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RIVEN
JO-ANNE JOSEPH
 CONTENTS

Letter to the Reader

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue

The Salvation Society

Books by Jo-Anne Joseph
Acknowledgments
About the Author
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in
any form whatsoever. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed,
or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews
and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical
events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to people living or
deceased, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to
be the property of their respective owners and are only used for reference
purposes. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, sexual situations,
and triggers that some may find offensive. It is intended for adult readers only.

Copyright © 2020 by Jo-Anne Joseph

Cover Design: Raven Designs
Editing: Kim BookJunkie
Proofreading: KimBookJunkie and Janine Netasha Chetty
 LETTER TO THE READER

Dear Reader,

I cannot begin to tell you what an amazing opportunity it is to write

in the Salvation Society World. Not only did it provide me with a
chance to meet new authors and readers, it introduced me to the
amazing world that Corinne Michael’s created, and I found myself
reading one book after another, getting lost her world, and falling in
love with her characters. Catherine and her Jackson stole my heart
immediately, and I knew I wanted them to walk across my pages.
Revive them for all the other readers that were engrossed in their
rollercoaster romance.
Braxton and Eliana consumed me, demanding that I tell their
story, and I can tell you that it has been exhilarating to write. I love
my heroes protective, slightly broken, but able to love in a way that
truly moves people. My heroines, Eliana included, are always feisty
with a rebel streak that is often hard to break. I have never been a
girl who followed the rules, and the women I write about are no
different.
I knew theirs would be a story filled with twists and turns; what
great love story exists without that? That said, I have a feeling you’ll
be seeing more of some of the other characters in this story.
I truly hope that you love these two as much as I do.
 PROLOGUE

Now…

My head pounds, and I struggle to open my eyelids. I eventually do,

resulting in a sharp sting across my forehead, making me wince. My
tongue sticks against the top of my mouth. How long have I been
out? Hours? Days?
I manage to pry my eyes open, my gaze flitting to the ceiling and
the soft white glow from the fancy chandelier. I attempt to lift my
head, but set it back down, the pain from that small movement is
enough to have me gritting my teeth. I turn my head to the left, the
cords in my neck straining, causing me more discomfort. Where the
hell am I?
Turning to my side is an effort, but I manage it. Gripping onto
the side table, I pull myself upright, perching against the wall
completely out of breath. I survey the room, a hotel room. And then
it hits me. “Eliana!” I yell, only to be met with silence.
I had one job, to protect her, and from the looks of the state of
the room, I’ve failed. I reach behind my head to the spot that aches
the most, and wetness coats my hand. I bring it back down, my
eyes widening. I’m bleeding. There’s a gash on my head, either from
a fall or a hit. I’m more inclined to assume the latter.
I drag myself into a standing position, but my equilibrium is off,
and I fall against the side table, the edge of it digging into my ribs. I
cry out in agony, my breathing rapid, my heart pounding with the
desire to move but the inability to do it. I stumble forward until I
reach the king-size bed. The sheets are rumpled. I shake my head in
confusion which causes my vision to blur. I press my bloodied palms
against my eyes, taking in a few deep breaths. The room spins, so I
sit down to get my bearings.
I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, I think, as I fall backward,
the darkness taking me.
A voice calls to me. I can’t make out the words, they’re
mumbled, like listening to someone talking while you’re under water.
Cold hands are on my arms, my head. I feel them everywhere, and
it makes my skin crawl.
“Sir,” a man says, then the rest of his words fade like an old
cassette, its ribbons twisting in the radio, causing the lyrics of a
good song to distort into unrecognizable mumbles. When I was ten
years old, my best friend’s brother told us there were hidden
messages in the songs from the anti-Christ, instructing us to commit
evil acts. We’d been alarmed at the thought, not fully understanding
but shit scared nonetheless.
“Mister Hayes.” I open my eyes this time, the excruciating pain I
felt earlier now manageable. By the man’s uniform, I can tell he is a
paramedic. A young lady, who must be from housekeeping, stands
beside him, her eyes wide, her fingers twisting her apron.
“Yeah,” I croak. I notice my wallet in his hands.
“I’m Lucas. You took quite a bash to the head, how’s the pain?”
“Better than before,” I tell him. “I’m still woozy though.”
I lift my hand, reaching up to the injured spot on my head. My
arm stings, and I look down, a small bandage on it. The wound on
my head has been patched up too.
“It’s a flesh wound, no stitches necessary. I’ve cleaned it up and
patched it. Had to shave off some of your hair at the back, though. I
administered some Tylenol, but I’m going to have to take you in for
a CT scan, make sure you don’t have a concussion.”
“I don’t need a scan,” I say, trying to sit up as a sharp pain
shoots through my head. I have been injured far worse. This
definitely does not need a scan.
 “Whoa, take it easy there.” The medic settles me back against
the pillow. “Want to tell me what went down here?”
“I don’t know - Eliana? There was a woman with me. Where is
she?” The paramedic looks at the housekeeper who shakes her
head.
“The place is a mess, were you attacked, Sir?”
I know the drill. If I say yes, they’ll get the police involved, which
is the last thing I want, especially if Eliana has been taken.
“I was drunk. My girlfriend and I broke up. She left. I lost it.” I go
for the truth.
“Are you sure that’s all it was?” He lifts an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“I’m still going to have to take you in. And maybe we can try and
get hold of your girlfriend.”
I shake my head. “Like you said, it’s a flesh wound. I’m ex-Navy,
I know what a concussion feels like.”
He doesn’t seem convinced, but knows he can’t force me into his
ambulance.
“We’ll let you rest up then. If you need anything, you can call the
front desk.” He hands me my wallet. “If you change your mind, the
hospital is just a couple of miles from here.”
I nod, my gaze falling on the woman who looks at me
suspiciously. I close my eyes until I hear them shuffling out.
I stand, staggering over to the closet and opening it. Her two
bags are right where she left them. I pull on my jacket, looking
around the room for any clues. Chairs are overturned, but hopefully
that was just for dramatic effect.
If anything happens to her, it will be my fault. First rule of the
game: Don’t take your eye off the ball. I did, and now, I’ll live to
regret it.
CHAPTER ONE
 Eliana

