The Suicide Gene Read online

  Dr. Kerr: Sometimes, Melanie, we must help ourselves before we help those around us.

  Melanie: No, I’m fine—perfectly happy with my job, husband, and I have three healthy kids. I grew up fast in my wild family, but I’m the normal one. The only one of us four kids who didn’t have the nightmares.

  Dr. Kerr: Nightmares?

  Melanie: Yes, Minnie, Mary, even Matt, experienced terrible ones. Mom called them night terrors. Another reason I worry about the twins.

  Dr. Kerr: Not Matt?

  Melanie: No, he grew out of them. But it took years for the twins to stop having them. I’m not entirely sure they aren’t still having them.

  Dr. Kerr: What else worries you about the twins?

  Melanie: They talk about—suicide—a lot. Believe it runs in our family.

  Dr. Kerr: Has someone other than your mother committed suicide?

  Melanie: Yes, several people. My grandfather—on my mother’s side—and others besides him.

  Dr. Kerr: Both your mother and grandfather committed suicide?

  Melanie: Yes.

  Dr. Kerr: (Pause.) Do you feel one of the twins is contemplating suicide?

  Melanie: Both say they won’t kill themselves.

  Dr. Kerr: You sound unsure.

  Melanie: Well, Minnie insists—suicide—is hereditary. Says it skips a generation in most families but claims our family is unlucky.

  Dr. Kerr: Why unlucky?

  Melanie: She says suicide bled into all our generations—like in the Hemingway family.

  Dr. Kerr: The Hemingways?

  Melanie: Yes, Ernest Hemingway and—is it Margaux? I can never remember which one of his granddaughters killed herself—Margaux or Muriel. Minnie knows.

  Dr. Kerr: Minnie talks about them?

  Melanie: Incessantly. She knows everything about them. Reads Ernest Hemingway’s books over and over. Loves him. You’ll like her, Minnie. People usually do when they first meet her.

  Dr. Kerr: Can I assume you referred to Mary, then, when you wrote about a troubled twin on your questionnaire?

  Melanie: Did I say troubled? Not sure troubled is the right word.

  Dr. Kerr: What word or words describe Mary?

  Melanie: (Pause.) Well, I’m close to Mary and so I hate to talk poorly about her, but she’s like a Jekyll and Hyde. One day she brings homemade chicken soup to me because one of my kids is sick, and the next day she hangs up the phone saying she never wants to talk to me again.

  Dr. Kerr: Does this happen often?

  Melanie: All the time. She flares up fast and simmers down just as quickly. When I invite her over or call her, I’m never sure which Mary I’ll get. My mother quoted a saying for her. There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.

  Dr. Kerr: I’ve heard that. I considered the verse a poorly-written nursery rhyme.

  Melanie: (Laugh.) It sure is, but that rhyme describes Mary to a T.

  Dr. Kerr: Do you worry about her?

  Melanie: I do. I worry about Minnie, too. Not sure who I worry about more.

  Dr. Kerr: What is your greatest worry about them?

  Melanie: (Pause.) I’m not sure which one will kill herself first.

  ****

  Emma’s eyelids swelled and sagged from days of lost sleep, yet adrenaline and fascination triggered tenacity.

  She took her coffee to the kitchen and reheated it in the microwave. When she returned, she considered skipping Matt’s file and heading straight for one of the twins’. Precisely the reason middle children got away with murder, she thought. Parents burdened by older and younger kids often allowed a middle child carefree flight under the radar. She opened Mathew’s instead.

  Patient: Mathew McKinney

  Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr

  Date: November 5, 2014 5 p.m.

  Notes: Mathew McKinney, age 31, single, has twin sisters a year and a half older and a younger sister four years his junior. He works as a computer analyst at General Electric (GE). He missed his first three appointments. His younger sister made the initial appointment for family counseling. Dr. Kerr attempted to reschedule October 30th and November 3rd.

  ****

  Dr. Kerr: Did you have night terrors as a child?

  Mathew: Why—that little weasel Melanie—she told you, didn’t she?

  Dr. Kerr: Do you get along with Melanie?

  Mathew: Love her. Not sure how I allowed her to talk me into this, though.

  Dr. Kerr: She revealed how much convincing it took for you to seek help.

  Mathew: No offense, Doc, I don’t need help. My sisters need counseling, not me. I’m fine.

