Greed
Dr. Norris Wolcott the administrator of the Maplewood Psychiatric Center, one of the most exclusive private mental hospitals in North America, sat at his custom-designed mahogany desk, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Mr. Nelson Snowdon, the son of multibillionaire industrialist Leopold Snowdon, one of the ten wealthiest men in the world. Due to the hospital's unwavering commitment to discretion and to its patients' privacy, the physicians at Maplewood were called upon to treat many sports and entertainment celebrities, politicians and members of high society. During Norris's tenure as administrator, however, none of Maplewood's previous patients' families were in the same income bracket as the Snowdons.
The intercom on Dr. Wolcott's phone buzzed, and his secretary announced Mr. Snowdon's arrival. Rather than tell her to send the visitor in, the doctor went out to the reception area and personally escorted Nelson into his office.
"Would you care for a cup of coffee? Tea? Perhaps something stronger?" the administrator asked as the two men took their seats.
"No, thank you. I don't have the time for such things. I'd just as soon get down to the business at hand."
"As you wish. What can I do for you?"
"I would like to have my younger brother committed to your hospital," Nelson announced, with no more compassion in his voice than if he were ordering dinner at a restaurant.
"For substance abuse, I assume."
"I wish to God it were something so ordinary! No, I'm afraid my brother David is a raving lunatic, a real nut job—not to mention a major embarrassment to the family!"
Norris was astonished not only by Nelson's callous attitude but also by his total lack of political correctness. He had expected more from a billionaire businessman.
"Before we can commit your brother, he will need to be examined by one of our psychiatrists."
"I figured as much. That's why I hired a driver to bring him here. He's waiting out in the car three blocks away."
Normally, such proceedings took more time, but Norris could see that Leopold Snowdon's son was a man not used to waiting. Accordingly, Wolcott notified his secretary to have Dr. Brendan Creggan come to his office.
Although a relatively young man, Maplewood's chief of psychiatry had the proper credentials for the job including graduating in the top one percent of his class at Harvard Medical School and serving an internship at Johns Hopkins. In addition to his academic achievements, he was a decidedly handsome man who would be able to hold his own against such Hollywood heartthrobs as Ben Affleck, George Clooney and Brad Pitt. This was a great advantage considering more than three-fourths of Maplewood's patients were females.
When Brendan joined the meeting, he was quickly advised of the situation. Although he took an instant dislike to Nelson Snowdon, he treated him with deference, knowing full well his job would be on the line if he offended so wealthy a family member of a potential patient.
"Has your brother been diagnosed by a licensed psychiatrist?" Dr. Creggan inquired.
"No," Nelson answered without bothering to look at the psychiatrist.
Snowdon preferred making his explanations to the administrator, not the hired help.
"I didn't want to run the risk of the press finding out about his illness. My attorney told me about your place, specifically your ability to keep patients' identities confidential, and I decided to give you a try. You know who I am and who my recently departed father was, so pay close attention to what I have to say," he declared ruthlessly. "If word of David's mental state does get out, I'll stop at nothing to destroy this place and ruin both your careers in the process."
"All our records will refer to your brother under an assumed name," Norris promised. "I give you my word that no one outside this office will know who he is or how he got here."
"Assuming, of course," Brendan stipulated, "that he doesn't tell anyone himself."
"Have no fear of that!" Nelson replied with a harsh, humorless laugh. "My brother doesn't know his real name. Like I told you, he's helplessly insane. The poor bastard thinks he's Robin Hood."
* * *
While the three men waited for the prospective patient to be brought into the office, Nelson discussed financial arrangements with Dr. Wolcott. He at no time spoke to Dr. Creggan or even deigned to look in his direction. The slight did not bother the psychiatrist—much. After all, Maplewood catered to the wealthy, so he had grown accustomed to arrogant egotists.
Apparently, David Snowdon is not the only one suffering from delusions, the doctor thought uncharitably. He may or may not believe he is Robin Hood, but his brother Nelson definitely thinks he is God!
The door suddenly opened, and Doctors Wolcott and Creggan turned their heads in the direction of the allegedly mentally disturbed man. A friendly smile lit up David's pleasant face until he saw his brother in the room.
"So, I've been caught in a vile trap!" Leopold Snowdon's second son cried. "And what do you intend to do with me?"
Nelson looked away, rolling his eyes in disgust at his brother's irrational behavior. The psychiatrist merely observed David silently, leaving it up to Dr. Wolcott to attempt to diffuse the situation.
"Welcome to Maplewood," the administrator announced. "My name is ...."
"I know who you are: the dastardly Sheriff of Nottingham, the toad who does this usurper's bidding."
"In case you hadn't already guessed," Nelson explained, "he thinks I'm Prince John."
