16 - POSSESSED
Pat stared at the intruder in a mingling of
embarrassment, perplexity, and indignation. She felt her cheeks reddening as
the latter emotion gained the dominance of her mood.
"Well!" she snapped. "What do you
want?"
"I thought I'd walk home with you,"
Mueller said amiably.
"Walk home with me! Please explain
that!" She grasped the arm of Nicholas Devine, who had risen angrily at
the interruption. "Sit down, Nick, I know the fellow."
"So should he," said Mueller.
"Sure; I'll explain. I'm on a job for Dr. Horker."
"Spying on me for him, I suppose!"
taunted the girl.
"No. Not on you."
"He means on me," said Nick soberly.
"You can't blame him, Pat. And perhaps you had better go home; we've
finished here. There's nothing more we can do or say."
"Very well," she said, her voice
suddenly softer. "In a moment, Nick." She turned to Mueller.
"Would you mind telling me why you waited until now to interfere? We've
been here two hours, you know."
"Sure I'll tell you. I got no orders to
interfere, that's why."
"Then why did you?" queried Pat tartly.
"I didn't until I saw him there"—he
nodded at Nick—"put his arms around you. Then I figured, having no orders,
it was time to use my own judgment."
"If any!" sniffed the girl. She turned
again to Nick; her face softened, became very tender. "Honey," she
murmured huskily, "I guess it's good-bye now. I'll be fighting with you;
you know that."
"I know that," he echoed, looking down
into her eyes. "I'm almost happy, Pat."
"When'll you go?" she whispered in tones
inaudible to Mueller.
"I don't know," he answered, his voice
unchanged. "I'll have to make some sort of preparations—and I don't want
you to know."
She nodded. She gazed at him a moment longer with
tear-bright eyes. "Good-bye, Nick," she whispered. She rose on
tiptoe, and kissed him very lightly on his lips, then turned and walked quickly
away, with Mueller following behind.
She walked on, ignoring him until he halted beside
her at the crossing of the Drive. Then she gave him a cold glance.
"Why is Dr. Carl having him watched?"
she asked.
Mueller shrugged. "The ins and outs of this
case are too much for me," he said. "I do what I'm paid to do."
"You're not watching him now."
"Nope. Seemed like the Doctor would think it
was more important to get you home."
"You're wasting your time," she said
irritably as the lights changed and they stepped into the street. "I was
going home anyway."
"Well, now you got company all the way."
Mueller's voice was placid.
The girl sniffed contemptuously, and strode
silently along. The other's presence irritated her; she wanted time and
solitude to consider the amazing story Nicholas Devine had given her. She
wanted to analyze her own feelings, and most of all she wanted just a place of
privacy to cry out her misery. For now the loss of Nicholas Devine had changed
from a fortunate escape to a tragedy, and liar, madman, or devil, she wanted
him terribly, with all the power of her tense little heart. So she moved as
swiftly as she could, ignoring the silent companionship of Mueller.
They reached her home; the light in the living
room window was evidence that the bridge game was still in progress. She
mounted the steps, Mueller watching her silently from the walk; she fumbled for
her key.
Suddenly she snapped her hand-bag shut; she
couldn't face her mother and the two spinster Brocks and elderly, inquisitive
Carter Henderson. They'd suggest that she cut into the game, and they'd argue
if she refused, and she couldn't play bridge now! She glanced at the impassive
Mueller, turned and crossed the strip of lawn to Dr. Horker's residence, where
the light still glowed in the library, and rang the bell. She saw the figure on
the sidewalk move away as the shadow of the Doctor appeared on the lighted
square of the door.
"Hello," boomed the Doctor amiably.
"Come in."
Pat stalked into the library and threw herself
angrily into Dr. Horker's particular chair. The other grinned, and chose another
place.
"Well," he said, "What touched off
the fuse this time?"
"Why are you spying on my friends?"
snapped the girl. "By what right?"
"So he's spotted Mueller, eh? That lad's
diabolically clever, Pat—and I mean diabolic."
"That's no answer!"
