The Vampire as guide through hell; the fine line of artist and madness

‘Your words have made my heart so eager for the journey that I’ve returned to my first intent....

‘Set out then, for one will prompts us both.You are my leader, you are my lord and master,’I said to him, and when he moved ahead I entered on the deep and savage way.’

—(Beatrice to Dante from Inferno; the Divine Comedy) ~Dante Alighieri


“Tell me about your old psychiatrist that you used to go to. What was her name?” Jörn asks me this but as I read his eyes I know he already knows the answer to this

“Dr. Rothschild,” I say watching his eyes and wait before I say, “....no relation to the Rothschilds, you know, that old American family dynasty....”

“Are you sure?” his look is almost bored and yet one brow asks the question

It is already too much

I think about that and remind myself to breathe

so I say,
“What about her? She was my shrink years ago....”

but she was much more than that

 I just....but I corner on him instead

“Can I ask you about your ‘second job’, as you like to call it—?”

“You can ask me anything you want to,” he says

I watch his eyes though

I say,
“no, not anything....because I know you have your boundaries— I have stumbled into ....and around some.... “

such as Lisa

and what else is twisted up in his Raoul conscience

“I said you could ask....” he replies

“How often do you hop in and out of vans masquerading as laundry delivery?”

Jörn smiles,
“all in a day’s work, my dove....” but he seems lost in thought,

“I’m asking you about your old psychiatrist because I realized some time ago that your ex lover—who, are you aware? —first heard of you through her. A former assistant to Dr. Risa Rothschild, as he was then —Doctor— Dr Nigel Atherton.... but who ....has since lost his license to practice psychiatry....” his expression tells me he knows exactly how Nigel lost his license

“Yes,” I look back at him and nod.

So, Jörn has done his homework.

And evaded my question.

“Jörn, I’m sorry—but,” I can’t let him drop it, “I’m curious....how much of a spy are you? Or am I not allowed to know this answer?”

“I said you may ask.....” he chuckles in an endearing way, “You know more than you should as it is.... “ he reaches to caress my face, his thumb brushes across my cheek as he studies me,

“Most people in my life don’t know any of this about me. Certainly no previous lover was ever privy to this about me,” he says

“I’m so privileged! Oh, come on— your father knows and I’m sure your wife and your whole family knows, so don’t act like it’s not common knowledge!”

“She doesn’t know. They don’t either.”

The levity of his voice stills my thoughts

I study his face

“....no....” I stare at him, “she doesn’t know? Andreas ..... doesn’t?”

“Andreas doesn’t know. Nor does Hanna.... My father only knows because he is close friends with the man who first got me .... to work for them....you know—my parents were against my working in this branch of —ahem-government ....international intelligence .... work..... but —they are sworn in secrecy—how much involved am I? I am so used to it that it’s not even work to me, min duva—it’s been so many years and become second nature to me. I just have a restless mind. I get myself in trouble if I don’t keep myself busy,” he laughs it off, “You know about secret lives, don’t you? Double lives. But well, over time you don’t really think about it. Like checking emails every day.... which is why it was so easy to stumble across all about you after.... I got curious about whose mail kept getting put in my post box.”

The oppression of feeling trapped makes me need to move around and pace and so I get up, dropping the towel and reach for the closest article of clothing I randomly spot, one of Jörn’s white button down linen oxfords and pull it around me like a robe

I leave his bedroom to walk around the living room. I circle the piano and look at it before I go to sit down at it. I lay my fingers on the keys and try to remember the Beethoven piece I once played that won me a first prize award when I was eight. A short lived glory. That got shut in a drawer.

Silenced. Stay in the shadows, dawn of shadows—

And I think of those sessions with Dr. Rothschild. The hypnosis and later the regressions..... Those sessions were around the time that I had mono .... and it occurs to me—those first floods of the dreams of the the boat. I think of Jörn’s recording with Gerald and how he described the hysteria of battle sounding like Carmina Burana.....

notes

keys

symbols.

         Rest

                 Silence

Like maps with a legend key



I lightly play the beginning of my piece as my fingers recall .... quietly they follow the pattern like a whisper from a closet

then stop

he walks towards me

“What was that?” he asks me

I don’t say

“Why do you want to know about Dr. Rothschild?”

“Because I found some old tapes among Nigel Atherton’s artifacts. Are you aware she would tape your sessions?”

But I have to think about all this....

How much does he know?

“When? —where, Jörn? Where were you? Please strop giving me half the story and tell me what are you talking about? You patronize me this way, you know that? It’s insulting! Do you think I’m an idiot and can’t handle your espionage secrets? You ask all the questions and I’m supposed to answer them but you never finish answering mine— Yes I knew Dr. Rothschild was doing a study on me.... she said I was a miracle case because I am— or was —the only known case she ever heard of who.....survived....” I stop myself from saying more

I stare at him afraid I have said more than I should have

His look is enigmatic

“Why were you there?” I ask him ”Where were they?”

“At his office. I did some excavating of my own you might say—I found them in the office safe next to some old fossils....”

“The safe?”

But he keeps the poker face now.

“Maybe you are not aware of your ex lover’s darker sides?”

I think. And yes.... there was all that about him losing his license, but that was years ago. His involvement with my old acquaintance Leighton —who had been a patient of his at the psychiatric hospital

....physician heal thyself

talk about patterns —

and especially with me ....and my blindness about trusting all the wrong people

I go to the window and lean my head into the glass

“I have her tapes here,” he tells me

“You stole them?”

“They were not his in the first place, he took them after she passed away and no one was sure how they had disappeared.”

“He told me she bequeathed all her case studies to him!”

“Does that really sound likely?” he laughs at me, “do you believe any doctor would —or could even do that without a lawsuit?”

“I never thought of that....”
shit.... I really can be pretty dense ....
fucking obtuse.... “fucking idiot!” I say the rest aloud in a whisper to myself and slam my head on the window

“Stop,” he says this calmly and pulls me away from the window

“Do you want to listen to the tapes?” he asks me and waves me to where he has them by his sound equipment where he usually does all his sound mixing

“Now? Why?”