But as he continued on toward Lois’s house he was sure she would see through his explanation. Those piercing eyes would penetrate his fagade and she would know that he hadn’t really come to further her education. He had come to spy on her. In fact, he was so convinced she would realize this that he nearly drove on past the Fleur mansion.
He stopped just beyond the driveway and stared down at the house. It was quiet; there were no signs of life about. No one was outside. The door was shut. The windows all had their curtains and shades drawn, making them into mirrors reflecting light and shadows. He had a short debate with himself and then backed up and turned into the driveway. The Wilsons’ car was parked close to the house. He hoped that meant Lois’s mother was home.
When he shut off the engine, he waited a moment to see if someone would come to the door. No one did. He picked up the books and magazines and got out. The sound of his car door slamming woke the sleeping birds. A small flock shot out of the weeping willow trees, their wings snapping. It was as though he had brought a painting to life. Small animals scurried in the nearby forest. He heard a dog barking in the distance. Patches of small water bugs rose from the unmowed lawn in maddening circles. A brisk summer breeze flapped the white sheets and pillowcases that dangled from a clothesline toward the rear of the house. That caused the rope to move and the pulley to scream in high-pitched, metallic notes.
He pressed the magazines and book against his body and walked up the steps of the porch. He waited a moment, looked behind him, opened the screen door, and pressed the buzzer. He listened intently, but he heard no sounds from within. After a sufficient pause, he pressed the buzzer again. This time he accompanied it with a few gentle knocks.
Little Billy Wilson opened the door slowly and looked up at Professor McShane. For some reason the child looked smaller to him now, even more withdrawn and thinner than he had been the other times he had seen him. Billy’s long, untrimmed hair covered his ears and half his neck. The cheeks of his face were drawn, bringing emphasis to his wide-open eyes. The boy didn’t smile. He had the empty look of a refugee child who had lived through and seen so much tragedy he could no longer react to anything.
“Hi. Is your sister here?” Kevin looked past the boy, into the entrance way. Although there were glare and shadows, he thought the hallway had green stripes painted down the walls: three- or four-inch bars obviously painted with a free hand.
“No,” Billy said. He shook his head. Kevin smiled and stepped inside, forcing him to back up.
“What about your mother?”
“She’s upstairs.”
“Oh.” The moment he was in, he was assailed by the odors. The place smelled like a dog pound. It nearly turned his stomach. “Well, I’m one of Lois’s teachers,” he added, moving farther into the house. Billy remained by the door, holding the handle. “And I brought something for her. Maybe I can tell your mother about it.”
“She’s in her room.”
“Uh-huh.” He looked through the doorway to his right, into the living room. The furniture obviously had been shoved about haphazardly: the couch moved in such a way that only half of it could be used, the easy chair and end tables clustered. What intrigued him, though, was the long, square wooden box in the center of the room. It looked as though it were filled with dirt and leaves.
“Wow. What’s that box?” he asked, trying to act simply curious. He had the feeling that little Billy could easily become frightened. But when he looked back, the boy’s face lit up with some excitement and pleasure. He let go of the door and joined Kevin.
“That’s my worm farm. Lois helped me make it because I’m helping her. I got over a hundred worms in there.”
For a moment Kevin merely stared down at him. Then he looked at the dirt-filled box.
“You built a worm farm in your living room?”
“I wanted it in my bedroom, but Lois said there wasn’t enough space, and we got the rabbits and the rats in the study.”
McShane looked down the corridor and then up the stairway. There were no signs of Mrs. Wilson.
“Rabbits and rats, huh?”
“And some snakes. I caught a little milk snake yesterday. Ever see one?”
McShane nodded. “Listen. Do you think you could go upstairs and tell your mother I’m here?”
Billy shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “Lois told me not to bother her.”
“Where is Lois?”
“She went to town on her bike.”
“Is your mother sick?”
“Not sick … de … deeper pressed.”
“You mean, depressed?” Billy nodded. “How do you know that?”
“Lois told me.”
“Oh.” McShane looked up again. “Well,” he said, “I’ll leave these things with you.” Billy took the materials. “Tell Lois Professor McShane was here. I was passing by and dropped this stuff off, OK?” Billy nodded, holding the materials with more concern now. McShane moved back to the doorway. “What are you doing with the snakes?”
“Lois is doing a project,” Billy said with obvious respect.
“I see. OK, then.” Just as he pushed open the screen door, he heard the gong. “What was that?”
“My father. I gotta go mark it down.”
“Mark it down?”