Before…

The universe hates me. There’s no other explanation for why I have
to spend a Saturday morning with my mother at a dress fitting. I
grip my bedpost until my knuckles whiten, suck in a breath, and
endure the torture of being stuffed like a sausage into a corset that
feels two sizes smaller than my body. Bowing my head, I try to suck
in a breath to make the process easier.
“Can that corset be pulled tighter?” My mother asks her personal
tailor, Stephan, who responds with an irritated sigh.
“If I pull this thing any tighter, it’ll pop at the seams, Serafina.” I
catch his eye in the mirror, and he winks. Stephan gets me. She
doesn’t. I try not to fight with her, at least on something as stupid as
this because it’ll only lead to an argument. I hate arguing with my
mother. I much prefer ignoring she exists.
“Eliana, I told you to reduce those portion sizes.” I bite my
tongue yet again to prevent me from saying something we’ll all
regret. It isn’t worth exposing poor Stephan to our hostility toward
one another.
Stephan leads us both into my dressing room once he believes
I’m squished enough then helps me climb onto a pedestal in the
middle of the room. He drapes yet another ball gown over me, a
red, silk gown this time. The bodice fits too snugly, and the dress
flairs out at my waist. I look in the mirror and raise an eyebrow.
“I look hideous. It isn’t me. It’s so… fancy,” I groan. “I am not
wearing this one either, it’s too over the top.” I can’t keep the
disgust out of my voice.
“It is lovely, Eliana, don’t be so dramatic,” my mother says as she
sits in a plush, white armchair and continues to type into her phone
without looking up.
Stephan shakes his head. “I could make a couple of tweaks, give
it some of that grungy, chic you’re into,” he winks.
I giggle at how quickly that has my mother looking up from her
phone screen, eyes wide and defensive.
“Absolutely not! The dress is perfect the way it is.” She stands,
sashaying over to where Stephan and I stand. “It’s bad enough she
won’t wear gloves to cover up that distasteful tattoo,” she scrunches
up her face.
I roll my eyes. “This isn’t the dark ages, Mother. Have you never
been young?”
She stands back, narrowing her eyes, giving me a once over.
“This will do, Stephan, store them in her closet with the other two I
chose.” I’m not surprised she ignores my comment.
“Yes, ma’am.” He offers me a hand down from the stool. “You’d
look beautiful, by the way, in any of those gowns.”
“You’re supposed to say that, we’re friends,” I sulk.
My mother is already on her phone again, walking away from us.
Serafina Hernandez fits into this setting so well, the fancy house,
glamorous décor that she picked out herself, and designer clothing.
This is who she is. But it isn’t me, far from it. I didn’t even have a
say in what my bedroom looked like. My opinion wasn’t part of her
grand design.
“It’s not her fault, you know? You’re a Hernandez, and that name
alone has expectations.”
I smile at him them let him help me out of the monstrosity they
call a dress. As soon as it’s off, I tug on my ripped jeans and
crossover blouse, tie my hair in a ponytail, and pull on my boots. I
immediately feel like myself again. “I can’t wait till I’m out of here.” I
say under my breath.
“Ella, are you keeping something from me?” Stephan spins
around, his eyes narrowing in on me.
“Of course not,” I wave him off. “But we both know that’s been
the plan, right?” I lie. I love Stephan, but he can’t keep his mouth
shut, and the last thing I want is for him to blab about my interview
in Los Angeles to his partner, Yanez, who happens to be a close
friend of my mother.
I did it. I got an interview with one of LA’s most prestigious PR
Companies, CJJ, two days from now. Landing an interview alone is a
dream come true. Now all I have to do is impress them enough to
take a chance on me.
“Sweetheart, it isn’t going to be that simple, you of all people
should know that.”
I let out a groan. “I do, Steph, but working with my father is
completely out of the question.”
He walks over to me, wraps his arms around me, and gives me a
squeeze. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”
I squeeze him back. “I won’t.”
He looks at the watch on his wrist. “I should get going, dinner
with my family tonight, I’m going to introduce them to Yanez.” He
pulls away from me, a fake look of excitement on his face as he
waves his hands about. Stephan’s family have hardly come to terms
with the fact that he is gay, and throw in a partner, I can only
imagine the drama that is going to unfold tonight.
“Good luck.” I say, meaning it. “Remember, this is your life, and
you deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you, honey.” He kisses my cheek, and I watch him walk
away.
Stepping out onto my balcony, I take a seat on the lounger,
closing my eyes and enjoying some sunshine. I wish I could take my
own advice and stop feeling guilty about putting myself first. I need
to learn to let my own happiness take priority. But when you’re
reminded your entire life of how insignificant you are, you tend to
start believing it. I am a Hernandez, not Eliana. A collective. There
was no room for individuality in my world.
When I open my eyes, I realize I’d drifted off to sleep. The sun
has set on the horizon, and my skin prickles with the chilly, late
evening air. I stand and make my way back inside switching on the
lights.
Picking up my phone, I frown realizing I not only missed dinner
but also a call from my brother. My stomach grumbles. I need food. I
let out a yawn and decide to pay the fridge a visit. The cook always
leaves me and my brother, Zev, some leftovers. Neither of us eats
dinner with our parents unless we’re forced to. I walk down the
corridor and pause when I hear voices in the library. My father must
still be up. Ordinarily, I’d walk away unbothered, but the sound of a
male voice groaning in pain has me stopping in my tracks. I step
closer to the door which is ajar enough for me to peek through
without my father noticing.
He has a man against the bookshelf, his hands wrapped around
his neck. I gasp but place a hand in front of my mouth.
“I gave you instructions, Bobby, and I expected you to follow
them.” He slams a fist into the man’s ribs.
“I know, I just need more time,” the man begs.
Before I can stop myself, I’m knocking at the door, walking inside
uninvited. My father turns, and his grip on the man’s throat loosens
as he steps away from him. My heart pounds in my chest. We all
know the rules, have since I was a kid. Nobody disturbs my father
when he’s busy. I can count the number of times I’ve been in this
room on my one hand.
“Ah, Eliana, we missed you at dinner,” he says as he walks to his
desk in the corner of the dimly lit room. A fire burns in the fireplace,
giving this unorthodox scene a comforting feel. It’s as if whatever I
walked in on never occurred. Yet it did.
Bobby looks from my father to me. “Miss,” he says, using his
hand to wipe a bit of blood off his mouth. Bobby looks like a boxer,
muscles to match, yet it’s obvious he cowers in front of my father.
Bobby brushes his greasy black hair back.
 “I will be in touch, Mr. Hernandez,” he says. My father doesn’t
pay him any attention, and Bobby leaves the room casting me one
final glance.
“What was that about?” I know it’s stupid to ask, still I do.
“Nothing important.” My father waves me off. “Some business I
had to deal with.”
“Sure, Dad.” I reply, unconvinced.
“How have you been? We barely speak these days. Soon enough
we’ll be partners,” he says too cheerfully. There is one thing Diego
Hernandez isn’t and that is cheerful. I know he’s trying to distract
me.
I smile. “Yeah.” For a moment I wonder if I should tell him about
the interview and my plans for the future. But the realist in me
knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to stop me from succeeding. “I
was on my way downstairs. I should leave you to your business.”
“Good night, Eliana,” he says, looking up from his paperwork.
I make my way downstairs and indulge in some delicious lasagna
Maria made. She’s cooked for us for years, and she never
disappoints. When I’ve had more than my fill, I head back to my
bedroom.
As I lie in bed looking at the ceiling, I can’t stop thinking about
the look in Bobby’s eyes, and I wonder what they were talking
about. I drift off, wondering if it had anything to do with me. But
then again, why would it?

I’m a ball of nerves after the two-hour drive to LA. I turn the air
conditioner on all the way and crank Blink 182 to full blast, my
nerves increasing the closer I get to my destination. A valet meets
me at the hotel entrance, and once I’m in the room I’ve booked for
the night, I lie on the comfortable bed, closing my eyes and sinking
into the cool, white sheets.
As far as my parents know, I’m with my best friend, Casey,
tonight. I cannot even begin to explain how it pisses me off that at
twenty-one I still have to make excuses for my whereabouts. My
phone rings just then; I look at the display and smile. “Hey, Case.”
“Hey, back at ya. You were supposed to call me the second you
arrived.”
“I’m sorry, babe, got lost in my head again,” I sigh.
“Then get out of it, Ella, you’ve got this.” She sounds like she’s
chewing.
“I hate chew-versations,” I laugh.
“But, you adore me.” I smile. I do.
“Good point.”
“Good luck, Ella, I’ll call you later. Go shower, clear your head,
and try to relax. I love you.”
“Love you too, Case.”
After we end our call, I do as she says and take a long shower.
Instead of relaxing after, I go over my presentation to the COO,
Catherine Cole. She is one of the most sought-after PR professionals
and has been interviewed by several high-profile business
magazines. The fact that she even wants to interview me herself is
an honor. I cannot get this wrong. My chest tightens at the thought
of sitting in a room with a panel of professionals with all that
experience. I hate that I don’t have any experience. This is my first
interview, ever. But I am preparing and intend to do my very best.
I opt for room service instead of dining at the restaurant
downstairs. Spreading my documents all over the bed, I go through
the CJJ Company profile over a chicken salad. The resume of every
Publicist hired by the company is on their site, and I’m impressed by
the fact that the executive leadership team is mostly women. The LA
branch’s focus is representing prominent companies, celebrities, and
several high-profile businesses. I’ve pretty much been surrounded by
people like that my entire life. The position I’m applying for is
assistant to one of the senior publicists for a pretty famous client.
I’ve been preparing for this for months, but I will not leave anything
to chance.
When I figure I’ve had enough, I gather my documents, packing
them into a folder and setting it on the desk. I look in the mirror,
and despite being exhausted, I look vibrant, alive. I remove the
hairband from my wavy chestnut hair and run a brush through it,
one hundred strokes, the way I’ve been programmed to do my
entire life. My hazel eyes with glints of green look bright and
hopeful. Being away from my parents is definitely good for me. I
look at my wrist, at the bangled tattoo I got on a drunken night in
college and smile. It was my first act of rebellion, and my mother
threw a fit when she saw it. That was the first of many times I took
charge of my life.
I text Casey goodnight before climbing under the covers, setting
the alarm for 6:00 a.m. My interview is at nine, and the hotel is
within walking distance of CJJ. I feel the anxiety building in my chest
and decide to take a herbal sedative to help me drift off. Tomorrow
is the start of a whole new chapter in my life.

Nothing went to plan.

