Page 116 of Sharp Force
“But he was born Zain Soble.” I’m opening another file drawer.
“Yes,” Benton says. “And I’m in the F’s now,” he adds, a note of reticence in his tone.
But I’m barely listening. An entire drawer is filled with files forZ. A. Soble. Zain Alexander Soble, the only son of Frederick and Marta.
“I’ve found him,” I tell Benton.
Pulling out the thick folders, I carry stacks of Zain’s confidential records to the coffee table, sitting down on an old brown leather sofa.
I begin perusing the first file, Georgine’s earliest notes from early June six years ago, right after Zain graduated from high school. Their therapeutic relationship was brokered by Calvin Willard. At first, the psychiatrist was seeing Zain at his uncle’s home on Embassy Row in D.C., and they also Zoomed.
Later that summer she began having sessions with Zain here in Yorktown. Her handwritten records describe a frightened seventeen-year-old who was angry that his mother had moved to Seattle. His first few weeks at William & Mary were tempestuous. He was homesick and overwhelmed. He began seeing Georgine several times a week.
Repeatedly, she mentions that Zain feltexistentialandcontrolled like a puppet. She notes that he firstself-harmedwhen he was fourteen. This was soon after his father was struck by a tree toppling in the backyard after a storm. His head was crushed, and he died while Zain watched in horror.
Cutting,Georgine writes.He describes paralyzing anxiety, slicing with razor blades and causing other harm the only way to relieve it…
File after file, and the notes are of the same ilk. Zain was uncomfortable in his own body. He was consumed by self-loathing, and obsessively fantasized about self-mutilation and suicide. He would explore the best way to end himself, almost always coming back to cutting.
Watching himself bleed is soothing,Georgine comments several months into his therapy.
She reports that he was averse to taking medications, didn’t want anything to cloud his thinking orturn him into a zombie. His academic studies were important to him, she observes. He believed that failure wasn’t an option and made excellent grades. His professors spoke highly of him.
But he never believed it,she writes.He no longer accepts anything good is due to his own merits.
Zain was accustomed to his uncle Calvin opening doors and charging to the rescue. She notes that the moreothers do for Z, theless confidence and feeling of self-worth he has. Yet it didn’t seem to dawn on her that perhaps she was guilty of causing the very same damage.
Starting on a new folder, I find Georgine’s detailed accounts for late December and early January of his freshman year. She’s begun mentioningthe event. There are multiple references to something that negatively impacted Zain in an alarming way. But I pick up no clues about what that might have been.
Around this time, she began seeing Zain more often. They conferred daily on the phone, and she encouraged himto dispose of his emails and journals for his own safety. Apparently, he copiously wrote down his feelings and thoughts.
He was emailing lengthy missives for her review that she wouldread and instantly deleteto protect his privacy. Weeks after this mysterious life-alteringeventZain’s self-harm was out of control. Georgine describes him as morbidly depressed and almost paralyzed by fright.
She advised Calvin Willard that if there wasno significant improvement,it might be best to have his nephew hospitalizedbefore anything else precipitous. It’s obvious that the senator was opposed to her suggestion.
Zain’s challenges are to be handled privately, thereby avoiding possible repercussions,she records in notes that weren’t intended to be read by outsiders.
“He was the senator’s de facto son. And clearly still is,” I say to Benton. “A perfect example of someone who gets every advantage and it’s ruinous.”
“The only thing he could control was picking up a razor and slicing himself,” he answers without looking up.
Benton has been engrossed in the same file for a while. Theexpression on his face tells me that whatever he’s reading is unsettling.
“We’re really not supposed to look at patient records that are nongermane,” I remind him.
“I’m federal law enforcement,” he replies. “Everything’s germane.”
“It isn’t,” I reply, but he’s not going to listen.
CHAPTER 37
Opening a new folder, I come across another reference to what Georgine is calling thesilent treatment. I can’t find any explanation for what she means. I mention this to Benton.
“Most of the time she abbreviates it asST.” I sip my iced tea.
“I’m seeing the same thing,” he says.
“Do you know what she’s talking about?”
