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Miami Beach was seeing record temperatures for November.

Always relatively warm this time of year, it was almost unbearably hot, and the humidity so thickened the air that it was difficult to breathe. The sky was sunless; ugly clouds covered the sky, not necessarily promising rain, but undoubtedly assuring anyone who was interested that the day was going to remaindull and drab. It was enough to keep beach-goers down to a bare minimum, and that was exactly what Desmond wanted.

It was the next phase of Lester’s treatment, and Desmond had decided to take him out to enjoy the day, such as it was. It wasn’t bright or happy, but it was out: out of the office, out of the building. Beyond the four walls of Desmond’s office, where freedom sometimes remained at bay. Lester needed to be out to face his fears. It was Desmond’s belief that a therapy that combined both medication, and reflection…

Lester and Desmond sat on a bench on the pier, watching the people go by, and for a while, it was a quiet, simple activity.

As they acclimated themselves to the sticky outdoors, Desmond decided to break the silence. Looking casually over his notes that he was able to keep in his phone, he started with light conversation. “Weird weather we’re having, eh?”

Lester nodded. He was a little tense, but not overly so. The restless tics that characterized much of his person were calmer, less prevalent. Desmond had thought that given Lester’s progress, a change in venue might do him some good. “Yes. They say it’s the hottest on record for this time of year.”

“Yea, that’s what they’re saying,” Desmond concurred. He paused for a moment, taking a sip from his bottle of water. It was cool and refreshing in the stifling heat. “It’s been two weeks, Lester. How have you been feeling?”

A woman with a baby in a stroller walked by. She moved at a lazy, casual pace, very close to where Lester and Desmond were sitting. The baby, no more than eight months old, was up in his seat, playing with a rattle and cooing happily. He was turning his little head left and right, looking at nothing and everything when he saw Lester. Abruptly, the restless head stopped its movement to and fro, and the baby stopped and stared at him.

Desmond, who had been watching both the baby and Lester, leaned forward sharply. Lester’s jaw had suddenly become taut, and Desmond directly understood this change in demeanor. “Lester. I was asking you about how you’ve been feeling.”

“Uh, well, you know…” It seemed that Lester was struggling for air. His breathing seemed short and haggard, and Desmond put a hand on his arm to calm him down. “Lester. Lester. Look at me, man, look right here. You’re okay.”

With a great effort, Lester broke his gaze with the child, who immediately returned to his rattle and his cheery babbles.

“I think the baby was talking to me, Doc.” Lester’s voice was low and held a hint of panic.

Desmond’s eyes narrowed a bit in concentration. “Lester, the baby wasn’t talking to you. He can’t. He’s too young.”

Lester frowned. “Are you sure? I’m positive I saw his lips moving. “

“No, Lester, we’ve talked about this. There’s no way. He’s too young.” Lester, who was looking in the distance, did not respond. Desmond tapped him on the arm. “Lester, look at me.” His tone was more forceful, and it was enough to capture Lester’s attention. When his eyes met the doctor’s, Desmond spoke again.

“Say it with me now, Lester. Infants less than a year old cannot speak.”

“Infants less than a year old cannot speak.”

“They cannot wish ill on me.”

“They cannot wish ill on me.”

“They cannot hurt me.”

“They cannot hurt me.”

It was a simple mantra for a complex problem, but Desmond had Lester repeat it several times anyway. Satisfied with Lester’s response, Desmond studied him a moment longer. His breathing seemed to return to normal, and his attention was now focused on the blue ocean waters before him beyond the pier.

As they sat quietly once again, Desmond looked through his notes on his phone. Lester Doggit, age 41, white male, high levels of anxiety, paranoia, and extremely prone to phobias. Never deemed dangerous to others, but has a proclivity to harm self. Sometimes claims to hear voices. Current phobias include xenophobia, ligyrophobia and pedophobia.

The cry of seagulls made Lester jump and pulled Desmond away from his phone. He looked at Lester to see that he was shaking like a leaf. Desmond put his phone down and gripped Lester’s arm.

“Lester!” Desmond’s voice was low and tight. “Calm down! They were just birds, Lester. It’s okay. That’s what they do.”

Lester kept shaking and muttered desperately, “But they’re loud, Doc! So loud!”

To himself, Desmond thought, still afraid of loud noises. What a bizarre fear ligyrophobia is. Even after working with Lester all this time, he still found it strange. But to Lester he said: “It’s okay, Lester, they’re gone now. They were just flying by overhead. That’s what birds do. It’s alright.” He spoke with soft, very even tones to calm and soothe his patient. Little by little, the shaking slowed to only a few random tics, and eventually Desmond released his grip on Lester.