I hit snooze on my alarm for an hour, who the fuck does that? I
eventually get up at seven in a daze, legs tangled in the blanket.
Before I know what’s happening, I find myself face down on the
carpet. After a serious struggle, I manage to shower and dress,
running downstairs and reaching the restaurant a few minutes
before it closes.
“Just scrambled eggs and toast left, Miss,” the waiter tells me
sheepishly.
“That’s fine,” I reply. “Just make it quick.” I look around at the
fancy restaurant. A few people are reading newspapers or finishing
up what I assume was a leisurely breakfast.
I scarf down the scrambled eggs and toast when they arrive.
Distracted by the headline relating to my father taking over another
company, I squeeze ketchup on my white shirt. I spring up from the
table, knocking over my coffee, spilling some of it on my light gray
pants.
“Fuck!” This morning is not going my way.
 “I am so sorry, Miss, are you okay?” the waiter asks, coming over
with a stack of napkins. I was in such a hurry, I hadn’t even
bothered to use a napkin.
“Yeah, thanks for breakfast. I need to get changed.” I tip him and
leave the restaurant, my cheeks heating at the stares from the other
patrons. “What? You’ve never spilled on yourself before?” I yell as I
hurry to the elevators.
After rushing upstairs to change into the second outfit I
thankfully brought with me, I make it out onto the busy street at
exactly 8:50 a.m. I tug at the black pinstripe jacket I paired with
black pants and a charcoal shirt.
A brisk walk to CJJ would take me fifteen minutes, so I’ll have to
make a run for it. I slip off my Alexander McQueen pumps, slip on
my flats, which I always keep in my bag, and I’m on my way. This
should give me sufficient time to visit the ladies room, fix any
flyaway hair, and touch up my makeup.
I pause in front of the skyscraper CJJ is housed in. I have to
catch my breath from the jog and the reality that in a few minutes, I
am going to be sitting in a boardroom with some of the people I
admire most in the business, trying to convince them that I deserve
the job they’re interviewing me for.
People walk around me as they make their way to their offices,
the buzz of the central business hub giving me a heady feeling. One
day this will be me, I remind myself. I take one step forward toward
the revolving doors, unable to hide the loony smile on my face. I can
imagine the thoughts running through the heads of anyone watching
me. And then it happens. Someone bumps me from the back, I miss
the gap, and smack my face into one of the revolving doors. I catch
myself before I’m injured but land on my ass inside one of the
spaces, having to scurry into the building on my knees when the exit
appears.
A woman rushes toward me. “Oh, my God, are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” I answer in a daze. “My head hurts like a
motherfucker.” She helps me up and leads me to the front desk.
“Give me a minute, I need to get something for that,” she points
to my forehead. I reach up and touch it, and its tender. It’s going to
fucking swell, and I’ll have a double head during my interview. I feel
the tears burning my eyes, but I bite down on my bottom lip until
the wave passes.
The woman returns holding an ice pack in her hands, which she
places against the side of my forehead. “How are you feeling,
sweetie?”
“Stupid.” I let out a groan.
“You aren’t stupid. It was an accident,” she says kindly.
“Yeah, someone shoved against me, probably ’cause I was
standing out there like an ass.”
“Just take a moment to get your bearing,” she coos. “I’m Kiara,
by the way. I’m a receptionist at CJJ.”
I spring up, the mention of CJJ reminding me of the reason I’m
here. I feel a bit woozy, but I ignore it. “What time is it?”
“Five minutes past nine,” Kiara replies.
“Oh, God, I had an interview with Catherine Cole at nine.” I say,
my voice laced with panic.
“Sit down, Hun. I’ll call her assistant. What’s your name? Didn’t
catch it with all this,” she says lightly. How can she be so calm when
inside I’m dying?
“Eliana Hernandez,” I answer.
“Hi, I have Eliana Hernandez here for Catherine. She had a bit of
an accident downstairs, if Catherine could give her a few minutes to
recoup, she’ll be up there shortly.”
Kiara smiles down at me. “Sure, I’ll hold.”
Holding the ice to my forehead, I look at Kiara. She’s around my
age, very attractive, her platinum blonde hair and big blue eyes
reminding me of Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde.
She taps her hot pink nails on the phone. “Ah, thank you. I’ll let
her know,” she sets the phone down.
“All set. Why don’t you use the lady’s, get yourself together, and
then you can go on up to the tenth floor?” She reaches into the mini
fridge behind the reception desk and hands me a bottle of water.
“Thank you so much, Kiara, this hasn’t been my morning, but I
am so grateful for your help.” I stand slowly.
 “Oh, don’t mention it, sweetheart. I’d keep that pack on a bit
longer. The bathrooms are around the corner.” she tells me.
Offering her a grateful smile, I make my way in the direction she
indicated, feeling like such a fool. I have never been so clumsy. How
am I going to face the interview panel in this state?
Maybe this is a bad omen, a sign that I shouldn’t do this. My
parents always told me that I’d never make it out in the world alone,
that a Hernandez has to stay true to family and tradition. My father’s
warnings that I’d make a fool of myself, echo in my mind.
When I get to the bathroom, I splash some water on my face
and dry my face off with the paper towels. I let my hair out of the
twist then run a brush through it, using my long bangs to try to
cover the glaring, red irritation on my forehead with some of the
layers. In a few hours, the knot on my forehead will be a purple
bruise, but thankfully the ice will ensure it doesn’t swell too much. I
hold onto the basin and bow my head, catching my breath.
When I finally enter the interview room, Catherine Cole sits at
the head of a large boardroom table, another woman sitting to her
right. They both stand when I enter, and Catherine meets me
halfway, extending a hand.
“Welcome, Eliana. I heard you had a bit of an accident
downstairs. I hope you’re all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Mrs. Cole. Just a bit of nerves, I think.” I
smile, hopefully sounding more confident than I feel. This woman is
every bit the professional I thought she’d be, commanding attention
and respect. Her warm brown eyes consider me, and her smile is
sincere. Her hair is in a twist at the back of her head, and she’s at
least an inch taller than me.
“Catherine will do. And boy, do I know what that feels like.
Please, come have a seat,” she motions to a seat opposite the other
woman.
“I’m Petra Bailey. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eliana,” the tall
blonde woman extends her hand, a tight smile on her face. Her
handshake is firm, almost intimidating.
“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Bailey,” I reply as we both take our
seats.
 Catherine pours me a glass of water, pushing it to me.
“Thank you, Catherine.” I say, feeling awkward calling a woman
of her stature by her first name.
“So, firstly, we’d like you to be comfortable. This is not an
interrogation, it’s a pitch.” Catherine’s words make me feel more at
ease. Looking toward Petra, she continues, “Petra is looking for an
assistant, a young woman with drive and authenticity.”
“My client is a handful, so I need someone who is great with
people yet also professional and focused.” Petra adds.
“We want to hear what you have to say, so you can proceed
whenever you’re ready.” Catherine tells me.
“I’m ready to proceed,” I nod, standing and removing my USB
drive from my handbag. I insert it into the laptop that is already
plugged in and breathe a sigh, letting all my nervous energy
subside.
I spent the next half hour pitching like my life depends on it.
Catherine seems impressed, but Petra on the other hand is rather
aloof. The fact that this position reports to her makes me feel
absolutely despondent.
“You’re located a good three hours away. Would you be willing to
relocate if necessary?” Catherine asks.
“Of course,” I answer.
“Your father is Diego Hernandez, right?” Petra asks. I have no
idea why she asks this or where her question is going, but I don’t
have to wonder long. “He’s been in the media a lot, speaking about
you taking over his business when he retires.”
“My father is a long way from retirement, and my family is aware
that I have no interest in the business,” I answer simply.
A small smile plays on Catherine’s lips.
Petra nods, paging through my resume. “This would be your first
permanent job? But you do come highly recommended by Compass
Consulting in San Diego. We’ve done some work with them over the
years. Their CEO is a very good friend of mine.”
“Correct. I interned at Compass until I graduated a few months
ago. I’ve been following CJJ, and Mrs. Cole for years, though. Public
relations is something I’ve always seen myself doing.”
 “It’s no walk in the park.” Catherine says, not unkindly.
“With all due respect, Catherine, I have grown up surrounded by
the people you represent. I think I’ve picked up a thing or two.”
“I like that,” she laughs.
“Why should we consider you, above all of the other candidates,
some with years of experience behind them?” Petra inquires.
I think about her question and meet her gaze. “I am driven,
determined to do whatever it takes to be a good assistant. I learn
fast, and I am not afraid to take chances. I have lived my whole life
being inadequate in one area or another, but that has never stopped
me from trying.”
An hour later I leave CJJ feeling depressed. The entire interview
felt like a waste of time. A part of me wonders why they even
bothered calling me for an interview if their intention was to
highlight all of the reasons why I am incompetent. Damn my family
legacy. It will always follow me.
I pack quickly when I get to the hotel, allowing the tears I held in
to fall down my cheeks. I text Casey to tell her that the interview
went well, not wanting to stress her out, and she texts back that she
loves me and knew I’d slay it. I jump in my car and drive back to La
Jolla, Coldplay on blast the entire way.
I walk into my childhood home. Everything is silent and staged,
exactly the way it has always been. I look around the entrance hall,
artwork that could buy an entire house lining the walls and a
winding staircase that leads to two more levels. This place in all its
glory has never felt like a home. When your family consists of tutors
and nannies, it’s hard to feel anything but indifference.
“Where were you?” I roll my eyes at the sound of my mother’s
voice.
“At Casey’s, I told you.” I start up the stairs without even looking
at her.
“Look at me, Eliana,” she demands. “I think we need to talk
about your future.” I know she wants to know when I’m going to
start taking over for my father.
“Go drink the rest of that bottle of wine, Mother.”
 I walk away, ignoring her shouts. I slam my bedroom door and
fall against it, sobs wracking through me as I finally let go of all the
pent-up tension from this day. I bring a fist to my mouth and shout
out my frustration with my family, the job situation, and my life.
CHAPTER TWO
 Braxton

