All Paths Lead to Roshomon

[My dad has Alzheimer's. He keeps saying my mom and I are fakes, monsters. What do I do?]

[He's called the police 99 times, each time demanding they kill us, his son and me. The police are more exasperated than we are.]

[Today, my dad tried to peel off our skin to see if we were monsters]

I scrolled through a trending post, and the comment section was full of people enjoying the drama. I, too, joined the fun and commented:

[I specialize in Alzheimer's. Bring your dad to me for treatment.]

It wasn't until the patient showed up, looking at me with fear and despair, that things got chilling.

"My real son has a mole on his neck; this son doesn't!"

"My wife used to throw up at the smell of cilantro; now she eats it every day!"

"They're fakes, but they say I have Alzheimer's, and the police won't arrest them."

"Doctor, please save me."

A shiver ran down my spine. The old man's memory was so sharp, his logic so clear and well-reasoned. He didn't seem sick at all.

1.

I promptly requested a home visit.

Upon entering the house, the old mans son, Adrian Vickers, opened the door, a wide smile on his face.

"Dr. Sloane, please come in, have a seat. I'll get you some tea."

At that moment, old Mr. Vickers tightly clutched my sleeve, pointing at Adrians legs.

"Look at the way he walks. There's clearly something wrong," he whispered urgently. "But my son used to be on the track team; his legs were perfectly fine!"

My gaze followed Adrian. He did indeed walk with a slight limp, as if hed been injured.

Old Mrs. Vickers, Maria Vickers, walked out, her wrinkled face furrowed with concern. "Can't you ever just calm down, old man? Our son was in a car accident last year and injured his leg. You know that, don't you? Have you forgotten again?"

She then turned to me, sighing. "It's fine, he's old and confused. He mixes up his memories. Don't take it seriously."

Old Mr. Vickers eyed his wife suspiciously, about to say something, when Adrian emerged from the kitchen. His tone was tired and resigned. "Dad, what nonsense are you telling the doctor now?"

"If I weren't your son, wouldn't the police investigate? Wouldn't they arrest me?"

Old Mr. Vickers simmered down. I turned to Maria.

"Mrs. Vickers, besides your husband's illness, has your family always had a good relationship?"

Maria nodded vigorously, her eyes filled with nostalgia. "Before Patrick got sick, everyone knew how close my husband and I were. We've been married fifty years, a golden anniversary! Look, we still wear our gold rings." She held out her hand. "When our son got married, Patrick handled everything himself. We were so happy as a family."

I glanced at her ring; it was clearly an old style, worn for a long time, heavily abraded.

"So, does Mr. Vickers also suspect his daughter-in-law is a fake?"

She shook her head. "No, he only says my son and I are monsters. But if we were monsters, wouldn't our daughter-in-law know? He's just old and has become a lunatic!"

A certain word seemed to suddenly provoke old Mr. Vickers. He instantly became agitated.

"Dont listen to her! Dr. Sloane, these two monsters must have peeled off my wifes and sons skin, put it on, and now theyre keeping watch over me, wanting to devour me whole!"

"Im not sick at all! But they keep telling you Im crazy and demented! They just want to kill me!"

"Dr. Sloane, you must save me!"

The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, his chest heaving violently. Adrian and Maria stepped forward simultaneously, reaching out to support him.

"Dont touch me!"

He roared, batting away their hands, his eyes filled with pure terror and revulsion.

"You skin-stealing monsters, stay away from me!"

I quickly moved to calm old Mr. Vickers, glancing at the mother and son's weary, helpless faces. Feeling the timing was wrong, I escorted old Mr. Vickers back to his room before concluding the family visit.

As I was about to head downstairs, the iron gate next door creaked open slightly. An old man poked half his body out, beckoned to me, and whispered:

"You're the doctor for the Vickers family, right?"

"Is Patrick acting up again?"

My heart stirred. "Sir, are you well acquainted with Mr. Vickers?"

"Acquainted! How could I not be acquainted!"

"We've been neighbors for decades. We watched Adrian grow from a little tyke to a young man. He used to call me 'Uncle.'"

"Sigh, they're all good people, but Patrick's been muddled these past two years. He doesn't even recognize his own wife and son anymore. It's such a tragedy!"

2.

My eyes flickered. "The old mans family, have their faces always looked like this?"

