The Capgras Illusion
“And here is our final new patient for the night,” the nurse said, stopping by a thick glass door.
“Ah, yes, Connor Grass. He’s an interesting one,” Doctor White replied. “Are you aware of his... situation?”
“No, Doctor. But there was a note on his file marking him a possible danger to himself or others.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, to be honest. Mr Grass was a widely respected researcher with a focus on biomechanical engineering at the university. It is my understanding that he fell asleep in his lab and was startled awake by one of his students. He claimed that the student was ‘replaced’ in some manner and savagely beat him. He then went home, accosting another two pedestrians on the way for the same reason, before finally attacking his wife and teenaged son, which is when the police found him. He was taken to trial where he plead not guilty, against his lawyer’s recommendation. Because he attempted to attack the judge upon entering the chamber, he was remanded to our institution and found guilty in absentia. A tragic case of a genius losing his mind.”
“I can hear you, you know,” came a voice from within the room. “And I’m not crazy.” The man stood up from his cot and walked over to the door.
“Of course you aren’t, Mr Grass,” the nurse said. “But we’re here to help you.”
“No you’re not. You’re one of them. You there, Doctor, in the lab coat, don’t trust it. It looks like a person, sounds like one, hell, they even bleed like we do. But that thing is not a person. I don’t know what they want, but they don’t mean us any good.”
“This is very interesting, Mr Grass,” Doctor White said. “I wonder if you would be willing to take a few moments to examine these beliefs?”
“Not a lot else to do here. And if I can convince you that they’re real I have a better shot at getting out of this place and figuring out what they want. So go ahead.”
“Is this a good idea, Doctor? We don’t want to feed into his delusions.”
“Don’t worry, Nurse. I know how to talk about this kind of delusion without feeding it.” The doctor looked at the patient. “Mr Grass, would you please share how these... ideas, have manifested? What makes you so sure that they were not, as they seemed, your colleagues and family?”
“The first thing I notice is their eyes. They don’t blink. I don’t know if their eyelids won’t allow it, but they never blink. The way they breathe. Inhale-exhale, but it sounds like a hiss, like there’re some kind of bellows in their chests.” Grass’s face was turning red as he began to pant. “And they walk all wrong. Mechanically and too exact, like some kind of robot, marching in step. They try to mimic us but they can’t, not really.” He was holding himself up on the door.
“Mr Grass, please, calm down,” Doctor White hurriedly said. “You look like you’re having a panic attack! Are you feeling all right?”
“No, no, no! They’re trying to keep me quiet, keep me from sharing the truth! They don’t want... they don’t want...” He trailed off, puffing and wheezing, before collapsing.
Immediately, the nurse pulled out a key ring and unlocked the door, rushing to his side, Doctor White right behind her. She took his pulse, before saying, “His heart is racing! I’m worried he’s going into cardiac arrest!”
The doctor ran for the defibrillator in the hallway. He was gone for barely a minute, but he returned to the nurse performing CPR. “His heart stopped! Call a code!”
One very long hour later, Doctor White and the nurse began to fill out paperwork for the death of Connor Grass. Cause of death, heart failure. It was in practically every manner an ordinary tragedy; a man suffering from an intense mental break overexcited himself and triggered a previously unknown heart condition. But White couldn’t forget his final moments. He had been so sure that Grass was just having a panic attack, not entering heart failure, and he had left the nurse alone with the patient just before he died. It was absurd, of course, but the seeds of doubt were planted.
Over the next few days, White found himself studying his colleague’s behaviors more closely. Did she actually blink? It looked like she did, but that could be a trick of his eyes. There were times she seemed to look ahead for far longer than should be possible, eyes wide and staring. And her gait. She moved her legs in an exacting manner, each one raising to a precise angle before the knee swings forward and the foot comes down. Surely it was just because of her shoes. Right? Her breathing was another thing White couldn’t help but notice. It was a wheezy noise coming from her chest. He thought she had mentioned asthma once or twice, but was that just an excuse? The anxiety built and built until he could hardly tell what was real and what was a product of his imagination.
He was fine until he saw her watching him in the mirror one day, peering at him with a smirk on her face. She knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Almost nothing. There was one way to stop it.
“A tragic case,” said the nurse. “One of the best psychologists over at the Mercy center. Just couldn’t take the stress, snapped, attacked one of the orderlies. Poor man was taken here, ranting and raving. Keeps claiming people have been replaced.”