“When he pushes the bar and makes the gong,” Billy said and pushed the door with his body to close it. McShane stepped farther out and the door slammed closed.
He closed the screen door and went back to his car. Before he got in, he looked back at the house and thought about the things he had seen and the things Billy had said. Then he looked up the driveway toward the road to see if Lois was back. He wondered if he should wait for her but then decided she might be quite a while and he couldn’t justify the time. Instead, he left and went directly to Sherry’s apartment. He had to talk to someone.
“A worm farm in the living room? And a gong?”
“Don’t forget the weirdly painted walls.”
“How did the little boy act?”
“Terrified.”
“Oh, Kevin, she is doing something terrible. You’d better tell someone.”
“Who? What do I say? I’m not even sure I know what she’s doing.”
“Why would her mother let her bring all those animals into the house? Ugh. Didn’t you get a glimpse of her?” He shook his head. “Maybe she’s dead.”
“Oh, c’mon.” They were both quiet for a few moments. Sherry poured him a glass of red wine.
“Didn’t you once tell me about colors and their psychological effects on people?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, maybe she’s into that stuff too.”
“Could be. I lectured on that once and she was very interested in it. We talked about it afterward also. Sure, that’s definitely it,” he said, his eyes lighting up. Then he sat back again, a new and heavier realization coming over him. “I wonder what else she’s taken from my lectures to use in that house on her family.”
“Oh, Kevin, you can’t feel responsible. How could you possibly know … ?”
“Nevertheless … keeping track of the gong.” He looked up quickly. “She’s running a Skinner box analysis.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Keeping track of responses. Charting her father’s reactions to things.”
“What things?”
“God only knows.”
“When was he here?”
Because Billy didn’t answer fast enough, Lois seized him by the shoulders and shook him. He couldn’t understand the anger in her face. It confused him. Quickly, he replayed the scene with Professor McShane in his mind, looking for something he might have done wrong. He hadn’t disturbed his mother; he had taken the materials and remembered immediately to give them to Lois when she returned. Why were her eyes so wide and her teeth clenched? Why was she digging her fingernails into his skin? He squirmed and tried to turn out of her grip, but she was remarkably strong.
“I told you. A
little while after you went to town on the bike. Let go.”
“How long was he here?” she asked, still not releasing him.
“Not long.”
She eased her grip and stepped back to look at the materials McShane had left. A quick perusal told her that there was nothing terribly earth-shattering about any of it. She had evinced only a slight interest in the book, and she was surprised he had even recalled the references to it. She had made them some time ago.
Billy rubbed each of his shoulders. There were tears in his eyes. When Lois turned back to him, he backed away instinctively, keeping his hands high, as if to protect himself. She saw his anxiety and relaxed her expression.
“So. Did he ask you any questions?”
“He wanted to know where you were.”
“What else?”
“He wanted to know about Mommy.”
“What about Mommy?”
“He asked if she was sick.”
“What did you tell him?”
“She was de. … pressed.”
“Then he left this with you and walked out?”
“No. He wanted to know about the worm farm.”
“You mean he walked into our living room? Where else did he go?”
“Nowhere.” Billy thought for a moment. He was afraid to volunteer extra information, but he was also afraid Lois would find out later when she spoke to the teacher. Then he would be in more trouble. “He asked about your snakes.”
“Snakes? How did he know about them?”
“I told him.”
“Damn. What didn’t you tell him? Did you tell him anything about Daddy?” Billy hesitated. “Did you?” She stepped toward him.
“He heard the gong,” he said quickly. Because of the way her eyes burned into him and the way her mouth twisted, he thought she was actually going to hit him. He pressed himself back against the wall.
“What did he do?” Her voice was a whisper, but that frightened him even more.
“Nothing. He just wanted to know what that was. I told him it was Daddy and I had to go mark it down. Then I shut the door and he went away.”
“You said that? You said ‘mark it down’?” She sounded as though she were talking to someone else. He nodded, and she turned away from him. He breathed relief and looked down the corridor as an avenue of escape. “I can’t go back to his classes,” she said. She was talking to herself now, the way she often did. He knew that meant she was finished with him and he could go away. “He’d only ask questions that I’m not prepared to answer yet. Why did he come here? Why did he bring this stuff specially?” She looked at the materials again and shook her head. Billy started down the corridor, but she wasn’t interested. “He wanted to know about my project. That’s why he came here. He wanted to know about it.” She looked up the stairs toward her father’s bedroom and thought for a few moments.