The neighbor's tone was very certain: "Exactly like this, never changed! If their faces changed, how could the neighbors not notice?"

"Patrick used to be quite superstitious, always burning incense and praying. Now that he's old, he tells everyone his wife and son are skin-peeling monsters. I suspect he's gone mad. Doctor, you can't believe a word he says!"

I quickly pressed for more information.

"Have you noticed any changes in their habits or personalities, the mother and son, compared to before?"

The neighbor frowned, trying hard to recall.

"Patrick used to always tell us that Adrian fell into an abandoned bunker when he was little and became terrified of the dark ever since."

"We all knew he had to sleep with a night light on, and the hallway lights in their house stayed on all night."

"But for the past year or so, their hallway lights haven't been on much. Sometimes I even see Adrian taking out the trash at night, and he's not afraid of the dark stairwell at all. He can walk in the dark."

"But he's forty now, so it's normal for the kid to have grown a backbone."

Armed with this information, I quickly thanked the neighbor and headed straight to the hospital. In the electronic archives, I searched for Adrian Vickers's file. Finally, I found a pediatric emergency record from over thirty years ago.

Patient: Adrian Vickers, Age: 7.

Chief Complaint: Fell into a hole, excessively frightened, with minor abrasions.

Treatment: Wound cleaning and bandaging. Diagnosed with nyctophobia (fear of darkness), prone to panic attacks and stress trauma.

I was deep in thought. There aren't two identical wives and sons in the world. If the family members had been swapped, and the police had been called 99 times, they couldn't possibly ignore it. And it couldn't be plastic surgery; everyone gets surgery to look younger and better, who would get surgery to look older, and for what purpose?

But then again, could Adrians extreme fear of the dark, a stress disorder that hadnt been cured in decades, suddenly disappear? Old Mr. Vickerss thinking was clear, and he spoke factually, not like someone with Alzheimer's. Doubt instantly multiplied. I couldn't understand what was going on.

Just then, I received a call from Adrian. His voice was anxious. "Dr. Sloane, my dad has locked us out of the house! He insists we're skin-peeling monsters who came to harm him!"

"Please help us. My dad gets so agitated, so crazy. I'm really afraid his condition will worsen and he'll kill all of us."

Through the phone, I could still hear old Mr. Vickerss agitated shouts and curses.

Twenty minutes later, I arrived at their house. Old Mrs. Vickers, Maria, sat in the hallway, her back hunched, sighing deeply. Adrian stood at the door, looking at me as if I were his savior.

"Dr. Sloane, please tell my dad right away that he's just confused from his illness. Tell him to take his medicine and stop making a fuss."

Beside him stood a young woman with a slightly rounded belly, presumably his wife.

I knocked on the door: "Mr. Vickers, it's me, Dr. Sloane."

The door was silent for a moment, then came the sound of unlocking. The door opened a crack, revealing Mr. Vickerss old and wary face. Seeing it was indeed me, he opened the door completely. He pulled me into the house, quickly closed the door, and double-locked it.

"Doctor, look!" He grinned, showing his teeth. "These monsters can't get in now!"

"From now on, I won't let them into my house again!" His face even showed a hint of childlike triumph.

I looked at him, my heart heavy. Alzheimer's can cause memory confusion and difficulty recognizing loved ones. But it doesn't typically trigger such concrete, targeted paranoid delusions against specific family members. What exactly was going on with this family?

"Mr. Vickers, shall we talk?" I helped him to the sofa. He clutched my arm tightly. "Doctor, I'm not sick, truly not sick."

"I know," I patted his hand, my voice gently reassuring. "Can you tell me why you hung that photo frame face down?"

I pointed to the photo frame by the TV cabinet. I had noticed it the first time I came. The frame was turned over, the photo facing the wall. It was a very strange thing, yet in this seemingly harmonious family, no one had seemed bothered by it.

3.

Old Mr. Vickerss eyes became hazy and fearful.

"That photo, it's wrong."

He pointed at the little boy in the photo. "My Adrian, he has a small red birthmark behind his ear. This child in the photo doesn't, and neither does the son now."

"The photo must be fake, so I have to cover it up!"

His accusation once again focused on extremely subtle physiological characteristics that outsiders could not possibly notice.

"Mr. Vickers," I narrowed my eyes, softening my voice. "When did you start feeling like something was wrong with them?"

