusion that she is missing. However, there is no sign that he is aware of what has occurred with her. If he did kill her and knows she is dead and has hidden the body, he has shown no sign that he is aware. He has exhibited nothing but shame and remorse in the recounting of the events. Furthermore, neither his son, nor his wife, intimated anything but a loving, doting caretaker.
Dr. Eleanor Fogg, PhD
Case Presentation
CLIENT
Case File: A186
Date Examined: January 20th, 2020
Warner State Penitentiary and Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Civil Status: Single (Widowed)
Educational Attainment: College (Engineer)
Purpose for Referral: Evaluation
Subject: Stephen Carmichael
“Are you okay to proceed Mr. Carmichael?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, tell me what you did after your daughter allegedly vanished.”
Mr. Carmichael gave me a withering look. He was willing to admit to his cowardice, but not to the act of killing his daughter. His son has corroborated his claims in so far that on the night of February 1st 2017, at 4:25 in the morning, Lilian Carmichael disappeared. Prosecution insists that it was dark and that the testimony of a twelve year old boy could not be trusted. That Johnathan Carmichael was not in his right mind and that his testimony was made under duress. I have not spoken with Johnathan Carmichael and his guardians, his grandparents, have refused to let me speak with him. He might be essential in determining if Stephen has fabricated this story to defend himself from the reality that he murdered his child.
“You mean after Lilian was taken?”
Mr. Carmichael appears as if he hasn’t slept in days. I have been informed that he has been in an agitated state and has required sedatives to calm him down. The head nurse has informed me that he has been fine, but an orderly remarked that Stephen hasn’t been asleep for nearly three days. It is possible he has not slept since our last session. If true, that could profoundly affect his ability to recount his story. I’m not going to lie. I am curious if the recounting of this bit will match previous, more lucid, accounts.
“Proceed when you are ready.”
“Well, I called the cops. I knew they couldn’t help. What was I going to tell them anyway that wouldn’t immediately make me look suspicious? Debbie had come downstairs. She was confused at first. Then she panicked. She ran into the backyard. I let her go. Johnathan just stood there like some warrior ready to do battle. I didn’t know what else to do. I hugged Johnathan, he didn’t respond, he was just watching the back yard. I told myself he was probably in shock.”
“In the weeks that followed they couldn’t find anything. The trail Lily had left just stopped. It was curious, but they equated it to me snatching her up and taking her somewhere. Of course they thought I hurt her. Debbie started to believe them. I was almost convinced and I had been there.”
“I would never hurt my little girl.”
“I delved into books at the local library. I needed to know what those eyes were. Everything was very unhelpful. I read stories about fairies that stole children. I read tales about witches. In the real world it was probably someone you knew: a neighbor, or uncle, or dad. I read about kidnappings too, but I was there. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t just some person kidnapping my child.”
Mr. Carmichael grew silent for a few minutes. When I was about to speak he cut me off.
“Mrs. Cafferty lived alone and her cat was always in my hedgerow. Lily loved that cat. I hated cats. She would make comments about it a lot. I had convinced myself that she, Mrs. Cafferty, and her cat were somehow responsible. Maybe she was a witch and that was her familiar. I had read all about it. Maybe she had kidnapped Lily for some sick ritual.”
“The word. Sidhe. Came from her. Whether she had touched my child or not, she was weird and she knew about these things. She and Johnathan were probably the only people in town that believed me. I spoke with her several times. She assured me Lily was alive. I remember hating her for saying it. Of course I wanted Lily home and safe, but this woman was saying some weird things about fairies and children and abductions. How did she know so much?”
“I lost my job, because of course I did. Debbie took Johnathan and stayed with her parents. I still remember the look he gave me as they drove away. It kinda said ‘Take care of yourself, I’ll miss you.’, but I think he also blamed me a little. They live in Maine you know. I couldn’t let them stay in that house. Johnathan was doing poorly in school and I fought with Debbie constantly. John was always talking about those eyes. He would finish dinner, or homework, and go straight to his mop spear and colander helmet.”
“I had to find Lily. Sure, I could clear my name, but more importantly my little girl would be home safe. Life could return to normal. We would move of course. Start some place new, but we could be a family again. Debbie would be my wife again. The kids would grow up safe and normal away from glowing yellow, eyes.”
“They arrested me soon after. At first they held me in a jail, but soon I found myself here. Nobody would listen. Of course they wouldn’t. They had already convinced themselves I was crazy. That I had killed Lily. Believing in glowing eyes and disappearing children defied what they thought they knew. It was easier to just explain it all away as a sick father who hurt his daughter.”
There was a mania in his eyes. It wasn’t a deluded crazy, but a frantic, frustrated anger. A need to be free to pursue his reality. He stared at me with the wild eyes and I was afraid.
“You’re different.”
That was the last thing he said. It was my last encounter with Mr. Carmichael. He died a few days later. The report said it was natural causes. He was a forty two year old man in excellent health. I had read his medical records. An orderly, the same one he had attacked, said that his face was contorted in fear. His eyes wide open. His mouth agape. Those details weren’t in the report.
That orderly didn’t seem to fault him. He had not only forgiven Stephen, but I think he believed him. They must have talked. Mr. Carmichael might have recounted the whole story. Whatever the case, there was no animosity there. In fact, there was remorse at Mr. Carmichael’s passing. The orderly, his name was Gokunesh Kamal, would not speak to me after that. He seemed agitated. Like he had seen something. He did not speak about it, and I did not press.
A Joanne Cafferty had purchased the neighboring house, but there was no trace of her after she moved. She had only lived there for two years. There was no evidence of where she had moved from. It was like she hadn’t existed before or after the incident with Mr. Carmichael. I had found her after some digging. She was living under a different name. She was living in Oregon now. I would have to travel out there to speak with her and get the story from her perspective.
Dr. Eleanor Fogg, PhD
It was raining when I left the last interview with Mr. Carmichael. Gokunesh handed me my jacket and umbrella at the door. I think I will remember him. He was a kind, observant man. The staff probably dismissed him as a dullard. Hospitals were full of arrogant people too busy worshiping themselves to notice anything around them.
I thanked Mr. Kamal, and then exited out into the rain.
I sat in my car for a time. There was a heaviness in that hospital. An oppression that I had no name for. It went beyond the antiseptic solemnity most hospitals had. The rain pattered on the windshield. I didn’t know then that it would be my last visit. I didn’t know then that Stephen would be dead before I could speak with him again.
The rain blurred the window and made it near impossible to see outside. I didn’t mind. The hospital looked like a large, obscured shape looming nearby. It was filled with stories like Mr. Carmichaels. Surely, some of them were crazy, but maybe some of them were telling the truth. Maybe they were trying to intimate experiences that didn’t reconcile well with how we perceived reality. I wasn’t going anywhere right away. I had to gather my thoughts. This metal cocoon felt safe. Nothing could get me in here surely. I clicked the door locks just a be safe.
I was sure there were glowing, yellow eyes. The pierced the rain with a bright, burning malice. They caught my attention. They mesmerized me. Then they turned. It was just the lights of another car. Someone else leaving the hospital. I hadn’t seen anyone else, but maybe I had sat there that long. I flicked on my blinker and the familiar sound snapped me out of my imagination.
I drove away a little faster than I should have.