"You dare call yourself a prince! When your sainted brother Richard, England's rightful ruler, returns from the Crusades, the least he'll do is banish you from the land."
Nelson continued to address Norris Wolcott, as though they were the only two people in the room.
"May I leave him in your hands and return to the sane world?"
"I ... I suppose ...."
The psychiatrist stood up and walked toward David.
"Robin, isn't it?" Creggan asked.
"Yes. Robin of Locksley. And I know from your dapper attire that you are Will Scarlet."
"Why don't you come with me, Robin? I assure you you'll be perfectly safe. I'll take you to my office where neither the prince nor the sheriff has any authority."
No words passed between the two men as the psychiatrist led the potential patient to his office. When Brendan opened the door, he closely watched the other man's reactions. David did not seem even remotely curious about the twenty-first-century surroundings.
"So let me get this straight," Creggan finally began after the two men were seated around his desk for several minutes. "You're Robin Hood, I'm Will Scarlet and the two men in the other office were the Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John."
"You assume correctly."
"There are a number of things you're apparently not aware of: one, we're in Massachusetts, not Britain, and two, this isn't the twelfth century."
"I know I've travelled great distances not only across the sea but also through time. I'm not oblivious to your fast-moving horseless vehicles, the great silver birds that soar in the sky or the machines that seem to have taken over every aspect of your existence. I cannot explain how I arrived at this place and time any more than I can understand how to work those small talking boxes all you people carry with you everywhere you go."
Brendan suppressed a smile at Robin's description of cell phones.
"Why do you think Prince John wants the sheriff to confine you here at Maplewood?"
"Because they are both greedy men, especially the so-called prince. While he seeks to line his pockets with gold, I only want to help those in need."
"By robbing the rich to give to the poor?"
"I have no need to steal. I come from a prosperous family, and I wish to share my wealth with those who are less fortunate."
"But your brother—I mean Prince John—does not approve of your charity."
"No. He would prefer to see my inheritance in his own coffers."
As the psychiatrist continued to question David Snowdon, he came to believe that although the man suffered from a delusion, he seemed to have a fairly good grasp of Nelson's motives.
* * *
Dorothea Heyer, head nurse at Maplewood, walked into her office one morning to find a bouquet of daffodils and tulips on her desk. There was no doubt in her mind as to how they got there.
Robin! she thought with a smile.
She began making her rounds by first visiting the dining area where she found the younger Snowdon deep in conversation with Sanford Brimley, a Cordon Bleu-trained chef who prepared sumptuous meals for Maplewood's elite patients.
"Ah! The fair Maid Marian!" Robin exclaimed when he saw the nurse, a middle-aged widow whose husband had died more than ten years earlier. "You bring a ray of sunshine to even the cloudiest days."
"And you brought me flowers again."
"It is the least I can do, dear lady. Come and sit with me."
"You know it's against the rules to pick the flowers in the garden."
"Nonsense! What are such exquisite blooms for but to give to fair maidens? Come, Marian, you must partake in some of Friar Tuck's excellent fare. What do you call this again, Tuck?"
"Egg en cocotte," the rotund chef replied.
"Thank you, Robin," Dorothea replied, "but staff members are not permitted to eat in the main dining room. It's reserved for the patients. Besides, I already had my breakfast."
"If you call a bowl of instant oatmeal and a cup of Maxwell House instant coffee breakfast," Sanford sniggered good-naturedly.
When Dr. Creggan entered the dining room, the chef excused himself and returned to the kitchen.
"Ah, Robin, you're still eating I see," the psychiatrist declared. "You'd better hurry up. You don't want to be late for our appointment."
"No, but I don't see why you keep asking me questions about my childhood."
Brendan turned to Dorothea, who was still standing beside the table, and said, "Don't let us keep you from your rounds, Nurse Heyer."
"No, Doctor," she replied, and then smiled at Robin before taking her leave.
"Everyone around here always seems so busy," David observed as he accompanied the psychiatrist to his office. "Maid Marian, Friar Tuck, Little John. Even you, Will. I don't see why I can't find some way to keep busy."
"I'll see what I can do," Brendan said, believing some occupational therapy might actually help the patient. "Members of the staff tell me you seem quite happy here. In the three months since you first arrived, you have adjusted nicely. You've grown especially close to the orderly."
"You mean Little John. Yes. For all his immense size and threatening appearance, he is a kind man with a soft heart. He's been trying to teach me about sports: Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, Bruins. The two of us sometimes watch competitions on the large magic box in the common room, but I confess I have difficulty keeping all the different games straight. Hitting a ball, kicking a ball, passing a ball, throwing a ball through a basket—what's the point? And then there's hockey that doesn't even use a ball!"
"I imagine becoming a sports fan will take some getting used to, but if anyone can help you, it's Carlo Torre. I mean Little John."