  Dr. Kerr: Are you referring to the twins?

  Mathew: I mean Mel, too.

  Dr. Kerr: Why do you feel Mel needs counseling?

  Mathew: (Pause.) She allows people to walk all over her. When my mother passed away, she stepped up and took over. People started taking advantage of her. The twins called her Cinderella, and the tag was fairly accurate. She was ten when Mom died. By the time she turned twelve, she cooked and cleaned for us and pampered the twins. Our aunt Carol even moved in with us for a while when she first became ill. Mel helped her, too. Still does when the cancer flares up.

  Dr. Kerr: Are you and your siblings close with your aunt Carol?

  Mathew: Hell, no, not me, but my sisters? Somewhat. Mel helps her the most. The doctors give Aunt Carol about a year to live, so Mel handles her affairs. She takes care of all the McKinney women: Carol, Minnie, Mary. Became the family matriarch early on. Mel is the reason I came.

  Dr. Kerr: You came because of Melanie?

  Mathew: Yes, I wouldn’t come for the twins. I’m sure Mel won’t say anything bad about them. She takes after our mother—only sees the good in people.

  Dr. Kerr: How do you feel about the twins, Mathew?

  Mathew: Call me Matt, Doc. I hate the name Mathew—that was my father’s name.

  Dr. Kerr: Duly noted. Did you get along with your father, Matt?

  Mathew: Nice try. I’m going to stick to conversations about my sisters if you don’t mind.

  Dr. Kerr: Fair enough. You were talking about how you felt about the twins.

  Mathew: Right. (Pause.) I hate them taking advantage of Mel. Acting as if her whole purpose in life is stroking their egos.

  Dr. Kerr: So you worry less about them than Mel does.

  Mathew: That’s an understatement. Let me be blunt. I don’t worry about them or give a damn what they do. They can kill themselves or each other. It matters not to me.

  Dr. Kerr: (Pause.) Why is it you are so protective of Mel but not the twins?

  Mathew: Because Mel is a kitten and those two twins? They’re fucking crazy.

  ****

  Emma remembered him. It was hard to forget someone that good looking. When she pictured him back in their St. Luke’s days, her mind drew a burly boy leaning against a railing halfway up the school steps, teasing the girls going by. Never her, of course. Pretty girls surrounded him. His loud, gregarious personality gave him a bad-boy, ladies’ man popularity. The McKinney girls’ reputations didn’t fare as well. Emma blamed the old double standard. The twins—just as beautiful, loud, and overbearing as Matt—were considered eccentric bitches. The younger Melanie was ignored. Even Emma didn’t remember her. She only remembered the three older siblings. Matt was athletic and brilliantly mathematical but not good in other core subjects, and the twins were ostentatiously knowledgeable in all subjects but socially inept and ostracized by other students. Rumor had it they didn’t care about the ostracism. They had each other.

  Other McKinney rumors drifted across parish pews over the years. Some Emma believed and others, not so much.

  She took a drink of coffee and spit it back in the cup, trying to void herself of its thick and muddy taste from sitting too long. She yawned and considered calling it a night. Brewing another pot sounded taxing, yet go
ing to bed was not an option. Josh might be awake.

  She set Matt’s file down and picked up the twins’, stretching her memory back to grade school again. Maybe it was due to the late hour but recalling those two conjured a much different picture in her mind than Matt did. Avid churchgoers, Emma remembered them in a spooky sort of setting: two dark figures parading down to communion in a slow-motion crawl, the tips of their fingers touching, pointing upward, and their eyes fixed on the altar, never blinking. They were strikingly beautiful, yet somehow scary and out of place at a church and school that normally valued such beauty.

  She struggled over which one to open first. Finally, she snatched Mary’s, and the oddities began jumping off the paper at her.

  Patient Mary McKinney

  Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr

  Date: October 29, 2014 1 p.m.

  Notes: Mary McKinney, age 32, identical twin of Minnie. Her mother died when she was fifteen years old. She was married for less than two years and now lives in a duplex next to her identical twin. She works in the IT department at St. Vincent Hospital.

  ****

  Mary: I’m not a genius.

  Dr. Kerr: Excuse me?

  Mary: My IQ is low. I’m the dumbest person in the family.

  Dr. Kerr: (Silence.)