Old Mr. Vickers's breathing suddenly quickened.

"A year ago, after that car accident!"

"The mother and son were in a car accident together. They stayed in the hospital for a few days. I brought them home, but their eyes looked at me coldly!"

"We've relied on each other for decades. How could their eyes look so unfamiliar to me?"

"One is my wife, one is my son. You might not notice, but I did!"

My heart gave a sudden jolt. Old Mr. Vickers had always said his son's legs were fine, but his wife said Adrian's leg was injured in a car accident. Now, old Mr. Vickers himself was saying his son had been in a car accident. His memory was indeed confused. But his details were too precise, not consistent with Alzheimer's.

I stood up and opened the door, letting the three outside come in.

"Mrs. Vickers, Mr. Vickers," I said, my voice serious. "Given Mr. Vickers's current mental state, and his repeated emphasis on specific differences, I strongly suggest you undergo a DNA paternity test."

"After the blood test, whether he has Alzheimer's or not, he won't say you're fakes anymore."

"A DNA test?" Adrian's face was a mixture of absurdity and anger. "Dr. Sloane, what do you mean by this? Do I really have to prove to my dad that I'm his son? This is ridiculous!"

Old Mr. Vickers, however, found it plausible. "Do it, do it! I agree!"

Old Mrs. Vickers, Maria, sighed heavily and pulled a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket.

"Dr. Sloane, I've already done a DNA test. The old man already overthinks things, and I was afraid he'd die of anger if he knew I did this, so I never brought it out."

I looked down at the report. It was indeed a DNA identification report issued by a third-party testing agency, and the conclusion was clear as day:

It supports the existence of a biological parent-child relationship between Patrick Vickers and Adrian Vickers.

"Dad! I am your son, the real deal, no fakes, you see now!" Adrian handed the report to Old Mr. Vickers.

Old Mr. Vickers snatched the report, his cloudy eyes fixed on the lines of text. At first, there was confusion. Then, a profound fear and despair crept onto his face.

"Impossible! This is impossible!" He violently tore the report to shreds, scattering them everywhere. "Fake! This test is fake! You're all ganging up to trick me! Monsters! You monsters! You peeled off my wifes and sons skin! And now you want to fool me with this flimsy paper!"

He agitatedly pointed at Maria.

"My wife used to throw up at the smell of cilantro, but you cant go a meal without it. Don't tell me you suddenly developed a taste for it after seventy years of hating it!"

Then he pointed at Adrian.

"My son's legs are perfectly fine, and he has a red birthmark behind his ear! You, this monster, don't!"

"You can't fool me! Do it again! I want another test!"

I quickly tried to calm him.

"Then let's do it again. I know a very reputable testing center; I can help expedite it, and we'll get the results quickly."

Adrian and Maria almost simultaneously objected: "No!"

Marias face darkened slightly. "Dr. Sloane, we asked you to help cure my husband, to stop him from being so confused, not to stir up trouble!"

"A DNA test costs four or five thousand. Our family isn't rolling in gold bricks. One test is enough; why do another?"

"Or do you also think we're fakes? Is your mind as muddled as the old man's?"

I looked at Maria, my tone respectful.

"Mrs. Vickers, you misunderstand. I also want to cure Mr. Vickers's illness as soon as possible."

"His crux is that he firmly believes you are impostors, and he is constantly in a state of fear and stress. Eventually, he will either stab you or commit suicide!"

"You love him so much, you surely don't want a tragedy to happen. Do another DNA test, and he'll have his answer about whether you are family."

"He has no issues with his daughter-in-law. How about we have her go?"

The Vickers mother and son finally relented. Maria sighed, waving her hand. "Clara, you go."

I handed two toothbrushes to the young woman, Clara, along with the expedited testing center address. Clara's eyes flickered slightly, as if she was struggling, but she quickly agreed.

"I'll go get the expedited test done right now."

I helped the disoriented Mr. Vickers sit down on the sofa. He was trembling all over, muttering repeatedly.

"That mole the birthmark cilantro they changed after the car accident they all want to harm me"

Adrian and Maria sat on the dining chairs, their expressions grim. As the suffocating silence nearly reached its peak, Clara, the daughter-in-law, rushed in with a sealed envelope.

"Mom, the DNA test results are in"