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Dr. G.I. Boleid’s Psychoanalysis – Part 02

“So, what was that dance about?”

Central Park. A vast green oasis that sprawled out like a wiener in the middle of a hot dog that was Manhattan Island. It featured small hills, lakes, relaxing pathways, and even a quaint castle.

Exiting the mixed-use building of the Daily Road, they headed north, gazing at the Empire State Building to their left as they traversed the vast park on their way to the Upper West Side.

Kazuya pedaled his bike leisurely, with Nico jogging alongside.

Despite the winter season, the weather was pleasant. The park teemed with families, couples, and children frolicking among the trees. The laughter of working girls enjoying lunch in gazebos blended harmoniously with the twittering of birds. The sun cast its gentle rays on everything.

“Hmm, I wonder what it was.”

“You’re usually so serious, but sometimes you’re a mystery. Is it that Eastern mystique thing I hear about?”

“No, it’s not that. Something was really on the tip of my tongue.”

“We’ve been working together for about two months now, and some part of you is still an enigma. Like that bizarre roommate of yours.”

“Ah, we turn left here and exit the park.”

Riding his bicycle, Kazuya deftly unfolded the map and gestured left. Nico nodded, and they changed direction.

Across the street where they exited Central Park, on the corner of Upper West Side, stood the building they sought. It was one of New York’s renowned apartment complexes, distinguished by its grand façade reminiscent of Gothic architecture.

After informing the uniformed guard of their purpose, they passed through the main gate. A magnificent fountain stood at the front entrance, its dark waters cascading continuously. Kazuya and Nico grew quieter in the oppressive atmosphere.

The jet-black hydraulic elevator was as spacious as an immigrant apartment’s bedroom. When asked by the Black elevator operator, they requested the fifteenth floor. The iron cage groaned eerily as it climbed.

“A clinic in a luxury apartment, huh? Dude must be making a fortune.”

Kazuya nodded in agreement, studying the reddish-black carpet, the engraved black walls, the mirrored ceiling.

As soon as they arrived on the fifteenth floor, a musty smell assailed their noses. Lily-shaped lamps hung from the walls. The decorative vases, though fancy, sat empty. The carpet was old and frayed, and the walls bore cracks. They advanced cautiously.

“Apartment 1532… This is it, right? The clinic’s nameplate is… Ah!”

Just as Kazuya gestured, the large black door swung open, startling him.

A young man, dressed in a fine black coat and shoes, darted out like a rabbit. His face was pale. His left arm was missing, perhaps lost to the war, and the sleeve of his coat swayed emptily.

“I’ll be back tomorrow evening, Doc!”

He bowed and bolted away. Kazuya turned to look, but the man had turned the corner and vanished like a ghost. The heavy door closed.

Kazuya checked his watch; it read precisely three o’clock in the afternoon. Nodding to himself, he knocked on the jet-black door with his right hand.

Inside the clinic, thick curtains shrouded the room in dimness. A magnificent desk and chair occupied one side, while a blue couch sat in the center, presumably for patients. Creepy decorations like blood-spattered anatomical models, eyeballs, and gleaming gargoyle stands adorned the space. The partially open door leading to the back room revealed shelves stacked with medical records and academic books and a lounge suite.

As Kazuya and Nico scanned the clinic, faint, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the inner room. They exchanged curious glances.

Tap! Tap-tap-tap! Tap!

“What’s that sound?” Nico whispered nervously.

A robust man in his forties, clad in a white coat draped over a fine tailcoat, bounded gracefully from the inner room.

Startled, both Kazuya and Nico squealed like little girls.

The sprightly gentleman landed superbly, then started pirouetting, elegantly twirling around.

He sported black round sunglasses, a beard, and wore a silk hat. Despite his sturdy build, he had a sickly pale complexion. Apart from his dancing, he appeared to be a proper intellectual gentleman.

Kazuya gasped. “I remember now! This morning in Greenwich Village, I saw a gentleman dancing while walking. It’s the same face.”

Bewildered, Kazuya and Nico introduced themselves in a tremulous voice.

“You boys from the newspaper, right? I was told you were coming,” the man, still spinning, replied in a surprisingly loud and high-pitched voice, almost a shriek. “I often turn down interview requests, but I have a bit of a reason to accept one this time. Oh, before you take a seat, could you give me a hand and help me sit down? No, pull this arm over here! Lower me onto that chair! Like you’re about to accidentally drop a stone you’re carrying! There, that’s it! Nicely done!”

Following Dr. G.I. Boleid’s precise instructions, Kazuya and Nico each took hold of an arm and threw him onto the chair.

As Dr. Boleid sat down, he suddenly calmed, muttering, “Sitting down makes it better.”

When seated, Dr. G.I. Boleid seemed like a refined gentleman. While Kazuya remained composed, Nico, overcome with fear, shrank his towering frame and hid behind his partner.