"So it isn't," agreed the Doctor.
"Say it's because I'm acting in loco parentis."
"And in loco is as far as you'll get, Dr.
Carl, if you're going to spy on me!"
"On you?" he said mildly. "Who's
spying on you?"
"On us, then!"
"Or on us?" queried the Doctor. "I
set Mueller to watch the Devine lad. Have you by some mischance broken your
promise to me?"
Pat flushed. She had forgotten that broken
promise; the recollection of it suddenly took the wind from her sails, placed
her on the defensive.
"All right," she said defiantly. "I
did; I admit it. Does that excuse you?"
"Perhaps it helps to explain my actions, Pat.
Don't you understand that I'm trying to protect you? Do you think I hired
Mueller out of morbid curiosity, or professional interest in the case? Times
aren't so good that I can throw money away on such whims."
"I don't need any protection. I can take care
of myself!"
"So I noticed," said the Doctor dryly.
"You gave convincing evidence of it night before last."
"Oh!" said the girl in exasperation.
"You would say that!"
"It's true, isn't it?"
"Suppose it is! I don't have to learn the
same lesson twice."
"Well, apparently once wasn't enough,"
observed the other amiably. "You walked into the same danger
tonight."
"I wasn't in any danger tonight!" Suddenly
her mood changed as she recalled the circumstances of her parting with Nicholas
Devine. "Dr. Carl," she said, her voice dropping, "I'm terribly
unhappy."
"Lord!" he exclaimed staring at her.
"Pat, your moods are as changeable as my golf game! You're as mercurial as
your Devine lad! A moment ago you were snapping at me, and now I'm suddenly
acceptable again." He perceived the misery in her face. "All right,
child; I'm listening."
"He's going away," she said mournfully.
"Don't you think that's best for everybody
concerned? I commend his judgment."
"But I don't want him to!"
"You do, Pat. You can't continue seeing him,
and his absence will make it easier for you."
"It'll never be easier for me, Dr.
Carl." She felt her eyes fill. "I guess I'm—just a fool about
him."
"You still feel that way, after the
experience you went through?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Then you are a fool about him, Pat. He's not
worth such devotion."
"How do you know what he's worth? I'm the
only one to judge that."
"I have eyes," said the Doctor.
"What happened tonight to change your attitude so suddenly? You were
amenable to reason yesterday."
"I didn't know yesterday what I know
now."
"So he told a story, eh?" The Doctor
watched her serious, troubled features. "Would you mind telling me, Honey?
I'm interested in the defense mechanisms these psychopathic cases erect to
explain their own impulses to themselves."
"No, I won't tell you!" snapped Pat
indignantly. "Psychopathic cases! We're all just cases to you. I'm a case
and he's another, and all you want is our symptoms!"
Doctor Horker smiled placatingly into her face.
"Pat dear," he said earnestly, "don't you see I'd give my eyes
to help you? Don't take my flippancies too seriously, Honey; look once in a
while at the intentions behind them." He continued his earnest gaze.
The girl returned his look; her face softened.
"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I never doubted it, Dr.
Carl—it's only that I'm so—so torn to pieces by all this that I get snappy and
irritable." She paused. "Of course I'll tell you."
"I'd like to hear it."
"Well," she began hesitantly, "he
said he was two personalities—one the character I knew, and one the character
that we saw Saturday night. And the first one is—well, dominant, and fights the
other one. He says the other has been growing stronger; until lately he could
suppress it. And he says—Oh, it sounds ridiculous, the way I tell it, but it's
true! I'm sure it's true!" She leaned toward the Doctor. "Did you
ever hear of anything like it? Did you, Dr. Carl?"
"No." He shook his head, still watching
her seriously. "Not exactly like that, Honey. Don't you think he might
possibly have lied to you, Pat? To excuse himself for the responsibility of
Saturday night, for instance?"
"No, I don't," she said defiantly.
"Then you have an idea yourself what the
trouble is? I judge you have."
"Yes," she said in low tones. "I
have an idea."
"What is it?"
"I think he's possessed by a devil!"
said the girl flatly.
