“Yes,” said Catherine. She made the odd blink again just as Erik’s skin began to tingle. A moment later the waitress laid a small black vinyl folder on the table and began to refill their glasses. After she finished and walked away Catherine pulled two twenty-dollar bills from her bag, slipped them into the folder and continued. “You’re talking about people who are really and truly mentally ill. They can be extremely difficult to treat.”
“In the USSR she had this one patient who broke out in boils when he thought some holy water got splashed on him.”
Catherine looked at her grandfather and then back at Erik. “Another of my former patients came to me with a second-degree burn he suffered when his priest forced a crucifix into the palm of his hand.
“Remember that old Lugosi movie?” Jurgis interrupted again. “The Reinfield character is a perfect example of this kind of delusion.”
Catherine held up her hand to stop the old man. “In fact,” she whispered, “it has only been in the past several years that we stopped calling this delusion Renfield syndrome.”
“That sounds horrible,” Erik whispered, his voice hoarse and thick. He swallowed, trying to force the knot in his chest back down as he fought the urge to stand up, sprint for the door and swim back to his tidy little condo in Boston. He wondered how they could simply sit there and discuss his condition so nonchalantly.