Phoenix is self-harming, suicidal and sectioned. She has visions, in which Sherlock Holmes tells her she can be a great detective. Hers is a story of murder, detection, and hope, in a seemingly hopeless world. When else has a group of people, considered the dregs of society, become superheroes? This is the opening of Phoenix: The Delusional Detective.
Chapter 1
“Dr Ratu is waiting downstairs for you”. It’s rare to hear the responsible clinician raise her even voice, but she has to as Mendelssohn’s Lider ohne Worte – played on violin – is just reaching its zenith and filling my small room.
I sit folded up in my armchair by the window. The mauve curtains are half-drawn and my hands cycle rapidly through the pages of my book. I’m currently revising The Boscombe Valley Mystery. For footprint analysis.
“But if he is innocent, who has done it?”
“Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points…”
I’ve heard her come in, and I know she’s by the door, but I have not looked up. I see nothing but the page. I weigh up the facts with my fast mind, my mouth silently shaping the words. I have my shades on of course, so that not too much light and colour comes in at once. This stops me losing focus.
I still don’t look up when she continues “The new psychiatrist…?”.
Despite her level voice, I know, in her own dicatatorly way, that she cares. But she is interrupting me and I cannot be interrupted. I am immediately angry with her because I am scared. (Don’t tell me, you’ve never seen such brilliant self-awareness in a nutcase.) How can she have known me for so long and yet still not understand?
To have the best chance of surviving the day, I have to stay in my chair and in my room. Here I can control the space and achieve the perfect combo. The perfect combo means, on the inside, reading and problem-solving in order to keep my mind full and busy with purposeful words. It means, on the outside, having the cymbals and violin Holmes loves very loud indeed.
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