A quizzical expression came into the Doctor's
face. "Well, of all the queer ideas that harum-scarum mind of yours has
ever produced, that's the queerest!" He broke into a chuckle.
"Queer, is it?" flared Pat. "I
don't think you and your mind-doctors know as much as a Swahili medicine-man
with a mask!"
She leaped angrily to her feet, stamped viciously
into the hall.
"Devil and all," she repeated, "I
love him!"
"Pat!" called the Doctor anxiously.
"Pat! Where are you going, child?"
"Where do devils live?" Her voice
floated tauntingly back from the front door. "Hell, of course!"
17 - Witch-Doctor
Pat had no intentions, however, of following the
famous highway that evening. She stamped angrily down the Doctor's steps,
swished her way through the break in the hedge with small regard to the safety
of her sheer hose, and mounted to her own porch. She found her key, opened the
door and entered.
As she ascended the stairs, her fit of temper at
the Doctor passed, and she felt lonely, weary, and unutterably miserable. She
sank to a seat on the topmost step and gave herself over to bitter reflections.
Nick was gone! The realization came poignantly at
last; there would be no more evening rides, no more conversations whose range
was limited only by the scope of the universe, no more breath-taking kisses,
the sweeter for his reluctance. She sat mournfully silent, and considered the
miserable situation in which she found herself.
In love with a madman! Or worse—in love with a
demon! With a being half of whose nature worshiped her while the other half was
bent on her destruction! Was any one, she asked herself—was any one, anywhere,
ever in a more hopeless predicament?
What could she do? Nothing, she realized, save sit
helplessly aside while Nick battled the thing to a finish. Or possibly—the only
alternative—take him as he was, chance the vicissitudes of his unstable nature,
lay herself open to the horrors she had glimpsed so recently, and pray for her
fortunes to point the way of salvation. And in the mood in which she now found
herself, that seemed infinitely the preferable solution. Yet rationally she
knew it was impossible; she shook her head despondently, and leaned against the
wall in abject misery.
Then, thin and sharp sounded the shrill summons of
the door bell, and a moment later, the patter of the maid's footsteps in the
hall below. She listened idly to distract herself from the chain of despondency
that was her thoughts, and was mildly startled to recognize the booming drums
of Dr. Horker's voice. She heard his greeting and the muffled reply from the
group, and then a phrase understandable because of his sonorous tones.
"Where's Pat?" The words drifted up the
well of the stairs, followed by a scarcely audible reply from her mother. Heavy
footfalls on the carpeted steps, and then his figure bulked on the landing
below her. She cupped her chin on her hands, and stared down at him while he
ascended to her side, sprawling his great figure beside her.
"Pat, Honey," he rumbled, "you're
beginning to get me worried!"
"Am I?" Her voice was weary, dull.
"I've had myself like that for a long time."
"Poor kid! Are you really so miserable over
this Nick problem of yours?"
"I love him."
"Yes." He looked at her with sympathy
and calculation mingling in his expression. "I believe you do. I'm sorry,
Honey; I didn't realize until now what he means to you."
"You don't realize now," she murmured,
still with the weary intonation.
"Perhaps not, Pat, but I'm learning. If
you're in this thing as deeply at all that, I'm in too—to the finish. Want
me?"
She reached out her hand, plucking at his
coatsleeve. Abruptly she leaned toward him, burying her face against the rough
tweed of his suit; she sobbed a little, while he patted her gently with his
great, delicately fingered hand. "I'm sorry, Honey," he rumbled.
"I'm sorry."
The girl drew herself erect and leaned back
against the wall, shaking her head to drive the tears from her eyes. She gave
the Doctor a wan little smile.
"Well?" she asked.
"I'll return your compliment of the other
night," said Horker briskly. "I'll ask a few questions—purely
professional, of course."
"Fire away, Dr. Carl."
"Good. Now, when our friend has one of
these—uh—attacks, is he rational? Do his utterances seem to follow a logical
thought sequence?"
"I—think so."
"In what way does he differ from his normal
self?"