Lester looked at Desmond, but it took his eyes a while to focus on him.
Desmond took this as a bad sign and called Lester on it. “Lester, have you been taking your meds?”

“’Course, Doc. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, Lester. Maybe because you’re sweating and your hands are trembling.”

Lester looked down at his eyes and appeared surprised to see the tremor that was there. He tucked his hands under his legs to calm the shaking, but then immediately began to chew on his bottom lip.

“Lester! Have you been taking your meds?” Desmond’s tone was more insistent, more commanding.

Lester dropped his head in an admission of guilt. “I might have forgotten once or twice, Doc. It happens, you know. I feel good, so sometimes I think I don’t need---“

“Lester! You know you can’t do that! We’ve talked about that! When was the last time you took them?”

Lester looked down at his feet, apparently sulking. “I dunno. Maybe last week—“

“Last week? Lester, that is not good, man, not good at all. I think maybe we’re going to have to—“

Just then, two young moms walked by, each with a young baby. One mom had her baby in a stroller, where her child, maybe about one year old, sat making a mess with an ice cream. The other mom---quite possibly the sister of the first because they bore a striking resemblance to one another---walked with her baby in one arm, pushing her stroller with another. Her baby was pulling and chewing on her mother’s hair, causing the mother to frequently but gently swat the baby’s hand. Each baby was talking their baby talk, with occasional shrieks of merriment. The sound of it was too much for Lester. Despite his better judgment, he looked up, and what he saw terrified him. The babies were looking at him. Abruptly, he found it hard to breathe. Little droplets of sweat formed on his brow.

Right away, Desmond started to talk Lester down. Standing up to block his view of the small children before him, he began to speak. “Lester, calm down. Take deep breaths. They are not talking to you.”

Lester was rocking back and forth on his hands, and shaking his head from side to side. He was muttering under his breath, and Desmond could only think to himself: My god, that happened so fast.

“Lester, come back to me, man. Lester!”

Suddenly, one of the moms was by Desmond’s side. “Excuse me, sir, do you think you could help us out here? Do you know where’s there’s a little restaurant or shop nearby? We need to change the girls---“

The baby in the stroller dropped her ice cream cone, and it fell very near Lester’s foot. She shrieked in anger, and Lester began shaking all over. His mutterings increased in speed and intensity, and Desmond knew he had to get Lester away from there quickly.

“Lester, let’s go.” Pulling Lester up by the arm, he turned the young woman. “I’m sorry, miss, I can’t help you now. My friend here—“

It was a mistake. Bringing Lester up to his feet brought him in too close proximity with his fear, and when the baby reached out in all playfulness and innocence to bat at a little bug flying in the air, she accidentally touched Lester’s face. It was more than he could handle, and suddenly he screamed.

“No, no, no, it’s touching me! It’s touching me!” He jerked his arm free of Desmond, and ran for the edge of the dock, just a few feet from the bench where they had been sitting just moments before. In the blink of an eye, he was over the ledge, getting ready to jump.

“Lester! What are you doing?” Desmond cried, running after him.

“I’m going to jump, Doc! I have to!”

Desmond raced to the edge. “Don’t do this, Lester! It’s crazy!”

Behind Desmond, the women with the babies stood, confused and horrified by the scene before them. The babies, ignorant of the impending scene around them, bobbed their heads and babbled inanely. Lester’s eyes became increasingly unfocused.

“Lester! Listen to me!”

But Lester shook his head. “No, Doc, no! Not anymore! This is no way to live! I can’t be outside, I can’ handle loud noises, and the children—my god, Doc, they’re evil!!! Evil!!! I can’t live knowing that they’re out there, millions of them, trying to get me—“

Desmond took a few steps closer to his patient. “Lester, you’re not making any sense. You know that children are not out to get you. You know that—“

“No, Doc, I actually don’t. Maybe because I’m sick and crazy or maybe because it’s the truth, but I know I can’t continue this way. Those medicines don’t work, man—“

“But Lester, you’ve made such progress—“

At that moment, one of the babies began to squeal. The sound of it cut abruptly into their conversation, and startled Lester, and he let go of the barrier with one hand.

“Lester, don’t!” Desond turned quickly “Ladies, get your kids out of here now—“

But it was too late. In the time it took Desmond to return his attention to Lester, he had already pushed off the ledge and was gone.