The noise is deafening, the sounds loud and brutal enough to petrify
anyone. I lie on the wooden floor of my cabin shivering, my hands
covering my ears, trying to drown out the screams for help, the
bellows of agony coming from my team. I open my eyes, but the
dust makes it hard to see. “Brax,” I hear Dough call my name. He’s
close, but I can’t see him.
“Where the fuck are you, man?” I cough.
“I don’t know. It’s cold, Brax,” I can hear his teeth chattering. I
try to move, but something heavy keeps me immobilized. Water
continues to seep into our sleeping quarters on USS Essex.
“Hang in there, Doughboy.” I attempt to remove the fear from my
voice.” “We’re getting out of here.”
“It’s cold, man.’ His voice is so small, it makes something inside
me ache. We hadn’t expected the onslaught. Dough and I were off
duty and ogling a couple of Playboy magazines when it happened.
First the whistle, then the crack, and then the blast that led us here,
trapped under wood and metal.
“If we get out, I’m asking Marilyn to marry me,” he laughs, then
immediately starts to splutter.
“Man, she doesn’t even know your name.” I try to push up
whatever is on me, the hardest bench press of my life. My chest
burns, my arms feel like they’re about to give out. “Dough?”
He doesn’t answer. I manage to get free, but my leg hurts like a
bitch. I drag myself into a sitting position and heave a breath. Who
knew that such little exertion could feel that excruciating? They don’t
call me “Indestructible” for no reason. “Doughboy? Marcus?” I call
again into the darkness. He doesn’t respond, but I hear movement,
so I drag myself in that direction.
Marcus Brussel, better known and Doughboy for his love of carbs
in his teens, and I have been friends since we were kids. He and I
share a tiny cabin that fits only a bunk bed and a small desk, so he’s
close by, but him not responding makes it harder for me to find him.
In the darkness, all I can see is a slight red glow that must be the
doorway.
The vessel was attacked, and we were likely going to blow, which
means Marcus and I have to get out of here. The shouting almost
drowned out by the clamor continues around me as I drag myself on
my uninjured side toward where I hope my friend is. I feel around in
the dark, and sure enough, I feel a bulky figure. I find his shoulder
and shake it lightly.
“We gotta get outta here, Dough.” I tell him, grateful that I can
hear his soft breathing. “Marcus, come on.” I urge.
“Ain’t gonna make it, Brax,” his voice is labored. I choke out a
sob.
“What about Marilyn?” my voice is shaky, and he says nothing. I
feel his chest then run my hands down his body, and when I realize
half of my friend is missing, I let out a scream that deafens me. I
start chest compressions anyway, but I know he’s gone. I know I’ve
lost him. I couldn’t save him.
I start to talk to Dough, telling him about all the things we’d do
when we wake up and realize this is all a dream. Then I cry some
more, and when my body feels so cold I can’t breathe anymore, I
close my eyes, and I welcome whatever’s to come.
A shrill cell phone ringing has my eyes flying open. I look at the
digital clock on the dashboard, and it reads 9:00 p.m. I’m sitting in
the passenger seat of a sleek limousine. I fell asleep. I look over at
Butch, the driver, who casts me a sideways glance, no expression on
his face.
I open the door and drag myself to my feet. I’d been planning to
wait an hour then go inside, but now I’m fifteen minutes late. Fuck.
I adjust my suit and slightly sway as I make my way to the entrance
of the gentleman’s club where my client had a meeting. Ericson
Bryant, more commonly known as ‘Void’, was signing up with the
biggest record company in the country. He’s made quite a name for
himself.
I remove the red rope that blocks the entrance, and a man
matching my six feet but much bulkier blocks my way. “By invitation
only,” he growls.
“Void is in there, I’m his bodyguard. I don’t need an invitation,” I
say through gritted teeth.
“If you’re his bodyguard, why aren’t you in there with him?” Fair
enough.
“Little bitch asked me not to, said he wanted to do it on his own,”
I shrug.
He laughs. “True, that kid is a little bitch.” We smirk at each other
just as the door flings open and a very high Void and a woman with
rainbow-colored hair that looks vaguely familiar stumble outside.
“Brax, my man, this is Tracy,” Ericson slurs.
“This way,” I say, grabbing his arm to steady him. I turn and
cameras are flashing in our faces. I push Ericson behind me as I
push my way to the limo. Where did these assholes come from?
They shout out all kinds of questions, which I ignore, blocking their
flashes with my hand until I’ve got Eric and his girl safely inside the
limo.
Hopping into the driver’s side, Butch starts pulling away.
“What a night!” the woman yells, and Ericson whoops loudly in
response.
“Some Eminem?” Butch asks. I nod and Godzilla blasts through
the speakers. As we drive to the hotel, I watch the woman straddle
Eric in the rearview, sucking his face. I push the button to the
partition.
The driver and I help the stumbling artist and his latest conquest
into the hotel room. The woman’s clothes are in disarray, and Eric is
barely able to stand on his own two feet. After we close the door to
the bedroom, Butch wishes me good luck, and I plop into an
armchair after seeing him out.
 I sigh.
You’re gonna do great things, son. I remember my father’s words
like he’d said them to me yesterday. We’d been standing at the
harbor looking at Navy ships after we had a tour of one of the
vessels. Men in service had greeted us and led us through what I
can only call a moment of truth, an awakening. I was only eleven,
yet that was the moment I realized I wanted to be a Navy SEAL. I
still remember my father’s face as he looked down at me, the pride
and love he’d always been known to show.
“Don’t tell your Mama I brought you here. She wants you to be a
doctor.”
My father had served five years in the Navy before he met my
mother, then he had a reason to lower his anchor. She was and will
always be his true north. He’d said it so many times, it stuck.
The sounds of Eric and the woman he brought to the hotel with
him fucking draw me back to the present. They are loud enough to
make me want to leave the suite and sit out in the hallway. But I
can’t, can I? I am his bodyguard, and that means I have to remain
in these kinds of uncomfortable situations.
I close my eyes again, but all I hear is screaming, gunfire, and
Marcus, then seeing a face I have been trying to block out for years.
I feel hands slide up my thighs, and I startle awake. “What the
fuck?” I hiss.
Looking down, I find the rainbow-haired woman Eric brought to
the hotel room. The girl is looking up at me like I’m her next meal.
“I’m Sierra,” she says, biting her lip, her hands running over my
thighs, inching closer and closer to my dick. “I’ve always loved a
man in uniform.”
That’s where I’ve seen her. She’s an up and coming musician.
I sigh. “I’m not in uniform.”
“Void told me you’re a military man,” I bite my tongue, trying not
to correct her.
“You should get off me and back into Eric’s bed before he notices
you’re gone.” I stand, and her hands fall. She pushes to her feet but
doesn’t move away from me.
Another random document with
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suicide in sane people. There is no danger of deliberate homicidal
acts in persons of good character. A criminally disposed person
would more readily commit murder in simple melancholia than if free
from that disease.

Simple melancholia may be the initial stage of almost all of the

mental diseases, especially acute mania, paralytic dementia, and the
severer forms of melancholia. It may be differentiated from the first
stage of mania only by waiting until other symptoms appear or not,
and the same is true with regard to distinguishing it from the forms of
melancholia involving danger to life. In the latter case, however,
there is much greater difficulty in diagnosis, inasmuch as insane
delusions may be concealed, and there may be so slight a change in
the patient's behavior when delusions appear in his mind that the
closest observation is needed to guard against them. The simple
melancholia marking the first stage of paralytic dementia is
characterized by noticeable although often slight mental impairment
—a distinctly diminished capacity for work, of which the individual
himself is not seldom conscious, whereas in the disease simple
melancholia the mind's usual power is exerted, provided its attention
can be withdrawn from morbid introspection and concentrated upon
any subject, as it commonly can be for a while.