There were no more questions about David's childhood during that morning's session, just casual conversation. Like his patient, Dr. Creggan wanted to keep busy. It helped to pass the time. He was all too aware, however, that this particular patient's return to sanity was not a high priority at Maplewood. On the contrary, his brother was paying an exorbitant fee to keep him there, higher than any other patients or their families were paying. The last thing Norris Wolcott wanted was a speedy recovery.
* * *
The spring passed, and the tulips and daffodils on Dorothea Heyer's desk became roses, lilies, daisies and dahlias. The landscaper, who had also fallen under David's spell, no longer complained to the administrator about his missing flowers. In fact, the gardener was considered one of Robin's band of Merry Men and given the name Alan-a-Dale.
As the nurse placed the latest floral offering in a vase, she thought of how much Robin Hood had come to mean to her as well as to Sanford, Carlo and even Brendan, although the psychiatrist often tried to keep his professional distance from the patient.
Robin is such a wonderful man, she thought, feeling her eyes fill with tears. Kind, compassionate, affectionate. He would make a wonderful husband and an excellent father. Instead, he is shut up here, away from the world and all it has to offer.
Dorothea heard footsteps approaching and quickly wiped her eyes with a tissue from the box of Kleenex on her desk.
"Nurse Heyer, have you seen Robin?" Dr. Creggan asked.
"No. I just came on duty and haven't made my rounds yet."
"He's late for our appointment, and I can't find him anywhere."
"Have you checked the kitchen? He often likes to keep Sanford company after he finishes his breakfast."
"I already asked the chef. He told me Robin didn't show up for breakfast this morning. And before you ask, Carlo hasn't seen him today either."
"Well, he's been in here," she said, holding up the flowers.
"Help me look for him, will you? I find his absence quite disturbing."
"Certainly, Doctor, but I wouldn't worry too much. I'm sure he'll turn up."
Two hours later, even after they enlisted the help of the orderly, they had failed to locate the patient known as Robin Hood.
"Why doesn't this place have security cameras?" Dorothea asked.
"Because no one has ever tried to leave," Brendan replied. "Look around you. This is more of a resort than a mental health facility. All of our patients—with the exception of Robin—are voluntary. Actors trying to stop drinking, musicians wanting to get off heroin, athletes hoping to beat an addiction to opioids."
"And then there's David Snowdon," the nurse said.
"You know his true identity?" the psychiatrist asked with surprise.
"It's no big secret. Word spread through the staff the day his brother brought him here."
"Well, then you must know how urgent it is we find him."
"So we can keep him prisoner here again?" the nurse bitterly.
"This isn't Bedlam! He lives better in here than most people do on the outside. You and I don't get our meals cooked by a Cordon Bleu chef!"
"Ah, the hell with the fancy food and the spa treatments! He's not free to live a normal life."
"He thinks he's Robin Hood, for Christ's sake! What kind of normal life is he going to have?"
"You and I both know he represents no danger, either to himself or to other people. He doesn't need to be institutionalized."
"Nelson Snowdon is concerned about his wellbeing. He thinks it best David be kept in a controlled environment."
"Bullshit!" the nurse exclaimed, stunning the psychiatrist with her emotional outburst. "He wants to sweep his brother under the rug like some dirty family secret! And the esteemed Dr. Norris Wolcott, our sycophantic administrator, is willing to go along with anything that will bring in a steady revenue."
"Need I remind you that the steady revenue is what pays our salaries and that our sycophantic administrator has to power to fire us anytime he wants to."
They searched for Robin for another hour, to no avail.
"He's not here," Brendan announced despairingly. "He must have somehow gotten off the grounds."
"Where would he go?" Carlo asked.
"That's what we'll have to find out."
The psychiatrist called those people closest to David into his office and broke the bad news.
"Does anyone have any idea where he might have gone to?"
"I doubt he went to see his brother," Dorothea replied sarcastically.
"Did he have any other family?" the gardener asked.
"What about a girlfriend?" Sanford inquired.
"No one that I'm aware of," the psychiatrist answered.
"He once asked me where Fenway Park was, but I don't think he'd run off to Boston," the orderly said.
"If I believed I was Robin Hood, where would I go?" the nurse mused as she looked at a listing of names of town in Massachusetts.
"How about Salem?" the gardener laughed. "That town is so filled with crackpots that a man claiming to be Robin Hood would not stand out."
"This has got to be it!" Dorothea suddenly exclaimed. "There's a town called Becket in Berkshire County, an area of which has been named Sherwood Forest."
"No way!" Carlo exclaimed.
"According to Google, it has a Maid Marian Lane, a Little John Drive, a King Richard Lane, a Prince John Drive and even a Robin Hood Lake."
