Infected

25.

“DELUSIONAL PARASITOSIS”

Morgellons disease.

Margaret stared in disbelief at the CDC report. The disease that wasn’t a disease at all, but believed by the majority of the health-care community to be “delusional parasitosis.”

“Delusional,” Margaret said. “Get a load of that.”

“Seems the vast majority of the cases are,” Amos said. “Symptoms range from feelings of biting or stinging to things crawling under the skin. Some cases have the strange fibers, and most involve some form of mental condition: depression, acute onset of ADHD, bipolar disorder and…take a guess at the last three.”

“Paranoia, psychosis and psychopathy?”

“You’re just racking up the cee-gars these days, Margo.”

Margaret, Amos and Clarence Otto waited in the hospital director’s office, a plaque-lined room with warm wood paneling and four well-groomed potted ficus trees. The director had been asked to leave by the persuasive Agent Otto, who apologized for the intrusion while at the same time leaving no possible way for the director to say no. Margaret thought Otto was a born salesman-a guy who could make you do whatever he wanted while making you think it was your idea the whole time. Margaret and Amos sat on a leather couch, both looking at pages of a report spread out on a coffee table. Otto had taken the director’s chair, behind the ornate wooden desk. He spun the chair in slow circles and seemed to relish the implied authority of the spot-smiling like a little kid playing grown-up boss.

Murray was on his way. They would give him their report face-to-face.

“I know I’m the dummy of the bunch,” Otto said. “So pardon me for asking-but you have a CDC report. What you’re saying is the stuff you guys have been studying for the past few days, that turns out to be a known factor?”

Amos shook his head. “No, not even close. This Morgellons thing, people don’t know if it’s real or a kind of group delusion. It took years of pressure from victims’ groups to force the CDC to at least pretend to take it seriously. The CDC created a task force, but so far they don’t even have a clear case definition of what Morgellons is. Most of the cases actually do turn out to be delusional parasitosis. People think they’re infected with something, organisms that can only be observed by the patient. In fact, the term Morgellons has been around for just a few years, and since it started to get publicity, more and more people report the symptoms.”

“Which means it’s spreading,” Margaret said.

“Not necessarily. It could mean that, or it could mean that once unstable people hear about the disease, their minds decide that’s what they have. They invent the symptoms in their own brain-hence the ‘delusional’ part.”

Otto spun in the director’s chair, three full circles as he spoke. “So the more people that claim to have this disease, the more publicity it gets, then more people hear about it, and then more people think they have it.”

“Full circle of nuttiness,” Amos said.

“Goddamn Murray,” Margaret said. “He’s right about keeping this quiet. This is exactly what he said would happen if word got out. And that’s just for this itchy thing, the bugs-under-the-skin thing. Just imagine what the response is going to be like if people see pictures of the triangles.”

“Or get wind of grannies slicing up their kids, then playing all Scar-face with the cops,” Otto said. “Psycho grandmamas would definitely upset Mister and Missus Average American.”

Amos nodded. “Murray does have a point, I suppose. There were a dozen Morgellons cases five years ago, now there are over fifteen hundred, reported in all fifty states and in Europe.”

“So why haven’t we heard more about the triangles?” Margaret asked.

“We know this isn’t delusional. We’ve seen the little buggers, and we’ve seen the chemical imbalances in Brewbaker’s brain. This is real, Amos.”

“Because most of the cases are delusional, but not all. It’s the fibers, Margaret. There are documented cases with blue, red, black and white fibers that are made up of cellulose. There have been three instances where doctors had the fibers analyzed over the past four years, and guess what-they had the exact chemical composition as Brewbaker’s. Exact, as in down to the molecules.”

“Your fizzles.”

Amos smiled. “Yes, the fizzles. We have the triangle cases we’ve seen in the past few weeks. Let’s assume those are cases where the organism made it to the larval stage. However, this Morgellons research indicated there have been multiple cases, over several years, where we see the fibers, where we see fizzles. It’s possible there were full-blown larval infections before the last few weeks, sure, but if they existed, no one has heard about them.”

Agent Otto whipped himself in circles. He seemed to be trying to see how many spins he could get off of one push. “So the fibers have been around for a while, but only now are reaching this larval stage? Does that mean they’re evolving?”

Margaret started to speak, a kind of automatic reaction to correct a layman’s guess at science, but stopped. Otto oversimplified it, but his concept was right on the money.

“Amos,” Margaret said, “has this task force been mapping the occurrences of the actual fibers?”

Amos shrugged. “I would imagine so, but I’m not sure. We’d have to talk to them.”

Margaret flipped through the pages. “Doctor Frank Cheng. He’s the project lead. I need to talk to this man. I don’t know if Murray will let me call him.”

“Margaret, may I say something?” Otto asked.

“Sure.”

He spun once in his chair, then gripped the desk with both hands, smiling the whole time. “You seem to let people push you around. You ever notice that?”

She felt her face turning red. Just because she had a problem, and everyone knew she had a problem, didn’t mean Otto had to actually talk about it.

“That’s none of your business,” she said.

“Because it seems to me you’re a lot stronger than you think. We’re dealing with some pretty crazy stuff here, am I right?”

She nodded.

“So if you’ve got something you feel we need to do, maybe you should stop being such a pussy.”

“Excuse me?”

Amos slapped the coffee table. “Preach on, Brother Otto!”

“I said, Margaret, stop being such a pussy.”

“I heard what you said.”

“So stop letting Murray tell you what to do.”

Margaret’s jaw dropped. “Are you completely deranged? He’s the deputy director of the CIA, man! How can I not let him tell me what to do?”

“So he’s the deputy director. Do you know what you are?”

“Tell her!” Amos screamed. He stood and raised his hands to the sky.

“Tell the good sister what she is!”

“Yes, Agent Otto, please tell me what I am.”

Otto spun twice, then spoke. “ You are the lead epidemiologist studying a new, unknown disease with horrific implications.”

“Horrific!” Amos echoed.

“You are short-staffed, and you can’t get the experts you should have.”

“It’s a sin!” Amos said.

“Amos,” Margaret said, “just knock it the fuck off.”

Amos smiled, then picked up a magazine off the coffee table and sat down, pretending to read.

“Margaret, he put you in charge of this. What will happen if you insist on talking to this Cheng guy? Do you think Murray is going to bring in someone else to replace you?”

She started to speak, then stopped. No. Murray wouldn’t do that. Not because she was the end-all be-all, but because he wanted to keep this tight as a drum. Murray needed her.

“So,” Otto said as he gave one strong push. He started spinning, speaking one syllable on each revolution, almost as if he’d read her mind.

“Use…what…you…have.”

Her anger faded.

Agent Clarence Otto was right.