  Mary: My father sent a certified letter to our high school years ago. I found out my IQ is lower than everyone else’s.

  Dr. Kerr: You know your siblings’ IQs?

  Mary: Yes, mine is 138. Minnie’s is 140. Matt’s is—ready for this—153. My father thought we displayed mental incompetency. What a shock he got. (Laugh.) He kept our IQs a secret, of course, but I broke into his desk. Picked his lock. Found the IQs. He wrote them down on a note card.

  Dr. Kerr: Your IQ is 138?

  Mary: Yes, mine is 138.

  Dr. Kerr: And Minnie’s?

  Mary: Minnie’s is 140—oh, for heaven’s sake, I thought you’d be sharper than that. I’ll write them down for you.

  MAM 149;

  MJM 153;

  MMM 140;

  MCM 138.

  They are in order of our birth—backward.

  Dr. Kerr: Wow, lots of Ms in those names.

  Mary: (Laugh.)

  Dr. Kerr: The average IQ is a little above 100, so all your IQs are high.

  Mary: Well, I don’t like it that I am the dumbest. Why is mine the lowest? Why couldn’t—well let’s just say—why wouldn’t the youngest have the lowest IQ? Or, even better, Matt. I especially hate that his is the highest. What was the Lord thinking making Matt the smartest?

  Dr. Kerr: (Pause.) Do you have a strong faith?

  Mary: (Pause.) You don’t get it.

  Dr. Kerr: What don’t I understand?

  Mary: (Laugh.) Nothing—nothing at all—this is going to be fun.

  Dr. Kerr: Fun?

  Mary: Yes, this counseling is going to be fun, and yes, I am religious, a Catholic. I believe in the Holy Trinity, Blessed Virgin Mary, and the whole “damn you if you do wrong” concept.

  Dr. Kerr: Are you practicing?

  Mary: When I get depressed, I go to Mass. I stay afterward and say a rosary. Love the quietness. They turn the lights down low. All you see is the reflection of the gilded tabernacle and the flickering of the candles. They cast shadows across the brick walls. I’m a member at Our Lady of Peace, but I still go to St. Luke’s and occasionally to St. Joe’s chapel. Have you been there?

  Dr. Kerr: Yes, St. Joe’s is a quaint little church.

  Mary: Yes, quiet and serene. You can feel the Holy Spirit all around you. Until Father Simon comes in. Man, that priest is one miserable son of a bitch. I hate him. He’s damning.

  Dr. Kerr: Father Simon?

  Mary: Yes. Don’t go to confession with him. I made that mistake once. He is nasty. Told me anyone who takes their own life goes to hell. Can you believe that?

  Dr. Kerr: Were you having thoughts of committing suicide?

  Mary: Eek! Don’t say that word. It’s bad luck. Bless yourself. And heavens no, Doctor Kerr, I asked him about my mother. How he felt about her, you know, ending her life.

  Dr. Kerr: How do you feel about that?

  Mary: Not like she went to hell. (Pause.) I don’t believe everything the Catholics do. I believe if you are good most of your life, you go to heaven, but if you do something bad, you don’t necessarily go to hell. Like the good thief on the cross. He went to heaven. Committing murder might send you to hell but not, you know, killing yourself. I mean, someone who takes their own life isn’t hurting anyone else. Maybe they go to purgatory. (Pause.) Not one hundred percent sure I believe in purgatory, either. If there is no purgatory and someone kills himself, maybe they cease to exist.

  Dr. Kerr: Have you ever contemplated—taking your own life?

  Mary: (Laugh.) Well, Minnie and I certainly talk about it a lot. But no, neither one of us will ever do it.

  Dr. Kerr: You know, Mary, if you do suffer from depression, there are medications available to help you.

  Mary: (Laugh.) Yes, and a lot of the side effects make you more apt to kill yourself. I think that’s hilarious. No matter, though, if we want to die, we just have to wait it out.

  Dr. Kerr: Wait it out?

  Mary: Yes, you know, until it’s your time. (Laugh.)

  ****

  Emma stopped and stared at the Post-it with the initials and the high IQs. The dim lamplight in the dark room projected her shadow like a veil onto the little list.