Melancholia with delusions (acute melancholia) is commonly a

further development of simple melancholia, but sometimes its course
is so rapid that if there is a period of mental depression without
delusion it is overlooked. The earliest and most common delusion is
some form of causeless self-reproach with regard to some matter,
whether trivial or important, or of groundless self-accusation, of
impossible sins of omission or commission, but generally of some
vague, undefinable fault, as having irretrievably offended God or
committed the unpardonable sin, etc. Often this and an unfounded
belief in self-unworthiness are the only delusions present, and in that
case within narrowed limitations the mind acts soundly in other
matters. The feeling of personal fault or sin often expands to a sense
of the justice of punishment, and the consequent delusion that all
sorts of terrible things are to happen—poverty, the poorhouse, or
some great unknown dread, even involving family and friends; and
from personal sin or fault it is only a step to the belief that the world
is all wrong, and to the certainty that everything is going to worse
than ruin. Illusions of sight and hearing may magnify common fires
and locomotive whistles into general conflagrations of the world and
shrieks of tormented persons. Hallucinations of the special senses
may create visions of all sorts of imaginary horrors, sounds of voices
saying every possible dreadful thing, odors most disagreeable,
tastes most vile. Anæsthesia prompts the delusion of death, and
hyperæsthesia of burning, freezing, scalding, etc. Some mysterious
force within them, which they can neither explain nor understand,
drives them to automatic acts of all kinds—to obscenity, profanity,
verbigeration, intonation of sentences, wailing, screaming,
destructiveness, etc. In cases of exceptional severity the mind
seems deluded on almost every subject: the food is poisoned, the
atmosphere is deadly, the world loses all its reality, friends their
identity, things their substance. They are to be burned alive, starved,
quartered, suffocated, smothered, drowned. Every conceivable and
inconceivable thing is to happen. The delusions are nearly always of
the illogical or unsystematized kind, although systematized delusions
of persecution are met, for the most part, in incurable cases.
Deliberate plans of suicide are formed in most cases, and are to be
suspected in all. Homicidal attempts are apt to be made upon
persons whom it is desired to save from impending calamities.
Suicidal, and less often homicidal, impulses occur. Suicide and
homicide from deliberation need, to be successful, (1) the
opportunity, (2) lack of power of self-control, and (3) a strong
determination. Sometimes there is the will without the opportunity, or
the opportunity with self-control; and for this reason persons in
danger of killing themselves or others often for months escape any
acts of violence. Not seldom, too, they determine to kill themselves
or family in a particular way, and neglect other chances so long that
they are thought to be not meditating destruction of self or others.
When the determination or impulse to suicide or homicide is
persistent and desperate, no means are too horrible and no
opportunities too hopeless to be attempted. There is no reason for a
special name for these symptoms, but they have been called suicidal
melancholia and homicidal melancholia. No more is there any
justification of the term hypochondriacal melancholia for melancholia
with hypochondriacal symptoms.

In melancholia with delusions there is sooner or later, in the majority

of cases, refusal to eat, from lack of appetite, nausea, or disgust of
food, from disagreeable hallucinations of taste or smell, from
delusions that it is a sin to eat, that the stomach is full, that the
mouth is sealed or the throat obstructed, that the food is not and
cannot be paid for, that eating will do no good, etc., from a wish to
commit suicide by starving, or in the states of stupor (attonitäts-
zustände) from mental torpor or stupidity. Sometimes there is
resistance to the calls to eat, urinate, or defecate by virtue of
resistive melancholia—a condition to resist and oppose everything—
or from delusions that it will destroy the soul, etc. to follow the natural
inclinations. Refusal of food may be under certain conditions
instinctive and conservative. It is the exception for the bodily
functions to be well performed. Usually, there is obstinate
constipation, with headache, coated tongue, greater variation in daily
temperature than is usual in health, accelerated pulse, and rapid
wasting in flesh. The various anomalous sensations observed in
functional diseases of the nervous system are common.
Masturbation is a not infrequent symptom of loss of self-control in
both sexes.

Acute melancholia is sometimes confounded with delusional insanity

with mental depression. In the former the delusions are evolved from
the mental state; in the latter, the mental state from the delusions. In
the former the delusions are for the most part unsystematized: the
patient cannot state why he believes them to be true; in the latter
there is correct reasoning from false premises: the delusions are
logical or systematized and of a depressing character, so that a
belief in them naturally gives rise to sadness.

Before the courts the fact should be kept in mind that persons with
acute melancholia have diminished power of self-control by virtue of
their disease, and so yield more readily to temptation than in health.
They also may have imperative conceptions—ideas so strong that
they cannot, or can with difficulty, resist carrying them out even when
they know them to be wrong; and there may be sudden outbursts of
almost maniacal excitement. They are often able to make wills and
perform contracts, in form and in detail, as well as ever, when they
are so filled with insane delusions as to be on the point of killing
themselves and their families. There is impaired capacity, however,
of recognizing the relations of persons and things to one another, a
distinct moral perversion, and a diminished recognition of obligations
and sense of responsibility. In other words, they are not always fully
themselves on those points in which they seem to be so, and yet
patients in asylums with acute melancholia have been known to give
the best of advice to their business-partners.

Melancholia with stupor (melancholia attonita) appears like complete

dementia or a mindless state, but there are now and then evidences
of intelligence. The mind is filled with overwhelming and terrible
delusions, which paralyze the will and place mental and physical
activity for a while in abeyance. It arises commonly in the course of
the less profound form of melancholia, after some great mental
shock, and there is a condition of marked anæmia of the brain,
probably symptomatic rather than pathognomonic, which if not soon
relieved goes on rapidly to atrophy and degeneration. Except when
there are attacks of frenzy, which may occur at any time, there is
little danger of active violent acts except suicide, desperate refusal of
food, and determined resistance to any care or treatment. There are
the usual indications of physical exhaustion.

In melancholia agitata the mind is clear and active, the opposite of

the condition last described, and the distressing delusions produce
such a degree of motor excitement arising from the mental suffering
that the disease closely simulates acute mania. The mind not only
reacts as readily as in health to distressing ideas, but abandons itself
more fully to their domination through diminished will-power and lack
of self-control. Almost blind acts of desperation and fury are
committed from which the utmost vigilance can hardly save them.
The three severe forms of melancholia just described are
interchangeable in the same person during the course of his illness,
so that the states of frenzy and stupor are more properly called
symptoms than classes of disease.

Melancholia among children is more common than the books state it

to be, although rarely met in the asylums. Magnan has reported a
suicidal case in a child four years old, and it occurs up to the latest
years of life.

The DURATION of simple melancholia is from a few weeks to a dozen

years; of acute melancholia, from a month to two or three years,
after which it is apt to end in chronicity; melancholia stupida (with
stupor) is usually curable, if at all, in the first year, although relapses
are frequent, and in melancholia agitata from a year to three years is
the common limit of the possibility of a cure.

The PROGNOSIS in simple melancholia is favorable. Including cases

treated out of asylums, probably 90 per cent. recover; in acute
melancholia, uncomplicated with other diseases, not far from two-
thirds recover; in melancholia attonita less than half get well; and in
melancholia agitata nominal recovery occurs perhaps in a third of the
cases, although I doubt whether complete restoration to health is
seen often.

In chronic melancholia the process of mental deterioration is slow.

As the mind becomes impaired the delusions lose their activity and
the mind reacts less readily, so that a state of less suffering and
greater calm is reached, and the patients are often useful workers in
asylums for many years, or remain in their own homes a constant
source of anxiety to those who understand their condition. Many of
them commit suicide.

In treatment of melancholia the first indication is to protect society

and the individual against acts of violence. Homicidal acts are not to
be feared in simple melancholia, unless in persons of bad character
and ugly temper, or in those few cases with the symptoms, in
addition, of moral insanity or impulsive insanity. Suicide is so rare
that precautions will not often be needed against it, provided the
patient is so frank or so transparent that the appearance of distinct
delusions may be detected and then guarded against. In cases of
long standing, especially in persons beyond middle age, this is
extremely difficult, and their treatment outside of asylums must
always be attended with risk. In the other forms of melancholia the
fact should be taken for granted that the patient is suicidal, and he
may be also homicidal, so that he should be watched constantly and
efficiently, and never left alone or with weak or helpless persons, no
matter how free from suicidal determination or impulse he may have
appeared. The puerperal mother, especially, is a source of the
greatest danger to her child, even when she seems natural and fond.
The degree and kind of watching varies, according to the severity of
the case, from the constant presence or close proximity of some
responsible person, who may sleep in the same room with the usual
home-surroundings, to the most vigilant and wakeful personal care
every moment day and night, and removal of every source of
possible self-injury. In some few cases this can be well done only in
an asylum or in a padded room. Some form of restraint, either
personal or by confining or limiting the movements of the hands in
rare cases of exceptional desperation, will be found necessary.

