Autopsy Of A Mind 65 Notion Of Performativity

He was somewhat like Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory, just from a different sphere and a little more emotionally adequate but oftentimes, how he communicated with people offended them. Yes, there were people who understood his quirks, but there were too many that didn't. 

My follies were many, but couldn't I just wish to help him get better. Maybe someday he wouldn't need me to prowl behind him and help him.

"I have broached the topic before. I need you to see a therapist, Evie. If you need help, you need to take it. I know your previous experience has been poor, but I have contacts that specialize in violent trauma. They can help you. I need you to function and live a healthy life before you try to solve crimes." His hand came over mine and he took it. He drew circles on my palm. 

"Where did you learn that?" He looked me in the eye with a smile. 

"We were taught at University. I know that you use the b.u.t.terfly hug to alleviate symptoms and it is helpful, but if you don't get to the crux of the problem and solve symptomatically, your progress will be slower if not stunted." 

"And what are the chances that I will be cured." Cured. How does one come back from what I had faced? 

"No, you will not be cured, Evie. I can't guarantee you that. You will live with those memories, but you will see yourself in a healthier light." I knew exactly what he meant. Maybe he couldn't articulate everything because it was not part of his training, but he was making sense. He was trying his best to help me. 

"Thank you," I whispered. "Will you take me?" He looked surprised. His hands stiffened over mine for a second before he relaxed. 

"You want me to go with you?" I shrugged. 

"I'll probably need you to drive me back home for the first day. I don't know how it will go, so..." He nodded. 

"I'm glad you'll have someone there."

"Have you been to therapy?" He shook his head. "I was asked to take sessions in college when they realized that I was mildly different from my peers and lacked the 'sympathy' and sense of justice that others had. It was a cause for worry in the department. But I convinced them that I didn't require therapy and they needed to separate their feelings from their jobs. That was the way they could be more efficient." 

Always so superior to others. I chuckled. Of course, what else could I expect from him? 

"What do they think of you now?" He thought for a minute. 

"None of my cla.s.smates really made it anywhere apart from Simon Nash, who was my senior from University. He is an excellent detective. While his job is more on the lines of interrogating and a.n.a.lyzing motive and threat levels, his job is as important as mine. I will make sure you interact with him a lot because he has some inside knowledge that I might not fully be able to provide to you." He nodded sagely. 

"You would entrust me to someone else?" I asked, surprised by it. He had denied the offers from Dr. Singh, but here he was letting someone else take the place. 

"Detective Nash takes his work as an art form. Your mentalities and thoughts about life and philosophy are in tandem. I think shadowing him would propel your progress as a professional in this sphere."

As I was about to speak, I heard the door to the auditorium open. Detective Nash entered with his hands in his pocket.

"Butler, Evie," he greeted, taking the seat beside Sebastian. 

"Do you have any questions for us?" Sebastian asked, his eyes were still closed. 

Detective Smith chuckled and turned to look at me curiously.

"I hear from witnesses that you were the one who realized that there was someone inside that thing," he said, pointing towards the stage. The bull had been carried out a while back, but I looked at the direction in which he was pointing nonetheless. 

"Yes. Dr. Butler and I were having a conversation about what could have caused the reaction and there were only two possible solutions to it." I thought about it. It had been mostly a gut instinct when one of the options were canceled. 

"What made you stumble out?" Detective Nash asked. The last time I was questioned after finding a body, the tone of questioning had been completely different. I didn't feel attacked in the slightest in this case. At least this guy was not treating me like a suspect because I happened to know something the others didn't know. 

"The amount of water necessary to make steam come out from the bull and increase the pressure enough to make it move wouldn't be possible because he opened the machine and showed us nothing was inside." I stopped. "I think I remembered something from a book I once read." 

"What book?"

"Something about torture methods in the ancient and medieval period," I said nonchalantly. Detective Nash looked at me with a calm look but brewing underneath that expression was mild curiosity and horror. I wanted to ask him if he was falling back on stereotypes. Women are usually not interested in these things, or 'is there something wrong with her'? Unfortunately, I didn't have such a relations.h.i.+p with him. 

"Can you explain to me what the thing really is? I am sure a google search will help me, but yeah..."

"If I remember correctly, this machine was built by a sculptor and artist in ancient Greece who wanted to please the tyrannical ruler. In those days, spectacles of torture were a form of entertainment." I really wanted to go into the whole notion of performativity of torture and why people in ancient times seemed to enjoy it as much as they like theatre, but that information wasn't necessary. "While it wasn't popular and liked by the king at first because of how cruel it was, it slowly came to become popular. The technology was advanced for its time, with a musical instrument put inside the bull so that the screams of the victim came out as the bellowing of a bull." Quite fascinating.