"Well, if it's in the Berkshires, it can't be too far a drive from here," Brendan declared. "I'll get on the Turnpike and drive over there."
"I'll go with you," Dorothea volunteered.
The remainder of the Merry Men echoed her offer.
"We can't all go," the psychiatrist said. "Dr. Wolcott is bound to notice something is wrong if we all go missing. Dorothea and Carlo, you come with me. I'll need you to help me search the place. You two go back to work."
"Yes, someone ought to stay here in case you're wrong," Sanford agreed. "Perhaps Robin is like a runaway cat. When he gets hungry, he will come home."
"If he does, call me on my cell immediately."
* * *
Dr. Creggan barely had time to drive his new Mercedes down the streets of Sherwood Forest, when he and his search party heard a distressing news report on the radio: a man in green tights and feathered cap had tried to hold up a bank, armed only with a bow and arrow.
"You don't suppose ...," the orderly began.
"Of course, it' him," the psychiatrist said and turned the car around to head back to Maplewood.
The sight of Nelson Snowdon's late-model Bentley parked in the administrator's parking space made Dr. Creggan cringe.
"It's time to face the music," he announced fatalistically. "It's been a pleasure working with the two of you."
"Dr. Wolcott would like to see all of you in his office at once," the receptionist said the moment the three hospital employees walked through the front door.
"Has Robin Hood been found?" Dorothea asked the girl.
"Yes, the police brought him back here about ten minutes ago."
"At least he's safe," Carlo said with relief.
"There they are!" the elder Snowdon brother exclaimed, barely able to conceal his rage.
"Now, now, Nelson. It's best to remain calm," the well-dressed man beside him urged. "No need to get excited."
"Because my attorney here was able to straighten this matter out with no criminal charges being pressed and no mud attached to my family name, I'm willing to give you another chance," Nelson told Dr. Wolcott. "On two conditions, that is. One, you fire these three incompetents, and two, my brother is to be kept properly medicated to prevent a similar incident from happening in the future."
"You want to sedate him, is that it?" Dorothea cried, not caring that she had just lost her job. "To keep him doped up like some zombie?"
"Get these people out of here," Nelson ordered with obvious disgust.
"That's precisely what he wants to do," Dr. Creggan said in answer to the Nurse Heyer's questions. "He wants to make sure David doesn't squander any of their father's estate on financial endowments and charitable causes. I'll bet right now he's got this lawyer of his drawing up papers that will help him get control of his brother's finances."
"And why not?" Nelson asked with a devious laugh, directly addressing the psychiatrist for the first time. "A man who thinks he's Robin Hood is hardly capable of managing billions of dollars."
In the midst of the argument that ensued, no one paid attention to David Snowdon, least of all his avaricious brother. Still wearing green tights, tunic and feathered cap, he stealthily crossed the room and retrieved the bow and arrow he had used in his thwarted robbery attempt.
"Robin," Dorothea called when his movements got her attention, "you'd better put that down before ...."
The nurse's warning was too late. As Nelson turned in his brother's direction, David released the tension on the bow, sending an arrow into Prince John's chest. Both Nurse Heyer and Dr. Creggan sought to help the wounded man, but there was nothing either of them could do. Nelson had been killed instantly.
"We'd better call the police," the lawyer announced.
Dr. Wolcott closed his eyes and slumped down into his desk chair, knowing that once word of the bizarre murder got out, he would be ruined. It was left up to the psychiatrist to notify the authorities. Meanwhile, Carlo, the brawny orderly, gently disarmed David before he could shoot someone else.
"Long live, King Richard!" Robin Hood exclaimed, falling to one knee.
"Don't worry," the attorney assured the weeping nurse. "When the police arrive, I'll speak to them."
"David just murdered his brother in cold blood. The police are bound to arrest him."
"There's not a jury in all of Massachusetts that would convict him," the lawyer insisted. "Everyone in this room can attest to the fact that my client is not of sound mind. No, he won't go to jail. He'll be sent to a fine institution, someplace like this, where he'll receive the best treatment. I'm sure that in no time at all, he'll be well enough to resume his proper place in society."
"And in doing so, he'll inherit his father's entire fortune. Am I right?" Dr. Creggan asked.
"Alas poor Nelson had neither children nor wife. That makes David, Leopold Snowdon's only surviving family member, the sole heir to the family fortune."
A chilling look passed between the lawyer and his client, one that made not only the psychiatrist but also the nurse and orderly wonder if they had been duped from the very beginning. Did David really believe he was Robin Hood, or was he, in truth, the greedier and more devious of the two Snowdon brothers?
There really is a town called Becket in the Berkshires that contains a community called Sherwood Forest. All the streets are named after characters from the tales of Robin Hood and King Arthur.
Like Robin Hood, Salem takes from the rich, but he forgets the part about giving to the poor.