Placing the patient in an entirely healthy atmosphere is next in

importance. In the very earliest stage quiet, recreation, change of
scene, and association with a pleasant and judicious companion are
often sufficient to effect a cure. If the disease is pronounced, rest
and removal from sources of irritation are more important until
convalescence, when travel may be tried. The question of removal
from home and commitment to an asylum should be decided upon
the grounds already stated in considering the general treatment of
mental diseases. The degree in which the patient should have
exercise, occupation, and recreation or be let alone will be
determined for each individual case. The fact should be borne in
mind that the disease is a debilitating one, and that it arises in
conditions of mental or physical exhaustion. Massage and a modified
rest-cure, without seclusion, are beneficial in some cases, especially
of elderly people. Baths and the cold pack should be used with
discrimination. Electricity, where it does not give rise or add to
delusions, is a useful tonic, especially in passive cases. There are
very few patients of such desperate frenzy as to require confinement
of the hands, and that should only be done with an attendant close at
hand. Whatever is done, nothing should be attempted which excites
delusions unless it be absolutely necessary. Fresh air, and an
abundance of it, are very important. Experience and careful study of
the particular case will be needed to know how far to press the
taking of food. But the necessary amount should be given by the
stomach-tube if ordinary means fail, and it is better to use it early
rather than tire the patient out with ineffectual attempts with spoons,
etc. Whether the nasal or œsophageal tube be used—of which I
prefer the latter—the greatest care should be taken not to inject food
into the lungs, the throat being so devoid of sensitiveness sometimes
that the tube may be passed into the trachea. Nutrient enemata may
be relied upon for a week or two if the patient is in bed, but no
longer.

Tonics are indicated—cod-liver oil with bark, the hypophosphites,

dilute phosphoric acid, malt. Strychnia, iron, and quinine should be
used with caution, as they often cause disagreeable headache with
indisposition to sleep. Fattening food will be found useful in most
cases. The few fat melancholies need nitrogenous food and
graduated exercise. Constipation will be corrected in many cases by
a full, laxative diet, cod-liver oil, malt, or it may be beer. Mineral
water or Sprudel salts are usually indicated. A pill containing aloin,
strychnia, belladonna, mastich, or even colocynth or podophyllin,
may be needed in obstinate constipation.

Medicines to control restlessness and sleeplessness should be

avoided if possible. Hydrate of chloral, opium, bromides, valerian,
sometimes increase the difficulty, and the objections to their
prolonged use are obvious, and yet they must sometimes be used
for a time. The bromides, with cannabis indica, valerianate of zinc,
camphor, and hyoscyamus, may serve an excellent purpose for a
time. Opium and its preparations, where they agree, act like magic in
producing mental calm and sleep. They may relieve constipation and
increase the desire for food, but the danger of the opium habit is so
great that their use should be decided upon only in extreme cases,
and the effect should be watched from dose to dose, each one of
which should be given under medical direction. Wilful masturbation,
one of the signs of loss of self-control which occurs in the best of
people, cannot be corrected by drugs or appliances, but only by
constant watching and by placing the individual where his self-
respect, as soon as it can be appealed to, will keep him from it. If it is
uncontrollable and symptomatic, fresh air and exercise, and, if
necessary, bromides or opiates in moderate doses, with a tonic (not
iron), should be used.

MANIA (Manie, Exaltation générale), according to Morel, meant, in the

original Greek, folie or madness, while Esquirol derives it from the
Greek word meaning moon, making the words maniac and lunatic
equivalent. The word mania is still used in this loose way, even by
writers on mental disease, as a synonym of insanity. Its use is
properly restricted to conditions of mental exhilaration or excitement
with motor activity. The morbid anatomy of the disease is not yet
made out, and the indications of hyperæmia observed in the acute
stage after death are no greater than are found in diseases in which
mania is not a symptom. In its final stages atrophic, degenerative,
and inflammatory signs are abundant and well marked.

Simple mania18 (manie sans délire, manie raisonnante), an

exaltation of the mental faculties similar to the exhilaration produced
by too much wine, with an accelerated flow of ideas, impaired
judgment, and motor activity, without definite delusions, delirium, or
incoherence, has been called an insanity of action, affective insanity,
folie raisonnante, and even moral insanity, from which it differs in
being marked by constant mental elation and exaltation of the
physical functions, and not necessarily by striking moral perversion.
It is a mental erethism, an exaggerated gayety, an uncontrollable
exhilaration, an unbounded joy, an excessive anxiety, a perpetual
anger, unusually good spirits, increased intellectual and physical
energy, with such striking loss of self-control, diminished powers of
reflection, and so decided weakening of the judgment that all sorts of
unwonted errors of commission or omission may be performed.
Under its influence many fortunes have been lost, many reputations
have been ruined, and the happiness of many families has been
sacrificed before the existence of insanity was suspected, except
possibly by a very few persons. Indeed, the wit is usually so
sharpened, the flow of ideas often so clear and rapid, the capacity
for brain- and body-work without fatigue is generally so increased,
that not seldom the patient is remarked upon as being unusually
well. The most troublesome symptoms arise from the tendency to
squander property, to drink alcoholic liquors to excess, and,
especially in women, to allow the exalted sexual desires to get
control of the judgment and reason, thereby bringing about
unfortunate marriages or scandalous relations with the opposite sex.
In women there is commonly increased menstrual flow.
18 Also called by some writers moral insanity, folie morale, folie des actes, folie or
manie instinctive.

The course of the disease is without material change, and the

duration is from several weeks to a number of years. When it does
not constitute the initial stage of other types of mental disease,
especially severer forms of mania, circular insanity, general
paralysis, or (in the neuropathic constitutions and at the critical ages)
mental degeneration, the termination is in recovery in about 90 per
cent. of the cases, although sometimes some moral impairment or
deterioration in character remains for life. The recklessness incident
to the disease leads to unusual risks, now and then to fatal
accidents. Simple mania rarely becomes chronic.

TREATMENT involves the necessity of proper control to prevent

scandals, disasters, and perhaps crimes. The matter of the degree of
seclusion and control should be governed by the general
considerations already mentioned in the general treatment of
insanity, bearing in mind that repression of the motor energy, except
to prevent exhaustion, does harm. The demand for food is
enormous; its supply should be abundant and judiciously chosen
with reference to easy digestion. Frequent prolonged warm baths
and cool applications to the head are indicated, and the usual
palliatives for headache, sleeplessness, constipation, etc. The
surroundings should be such as to favor rest and undisturbed sleep,
and to dispel sources of excitement, whether they arise in certain
associations, localities, occupations, or persons.

Acute mania (Tobsucht) follows an incubative stage of simple

melancholia, often of simple mania, and rarely bursts out without
previous indications of disease. Delusions, unsystematized and
illogical, are abundant; the ideas flow so rapidly that the mechanism
of speech is not adequate to their expression; the motor excitement
is intense. In the most severe forms there is mental confusion,
delirium, incoherence of ideas, and furious muscular action, to the
point often of acts of destructiveness and self-injury. The clothing is
torn to shreds, and no act of violence is too wild not to be attempted
without warning. The skin is hot, the tongue heavily coated, the pulse
accelerated, the temperature elevated, more, probably, than would
be accounted for by the physical activity—from one to two or three
degrees—now and then, in conditions of exhaustion, a little below
the normal. Just as there is liable to be maniacal frenzy in the course
of severe melancholia, so in acute mania outbursts are seen of
desperately suicidal melancholic frenzy. Unless great care is used to
keep up the strength, and often in spite of it, exhaustion rapidly sets
in, under the influence of which the symptoms are very much
aggravated. The amenorrhœa in women in this condition is
conservative.

The COURSE AND DURATION of acute mania vary within wide limits, with
an average of not far from six months, with recoveries in about 60
per cent. of first cases uncomplicated by pneumonia, chronic
disease, or a marked neuropathic state: 5 or 6 per cent. die, chiefly
from pneumonia, phthisis, accidents, or exhaustion, seldom suicide.
Incurable cases drop slowly into dementia or into chronic delusional
insanity, the motor excitement subsiding. The delusional insanity
may be simply a stage in the process toward dementia.
In the DIAGNOSIS of acute mania, unless great care is used, the
physician sometimes finds that he has sent to the asylum a case of
acute, especially infectious disease, in the early stage and with
unusual manifestations of febrile delirium. The indications for
avoiding this unfortunate mistake are care and time in making
diagnoses.