  Everyone fibbed, exaggerated a little, she thought, until they became acquainted with their psychiatrist. Mary’s initial “this is going to be fun” and “we just have to wait it out” didn’t alarm her. Until Mary trusted her, she expected beating around the bush, but Mary’s abrupt reach across her desk during the IQ discussion did spark her curiosity.

  Clearly, she had invaded Emma’s space. After becoming annoyed when Emma forgot Minnie’s IQ, Mary leaned across the desk, ripped a pink Post-it off a stack positioned next to Emma’s wrist, snatched the pen from her hand, and scribbled the numbers. The nimble, swift stroke was completed with magician’s ease, sparking an unusual thought in Emma’s tired mind. If the pen had been a knife, and the client psychotic, Emma could have bled to death before she knew what happened.

  Emma shook off the thought and instead sorted through the genetic marker traits stored in her brain, trying to decide which one was appropriate for Mary’s action. However, what she wrote on the evaluation was not a trait. Fast hands like her brother—football, baseball, basketball star.

  She almost wrote narcissistic, but refrained. Wait, she thought, don’t evaluate her on past knowledge. Let her sessions confirm what you already witnessed.

  Her eyes stung and her head ached, but tearing herself away was impossible. Her watch glowed 1:30. She had an eight o’clock appointment with the infamous Charlie Brown, a leftover of Doctor Cameron’s. He had cancelled two appointments with Emma already. Still, what if the one time he garnered the courage to get dressed, leave his house, and meet with the new psychiatrist, the psychiatrist no-showed?

  She decide to limit her reading to one more excerpt before going to bed. She skipped several Post-its and turned to the last one—the most baffling. She read it slowly and several times.

  ****

  Mary: Doctor Kerr?

  Dr. Kerr: Yes?

  Mary: You understand the IQs, right?

  Dr. Kerr: (Silence.)

  Mary: I mean, aren’t doctors privy to all our info?

  Dr. Kerr: I never received any information regarding your IQs.

  Mary: I thought you’d know them.

  Dr. Kerr: In the initial forms you filled out, you stated this is your first time for counseling.

  Mary: It is.

  Dr. Kerr: Then there are no prior records.

  Mary: (Pause.) True.

  Dr. Kerr: Is there something else I should know? Something you want to add about your IQs? Or anything else?

  Mary: (Pause.) Either you are a great actres
s or you really don’t know about us. I can’t decide.

  Dr. Kerr: Know about you?

  Mary: (Pause.)

  Dr. Kerr: Mary? Are you all right?

  Mary: (Pause.) I’m done with this session.

  Dr. Kerr: You still have fifteen minutes. Isn’t there anything else you’d like to discuss?

  Mary: Nope. I’m done for today.

  ****

  The slam of the door when Mary left sent Emma’s heart hopscotching into palpitations. It was the first time a client had cut out of a session early—except once when a woman seized and was rushed away by ambulance. That woman, an epileptic, recovered and became one of Emma’s regular clients.

  Most of the time, Emma secretly battled to wrap up the final five minutes of a session. Ending on an upswing at exactly one hour—stabilizing a client enough for them to leave safely—was an art. Mary’s door-dashing exit circumvented the wrap up and left her wondering. Should she worry about her?

  Her gut feeling was both twins, not just Mary, skirted insanity. But a fine line existed between the sane and the insane, and truthfully, Emma’s memory more than the counseling sessions pushed them toward the insane side of that line.

  Wild stories lingered about the McKinney twins at parish parties long after they graduated and moved out of the parish neighborhood. People still referred to them as crazy. Even those who forgot their incredible beauty couldn’t lay aside their riveting personalities. Witchcraft and other evil stories surfaced. Which was ludicrous, since Catholicism ruled them.

  Their physical appearance was partially to blame for the occult accusations. Their thick, wavy black hair and striking features paired with a laugh evil enough to send chills up the spine of the pope himself frightened people. They looked through individuals, not at them. Walked toward a crowd, not around them. Gave the impression if you didn’t get out of their way they would knock you to the ground. They were forbidding. A bit creepy.

  Abrupt ticks from the wall clock sliced the silence of the room and the pictures in her head shattered like breaking glass. She had enough. She made a mental note to move her desk at work, tilt it slightly to clear a direct path to her office door, as Doctor Cameron had suggested before he left.

  “One can never be too cautious,” he had said. “Make sure your exit to your doorway is a safe distance shorter than your client’s.”