"Oh, every way," she said with a tremor.
"Nick's kind and gentle and sensitive and—and naive, and this—other—is
cruel, harsh, gross, crafty, and horrible. You can't imagine a greater
difference."
"Um. Is the difference recognizable
instantly? Could you ever be in doubt as to which phase you were
encountering?"
"Oh, no! I can—well, sort of dominate Nick,
but the other—Lord!" She shuddered again. "I felt like a terrified
child in the presence of some powerful, evil god."
"Humph! Perhaps the god's name was Priapus.
Well, we'll discount your feelings, Pat, because you weren't exactly in the
best condition for—let's say sober judgment. Now about this story of his. What
happens to his own personality when this other phase is dominant? Did he
say?"
"Yes. He said his own self was compelled to
sort of stand by while the—the intruder used his voice and body. He knew the
thoughts of the other, but only when it was dominant. The rest of the time he
couldn't tell its thoughts."
"And how long has he suffered from
these—intrusions?"
"As long as he can remember. As a child he
was blamed for the other's mischief, and when he tried to explain, people
thought he was lying to escape punishment."
"Well," observed the Doctor, "I can
see how they might think that."
"Don't you believe it?"
"I don't exactly disbelieve it, Honey. The
human mind plays queer tricks sometimes, and this may be one of its little
jokes. It's a psychiatrist's business to investigate such things, and to
painlessly remove the point of the joke."
"Oh, if you only can, Dr. Carl! If you only
can!"
"We'll see." He patted her hand
comfortingly.
"Now, you say the kind, gentle, and all that,
phase is the normal one. Is that usually dominant?"
"Yes. Nick can master the other, or could
until recently. He says this last—attack—is the worst he's ever had; the other
has been gaining strength."
"Strange!" mused the Doctor.
"Well," he said with a smile of encouragement, "I'll have a look
at him."
"Do you think you can help?" Pat asked
anxiously. "Have you any idea what it is?"
"It isn't a devil, at any rate," he
smiled.
"But have you any idea?"
"Naturally I have, but I can't diagnose at
second hand. I'll have to talk to him."
"But what do you think it is?" she
persisted.
"I think it's a fixation of an idea gained in
childhood, Honey. I had a patient once—" He smiled at the
reminiscence—"who had a fixed delusion of that sort. He was perfectly
rational on every point save one—he believed that a pig with a pink ribbon was
following him everywhere! Down town, into elevators and offices, home to
bed—everywhere he went this pink-ribboned prize porker pursued him!"
"And did you cure him?"
"Well, he recovered," said the Doctor
non-committally. "We got rid of the pig. And it might be something of that
nature that's troubling your boy friend. Your description doesn't sound like a
praecox or a manic depressive, as I thought originally."
"Oh," said Pat abruptly. "I forgot.
He went to a doctor in New York, a very great doctor."
"Muenster?"
"He didn't say whom. But this doctor studied
him a long time, and finally came out with this fixed idea theory of yours.
Only he couldn't cure him."
"Um." Horker grunted thoughtfully.
"Do fixed ideas do things like that to
people?" queried the girl. "Things like the pig and what happened to
Nick?"
"They might."
"Then they're devils!" she announced
with an air of finality. "They're just your scientific jargon for exactly
what Magda means when she says a person's possessed by a devil. So I'm right
anyway!"
"That's good orthodox theology, Pat,"
chuckled the Doctor. "We'll try a little exorcism on your devil,
then." He rose to his feet. "Bring your boy friend around, will
you?"
"Oh, Dr. Carl!" she cried. "He's
leaving! I'll have to call him tonight!"
"Not tonight, Honey. Mueller would let me
know if anything of that sort were happening. Tomorrow's time enough."
The girl stood erect, mounting to the top step to
bring her head level with the Doctor's. She threw her arms about him, burying
her face in his massive shoulder.
"Dr. Carl," she murmured, "I'm a
nasty, ill-tempered, vicious little shrew, and I'm sorry, and I apologize. You
know I'm crazy about you, and," she whispered in his ear, "so's
Mother!"