Dr. Boleid wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Looks like I may have frightened you.”

“N-Not really.” Kazuya shook his head.

Dr. Boleid scrutinized him. “Oh, you’re quite the charming yellow lad! If only you were a tad smaller, you’d be my type. Hahaha!”

Though uttered in jest, there was a curious seriousness in the doctor’s eyes, discernible through his sunglasses.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing!” Dr. Boleid quickly waved it off. “Anyway, this is a type of chorea. Whenever I rise to my feet, my legs take on a life of their own. It’s stress-induced.” Dabbing at his perspiring forehead, he studied Kazuya, and then Nico. “You both seem young and fit. I take it you served in the last war?”

“Yes.”

“So did I! I’ve weathered both the first and second storms. Returned home unscathed physically, but bore the brunt of psychological trauma. It’s an ongoing battle to this day.”

Nico pulled himself together and retrieved his camera with trembling hands, while Kazuya took out his notebook and pen. Then, realization dawned upon him.

“The patient who left as we arrived was wounded in the war, correct?” Kazuya asked.

“Indeed!” Dr. Boleid affirmed, flashing a broad smile for some reason.

Though his round sunglasses obscured his expression, his lips seemed to soften.

“Many of the patients who seek my assistance are young war casualties. While the United States is on the cusp of a new era, thriving economically and culturally, the young generation spearheading this progress is only just beginning to grapple with the scars of war, making it a uniquely complex period. After all, it’s only been a short while since the global storm subsided. They yearn for a new kind of leadership, but regrettably, such a figure has yet to emerge.”

“I understand.”

“I want to treat the emotional scars of these youngsters by drawing from my own experiences. I’m studying the science of the mind. I believe we can analyze the human mind scientifically and treat mental wounds just like physical injuries. Do you follow?”

“Y-Yes.”

“My treatment strategy is, in essence, to ‘analyze the mind.'”

“Hmm…?” Kazuya cocked his head in puzzlement.

Dr. Boleid threw his head back and erupted into jovial laughter. “A genuine reaction! I appreciate straightforward folks. And you, the big photographer, you’ve been looking baffled the whole time. Well, no worries. You’re here for an interview today, right? Experiencing it firsthand is quicker than just hearing about it!”

Dr. Boleid emitted a strange sound, like a snake hissing.

Kazuya stiffened, seemingly entranced by the noise. Dr. Boleid rubbed his hands together with amusement as he gazed at Kazuya and Nico.

“All right, all right, you adorable lads.” He chuckled. “You’re about to undergo my psychoanalysis!”

“U-Um…”

“Hahaha!”

“But I don’t really have any problems or anything,” Nico interjected, moving his face away from the camera. “I have a job, a home, and I eat good food.”

Dr. Boleid’s delight only seemed to grow. “Don’t fret! I’ll uncover some for you!”

“Y-You’ll uncover some? Even though I’m fine? I feel like you’re not supposed to do that.”

“People’s minds are volatile things, easily influenced with a little effort. The mind isn’t a solid entity. Even your deepest convictions might just be silly misconceptions imposed by someone else for their benefit. Now then!” Dr. Boleid chuckled. “Hmm, which one shall I select?”

Kazuya observed the man. His previous smile had vanished, replaced by a pained expression, transforming him into an entirely different person.

Something feels off. Among the three of us in this room, Dr. Boleid seems to be struggling the most. First, he was dancing… He appears distressed… Am I imagining things?

Abruptly, Dr. Boleid sprang to his feet. Then, he resumed his vigorous dancing. Kazuya and Nico could only watch as he fluttered around the room like a butterfly.

“You! Take a seat on the couch first! And you, the tall Italian guy, sit in the chair next to it!”

He pointed at each of them in turn, all the while executing graceful dance moves.

“O-Okay.” Kazuya complied and settled onto the couch, while Nico reluctantly lowered himself into the adjacent chair.

The couch was firm and shaggy.

They were handed herbal tea and instructed to drink it. Despite finding it overly sweet and bitter, they gulped it down. Dr. Boleid continued to dance around.

“Now, let’s begin the on-field psychoanalysis. Kazuya Kujou and Nicholas Sacco from the Daily Road, correct? Let’s hear what you have to say. Starting with… your childhood memories…”

Dr. G.I. Boleid’s voice gradually faded away. Kazuya strained his ears to listen, but found himself unable to hear anymore, for some reason.

“During the storm, because of my weak mentality, I yielded to temptation and fell into bad habits. And then, after the war, a certain individual found dirt on me. Are you familiar with the Hoover Files treasured by the FBI? Well, my secrets are also…”

He was supposed to be tuning into an important conversation.

Oh no. My mind’s growing hazy… Nico, I’m counting on you…

Kazuya lost consciousness, sinking like a lifeless body cast into the sea.