In the TREATMENT of acute mania the matter of foremost importance is

that the physician should be able to sufficiently control his patient to
prevent harm, and that he should have him in such a place as to give
him an abundance of fresh air, unhampered by annoying and
irritating limitations of his free will, restrictions of his liberty, and
repression of his motor excitement. The risks of injury to others must
be reasonably provided against. It goes without saying that few
homes meet these indications: very few people can command a
house to be converted into a virtual hospital, with the care of trained
physicians to direct every little detail of treatment, and proper
nursing. The public asylum, therefore, or the private retreat must
usually be depended upon. In the case of quiet young people,
especially of young women whose illness may be of such a nature
as to justify their marrying after recovery, and in the acute mania
following childbirth, it is well worth the physician's while to make an
effort to keep the patient in a private house when the conditions are
such as to make such a course practicable. To the rest and quiet
which may be had under such circumstances, with all the goings on
of the house regulated to the patient's comfort and convenience, to
prolonged hot baths, a full simple diet, given with the stomach-tube if
necessary, as few medicines as can be got on with, the supervision
of the nurses by some judicious member of the family, and the
gentleness (combined, of course, with proper firmness) of home-
influences, I attach very great importance in properly selected cases.
But I attribute as much to the restful influence of keeping the patients
among familiar scenes, and where some familiar face and voice can
reassure them in their comparatively clear moments, instead of their
being agitated and distressed to know how to account for the strange
people and cell-like room of the insane ward to which they will
awaken from their delirium in the hospital. It is something to avoid
the excitement of commitment and removal to an asylum, with all
that they involve, as well as the sight of demented patients, whose
noise may make sleep impossible just when it is most needed. Acute
mania seems to me to arise much less often than other mental
diseases in definite associations which need to be escaped from for
successful treatment.

The term subacute mania is used by some writers for the milder
cases of acute mania, just as acute delirious mania is a term which
is applied to those violent cases of acute mania in which furious and
prolonged delirium marks the disease, and in which there is a high
death-rate and low proportion of recoveries.

In chronic mania the motor excitement, mental instability, and,

sooner or later, delusions, if not present at the beginning, as is usual,
continue. The progress to dementia is commonly slow, and there are
few cases which it is wise to treat away from an asylum or its
dependencies on account of the possible danger to others from
sudden exacerbations of the disease or through uncontrolled violent
impulses.

Although there is no pathological condition distinctive of mania in its

curable stage, conditions indicating hyperæmia are usually found,
whether as a result of the disease or its underlying cause, and
sometimes meningitis. In chronic mania there is in the terminal
stages evidence of atrophic and degenerative changes which do not
distinguish it from other forms of mental disease.

ACUTE DELIRIUM is the typhomania of Bell. Its prevailing mental state

is of mania oftener than of melancholia. It resembles the worst cases
of typhoid fever so closely, and it is so uncommon a form of disease,
that the mistake has often been made of sending typhoid-fever
patients to insane asylums. The mistake is unnecessary, as the
clinical features of typhoid fever are so well marked that with
sufficient care and delay they may be recognized if the physician
does not commit the common error in mania of being too much
afraid of his patient to examine him thoroughly. The tendency to
exhaustion in acute delirium is rarely successfully combated, as the
motor excitement is so intense and the delirium so furious that
nourishment to meet the tremendous demands of the system can
seldom be given, and death is the usual result. Recoveries are rare,
but less uncommon in the melancholic than in the maniacal form.

Little need be said in the way of TREATMENT, except that in so

speedily fatal a disease it is well to keep the patient at home, if he
can be properly cared for there.

TRANSITORY INSANITY is used by Krafft-Ebing19 (Transitorisches

Irresein) as indicating mental disease differing from other insanity
only in the fact that it is of short duration—namely, from two to six
days. If it is applied to sudden and transient outbursts of mania, with
delirium, loss of power of self-control, and inability to clearly recollect
the circumstances of the attack and what happened during its
continuance, it is a rare disease, occurring for the most part in
epileptics and in persons under the influence of alcohol or addicted
to its habitual use. It is sometimes, under the latter-named condition,
called alcoholic trance. It consists in an automatic state resembling
the epileptic delirium, which may occur also in sleep and resemble
somnambulism. The actions are guided by co-ordinated will without
conscious intelligence, and may consist in crimes and brutalities and
foolishness entirely inconsistent with the character in health. It
seldom lasts more than a few hours. When caused by alcohol or as
a symptom of epilepsy, it may occur without other marked inciting
cause; otherwise it is commonly due to mental shock. Several cases
happened during the mental excitement of the first battle in our civil
war. The most striking case within my own experience was that of a
man who under the strain of prolonged grief and the mental shock of
a great fire destroying a large part of the town in which he lived,
perhaps moderately affected by alcohol, suddenly grasped an axe
and cut off with one blow the head of a beloved child. He was found
in the street without knowing how he had got there or what he had
done.
19 Irrenfreund, 1883, p. 113.
One attack is the rule, although several, probably of an epileptic
nature, have been reported. It is an extremely difficult condition to
diagnosticate with certainty, and is therefore often the refuge of
criminals and a resource of criminal lawyers. The most likely honest
mistake liable to be made regarding it is to confound it with an
outburst of passion.

PRIMARY DEMENTIA (Acute dementia, Stuporous insanity, Anergic

stupor) is a disease chiefly of youth and early maturity in persons of
inherited weakness or under the influence of prolonged exhausting
conditions, to which some mental shock usually adds the immediate
cause. Although most of the cases are under the age of twenty-five,
it occurs up to forty-five. Masturbation is so common a symptom in
its course—and it may be one of the debilitating and enervating
factors constituting a predisposing cause—that most of the primary
dementia is classed in some asylums as insanity of masturbation.
There may be an initial stage of a number of days, marked by
moderate melancholia or by maniacal excitement, but there is
usually mental torpor advancing rapidly to pronounced dementia. In
rare cases there is marked chorea, and slight choreic movements
are often observed. The course of primary dementia may be
subacute and advance with extreme slowness.

There is no overwhelming delusion paralyzing the mind, so to speak,

as in melancholia attonita (melancholia with stupor). In acute cases
the brain quickly falls into a state of profound anæmia, precisely
such as is found post-mortem in starved dogs, and loses its power to
a greater or less extent of reacting to the stimulus of the senses.
There is little or no sensation of hunger, the sensory nerves are
nearly or quite paralyzed, the bladder and rectum become distended
until urine and feces are voided unconsciously or at least
uncontrolled, and voluntary movements almost cease, although the
muscles are capable of acting if directed: if led or pushed, the patient
walks; if placed in a chair or bed, remains there; and in the worst
cases lies on the floor quite inattentive to all the decencies of life
unless constantly looked after. There is always partial, and there
may be complete, anæsthesia, to such an extent that even the
involuntary muscles do not respond to the ordinary stimuli. There is
rapid loss of flesh, very sluggish circulation, and feeble heart-action.
After recovery the patient speaks of the stage of his greatest illness
as a blank in his memory.

This description of pronounced cases of primary dementia of the

most severe type needs modification as applied to milder cases,
which may exist in all degrees, down to a state of mental impairment
of very moderate extent.

The mental impairment may be progressive and quite incurable, but

also so slight in the beginning, and may make such slow progress,
as to entirely escape detection for several years, and then attract
attention at first by the lowered plane of character and loss of self-
control in little matters of daily life, rather than by the intellectual
deterioration, which by that time has become quite marked. This
subacute form of primary dementia in young people rarely finds its
way into the insane asylum until the second, third, or fourth year of
its course, and then its progress is slowly downward. It has none of
the eccentric or grotesque features of hebephrenia, and little of its
emotional disturbances.

Subacute primary dementia in the later years of maturity, just before

or several years before the climacteric, is of grave import, as it
indicates the development of an hereditary predisposition to insanity
in a form which not only offers no reasonable hope of recovery, but
also is quite certain to manifest a change of character which is even
more difficult to treat and properly control than the intellectual failure.
As it is most likely to arise under circumstances of wear and worry,
its symptoms may be for a long time attributed to disappointment or
bad temper. After the dementia becomes pronounced its downward
course is seldom otherwise than very rapid.

