Page 52 of One
I narrow my eyes at her, feeling the uneasiness crawling under my skin.
“He told me… about his past,” I say, not feeling comfortable enough to talk about it without him present.
Meg nods. “That’s not the main reason why he acts differently than most people.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her, my shoulders tensing. A thought that has tried to infiltrate my head multiple times comes slithering back again.
“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Meg utters without giving me the possibility to not face the truth.
“He’s a psychopath, isn't he?”
Meg nods. “He’s what they call agoodpsychopath.”
“Good psychopaths are able to successfully integrate themselves into society, right?”
Meg seems surprised by my knowledge of the subject.
“I followed a seminar a few years ago on psychological deficiencies. Psychopathy was part of it.” I was fascinated by it. At that time, I also wondered if I could recognize the main psychopathic traits in people I interacted with. I guess I can.
“What do you know about it?”
I try to remember what I learned. “It’s a personality disorder defined by a combination of charm, shallow emotions, absence of regret or remorse, impulsivity and—” I swallow hard “—criminality.” The enchanting way he charmed the dean of Grand View pops into my head. He became another person before my eyes. All pleasantness and sociability.
“But violent behavior is not a requirement for a diagnosis of psychopathy. It’s also not true that individuals with psychopathy are uncontrollably evil, unable to feel emotions, and incorrigible. They do tend toward impulsive and risky behaviors, take advantage of others, and show little concern for the consequences of their actions. Those traits can be observed in politicians, CEOs and financiers. I mean, look at Trump.” She shakes her head. “Because of popular—and, in part, erroneous TV series—people are accustomed to seeing psychopaths as almost robotic.”
“They do lack the normal range of emotions. Have a reduced ability to process emotions and to recognize those of others.” Raph’s sometimes odd responses to my emotions come to mind.
“Yes, and deficits in detecting threats and a reduced response to fear until it’s too late can be a sign of psychopathy.”
“How?” I ask.
“For example: a psychopath walks into a dark alley at night, but he doesn't realize the potential for danger. When confronted with it, they may start to notice the threat and feel fearful, and thus respond violently. It's only at the end that they think: ‘Oh, this is bad news.’”
“So Raph, he’s…”
“I can assure you, he is a psychopath. Although I’ve had him with me since he was ten, there are still currently no treatments available that are truly effective against this disorder.”
Her words feed the dread inside of me. I try to think clearly, but my teeth grind at the thought of Raph being in any way… wrong. Because he isn’t.
“Linda, my wife and I, have shown him a way to successfully be part of the community.”
“How?” I attempt to focus on the conversation.
“By helping him identify and experience emotions under the right circumstances. In the context of observing emotional scenes or faces, the pain of others, and experiences of regret. He’s now able to process those emotions when focusing on them. And he can use that information to regulate his behavior if it is directly relevant to his objective.”
“He can fake it, you mean. But I was under the belief that all psychopaths are actually good at pretending.” Was he pretending with me in his bedroom? I hate myself for thinking it. No. Raph meant every word he said to me.
“Usually, they can keep up the charade only for short amounts of time. That’s why they never get really close to anybody. But I didn’t want that for Raphael. So, I decided to follow a specific treatment designed to help him through parental intervention. It enhanced the emotional warmth of the caregiver and helped him to identify emotions, and massively reduced symptoms and problematic behavior.”
“So, love and psychology worked?”
“Partly.”
Partly? “Because of what happened to him… to all of your sons before you found them?”
“Yes. But Raphael’s an amazing person today, mostly due to himself.”
“He is amazing.” I feel myself smiling, before a coughing fit hits Meg. I grab the bottle of water lying on a small table and go crouch next to her. It feels like déjà vu. The cough is not as severe as the one at Marnie’s. After a few seconds she stops, grabs the bottle, and drinks almost all of it. The redness on her cheeks is already fading by the time I stand up with my hands on my hips.