SECONDARY DEMENTIA is a convenient name for the curable dementia

which appears at the subsidence of acute symptoms occasionally in
mania, and rarely in melancholia—that is, just about the beginning of
the period of convalescence. It is also called secondary stupor.
In primary and secondary dementia, resulting in recovery, the
progress of the disease is rarely otherwise than very rapid, and
unless a cure takes place in a few months at the outside, secondary
changes occur in the brain and the tendency is to terminal or
incurable dementia. So many cases are treated outside of asylums
that it is difficult to estimate the cure-rate, but it is probably not less
than 60 or 70 per cent., although it is quite common in the apparent
cures for the brain to remain on a lower intellectual or moral plane
than if the disease had not occurred.

TREATMENT does not involve the necessity of removal from home in

the acute cases, except when that is demanded for convenience of
treatment. There is no melancholia to suggest the possibility of
suicide, and no mental exhilaration or motor excitement to make
restraint necessary. The most important indications are met by
abundant, easily-assimilated food, which must usually, for a time at
least, be given with a spoon or by the stomach-tube; fresh air,
attention to the processes of digestion, relief of the gastro-intestinal
catarrh by the usual remedies, stimulating baths, tonics, stimulants,
and general galvanism. Proper care in emptying the bladder and
rectum and entire cleanliness will suggest themselves.

In mild cases a tonic and stimulating regimen, including sea-bathing

and gymnastics, will often be sufficient.

In the subacute cases young people are easily depressed by the

asylum associations, but there is usually a time in the progress of the
disease when home-discipline is too weak for them, and they must
be sent away; older people have usually complications in their home-
life such as to make a change desirable for the comfort of the
household. Recoveries are extremely exceptional.

In all cases there is little to be gained in keeping up home-

associations for so disturbing, distressing a disease after there is
pronounced dementia.

Medicines, other than tonics, are of little use, except opiates to

control various distressing nervous symptoms, including
masturbation, but they should be used with great caution.

KATATONIA (Katatonie of Kahlbaum; Katatonische Verrücktheit of

Schüle) presents, with more or less regularity of appearance,
symptoms of (1) mild melancholia without the characteristic mental
pain; (2) mental excitation, sometimes ecstatic, with cataleptiform
conditions; (3) confusion and torpor or apathy. There is an underlying
well-marked intellectual impairment, slowly advancing in incurable
cases to pronounced dementia. Delusions, more of the
unsystematized than of the systematized character, but resembling
both, constitute a prominent part of the disease from the beginning.
Verbigeration and a curious sort of pomposity are usually found in
more or less pronounced degree. The delusions are mixed. They are
exalted, hypochondriacal, melancholic, with all sorts of self-
accusation, and may be full of suspicion, fears of poisoning, and
ideas of persecution. Hallucinations of the special senses and
illusions are not uncommon. If the term katatonia is not used, or at
least if a special place in the nosology were not given this disease, it
would be difficult to know whether to class these cases as primary
dementia, melancholia with delusions, delusional insanity, or
confusional insanity.

The verbigeration, when it exists, and the expression of delusions

are often associated with a manner on the part of the patient
suggesting disbelief in them, and sometimes the patient smiles or
laughs at the astonishing character of his statements. There is a self-
conscious element at times, suggesting mimicry or hysteria; a certain
pathos is universal; opposition and contradiction, even to refusal to
eat, leave the bed, dress, wash, are quite common; and nurse and
physician are tired out with the monotony of the mental and physical
state. Well-marked catalepsy is not common in my experience,
although it occurs; and in all cases I have seen the mental state and
physical atony suggesting that condition. Little attention has as yet
been given to katatonia in asylums in this country. Judging from my
own experience, it is not a common disease.
Its CAUSES apparently lie in prolonged mental exhaustion and
inattention to bodily health. I have been led to suspect syphilis as at
least a predisposing cause.

The COURSE AND DURATION of katatonia are tedious, and even if there
is apparent recovery from the first attack, the tendency is to relapses
and to slowly-advancing dementia and death from those causes of
which dements in hospitals die, especially phthisis. I have never
seen a complete and permanent recovery.

The MORBID ANATOMY of katatonia suggests a deep-seated neurosis,

the precise nature of which we do not understand. In terminal stages
there are atrophy and degeneration and all that goes with them.

The CLINICAL HISTORY of katatonia is so characteristic that it need be

confused with the other diseases already mentioned as simulating
features of it, and with the early stage of general paralysis, only
through insufficient observation or too hasty diagnosis.

It is difficult to treat katatonia without the conveniences of a hospital.

PRIMARY CONFUSIONAL INSANITY is a term recently introduced for a

form of mental disease of which the most marked features are
moderate fever rapidly developed, confusion, incoherence, and mild
delirium. The onset of the disease is rapid. In some of the cases
which I have seen the diagnosis was made of typhoid fever, although
the clinical marks of that disease were absent, the general
appearance of the patient in the two diseases being quite similar.

There is no real melancholia or exaltation, no rapid flow of ideas, and

no dementia. Hallucinations of the special senses are common;
there is a consciousness of illness; the delusions are
unsystematized, and the confusion of ideas frequently goes to the
point of not being able to recognize persons and places. The usual
signs of fever are present for a few days, but the temperature rarely
exceeds 102° F., and soon drops to nearly or quite the normal.
The COURSE of the disease is quite rapid, and if recovery does not
take place in several weeks or a few months, chronic insanity with
delusions or dementia of various degrees may be expected.

The MORBID ANATOMY is not distinctive of this condition in the early

stage, and we cannot yet differentiate it from simple fevers by the
post-mortem. If ending in incurability, the atrophic and degenerative
changes of chronic mental disease are found.

As regards removal from home, the considerations already referred

to should be the guide. It is a good rule to keep the patient at home if
a suitable one for the purpose, and to resort to the asylum in case of
chronicity or troublesome complications.

PRIMARY DELUSIONAL INSANITY (Folie systematisée, Verrücktheit20)

differs from secondary delusional insanity in the facts that the
disease arises primarily, and not secondarily to other mental
diseases; that there is little or no mental enfeeblement in the early
stage; and that the delusions, although fixed and systematized, are
limited. It has the advantage of allowing the avoidance of the
misleading terms monomanie of the French and monomania of
English and American writers, the narrower forms of which may be
included under the term primary insanity (primäre Verrücktheit),
including the further developments of the neuropathic constitution,
especially those with the physical marks of degeneration described
by Sander as originäre Verrücktheit, and those marked by imperative
conceptions and such delusions of self-importance, suspicion, etc.
as seem to some people evidence of insanity, while by others they
are considered as simply false beliefs not indicating mental disease.
Unlike primary insanity, which is one of the states of mental defect
and degeneration, and incurable, primary delusional insanity may
occur in persons of healthy mental organization, and may end in
recovery,21 although it is one of the most distinctly hereditary forms of
insanity, generally speaking.
20 Called also by some writers Wahnsinn, although they use the term for secondary
delusional insanity also.
 21 Some writers include both diseases under the term monomania, and make both
incurable degenerative states, which is contrary to my experience. Clouston also has
seen cures in what he calls monomania (primary delusional insanity) without the
neuropathic taint.

There are several subdivisions of primary delusional insanity,

according to the character of the delusions: (1) with delusions of
unseen agency, suspicion, and persecution; (2) with delusions of
personal exaltation; (3) with delusions transformed from sensations.

Delusions of unseen agency, suspicion, and persecution appear

either acutely and expand very rapidly in a few weeks, or from a very
insidious beginning so gradually that they may exist for months or
years before they are detected. The general indications of illness
consist in impaired sleep, slight loss of flesh, some reserve or
shyness in relations with other people, and diminished ability to
concentrate the mind in the usual occupations. The mental
impairment at first is very slight, and shows itself (1) in the readiness
with which the absurd delusions are believed and the fixedness of
their hold on the mind, and (2) in the diminished general power of
judgment and self-control in the little matters of daily life, at first so
slight that it is not seen except in matters requiring some effort to
maintain the customary equilibrium. Hallucinations, especially of
hearing, appear. In the progress of the disease the mind loses power
of self-control more and more, the delusions become more fixed,
concealment is no longer possible, and the patient is so annoyed or
angered that he repeatedly seeks relief from the courts
(Querulantenwahnsinn) or commits some act of violence in self-
defence. The common delusions are of marital infidelity, attempts at
poisoning, mesmerism, electricity, influence through telegraphs,
telephones, poisoned air, etc., signs of which are evolved directly
from the consciousness or transformed from common sights and
sounds, such as ringing of bells, striking of clocks, simple ordinary
motions, etc. The delusions in time produce a state of mental
depression.