“He wants to steal it. Sure. He probably realizes the significance of what I’m doing. He’ll take the information and use it for his own paper. What chance would I have? I’m just a student, not even a freshman in college yet. Who’d believe me? I won’t get the credit. He’ll publish the paper; he’ll get the recognition. I’d have to be crazy to give him anything. I won’t let him read a thing, know a single finding, see a single chart. He’s not to be permitted in here,” she said, raising her voice. She turned to give Billy the orders, but he was gone.
“Billy!” He came to the doorway of his room. “Don’t ever let that teacher in here, ever! Just tell him no one’s home and shut the door! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
“Yes,” he said. He had never seen her this mad. Her fists were clenched and pressed against her body. He looked at the floor, too frightened to look at her.
“He’s a thief,” she said, talking more to herself again, “an intellectual thief. That’s very common in research.”
“I don’t think he took anything, Lois,” Billy said quickly. He was sure of that and eager to give her the information in the hope that it would calm her down. It seemed to, because she smiled.
“Not yet,” she said. “But he’ll be back to try again. You can be sure of that.”
“Maybe you should tell Patty the cop.”
“No,” she said. “We’ll handle this ourselves.” She looked at the front door. “I’m going to put a chain lock on here so you can open the door and look out without permitting anyone to come in. No one comes into our house unless I say they can, understand?” He nodded quickly. She looked at the materials McShane had left. “I’ll get this delivered to him so he can’t use it as an excuse to return.”
The sound of the gong turned her attention toward the stairs again.
“That’s the fifth time he did it since you’ve been gone, Lois.”
“That’s OK. He wants to “see me. He wants things done for him.”
“Will you do them?”
“I will this time, but it can’t be this easy anymore. He’s going to have to earn it, and when he earns it, he’ll help himself. He’ll cure himself. I’m going to force his body to behave.”
“Won’t that hurt?”
“No, not in the long run, and that’s what’s most important.”
“Lois!” Dorothy Wilson’s call was more like a moan of despair. “Lois!”
“What?”
“I can’t stand that gonging. It’s driving me crazy. See what he wants.”
“I was just about to do that, Mother.” She walked up the stairs quickly.
Dorothy Wilson was standing in the doorway. She held on to her doorknob and leaned against the door-jamb. Clad only in a flimsy nightgown, her hair hanging in strands down her cheeks, she looked as though she had just awakened. The gong sounded again. She brought her hands to her ears and moaned.
“Relax, Mother. Why are you so tense today?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m trying to get some rest.”
Lois took her arm and turned her into the bedroom. The sheets, blanket, and pillow were all crumpled and twisted. It looked like the bed of a person in mental anguish. Clothes were strewn about the room: a pants suit draped over a chair, shoes in every corner and under the bed, undergarments over the dresser and night table. There were empty and partly filled glasses on the chairs and end tables. The curtains and shades were drawn, permitting only a small amount of daylight to seep into the dismal room. Lois saw that a tray with last night’s supper practically untouched lay the floor beside the bed. She steered her mother around it and sat her down.
“You’ve just got to get some sleep, Mother. You look totally exhausted.”
“I am. I feel so weak.”
“You’ll have to take a sleeping pill; you’ll just have to do it. Afterward, we’ll clean up your room.”
“I know,” she said, nodding. “Things are just getting out of hand. I wanted to call the doctor today.”
“Why?”
“We’ve got to give up. It’s too much; it’s just too much. We’re all suffering too much.”
“Oh, no, Mother. That would be terrible. We can’t desert Daddy now, not when he’s about to make some improvement.”
“I don’t see any improvement. All I hear is that damn gong. I know we needed it, but I hear it in my sleep,” she added, wringing her hands. She bit her lower lip so hard she nearly split the skin.
“You’re too tense. I never saw you this tense. Take a pill. After you’ve had a good sleep, we’ll talk about it again.” Lois got her the medication and handed her a glass of stale ginger ale. Dorothy didn’t seem to notice. She swallowed the pill and lay back. Lois straightened out the blanket and drew it over her, tucking it in around her. “Just close your eyes and relax,” she said. Dorothy turned her face into the pillow. Lois stepped back just as the gong sounded again. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “I’ll take care of everything. Sleep.”
She walked out quickly, closing the door behind her. Then she went to her father’s bedroom and closed and locked that door behind her too.
McShane was di
sappointed when Lois didn’t attend his next class. There was only one more class left in the summer session, and he had hoped that they would have another one of their famous afterclass sessions. During that session he wanted to learn more about what was going on at her house.
Later in the afternoon after his class, the college messenger brought his mail. He recognized Lois Wilson’s handwriting on the large manila envelope and opened it quickly. The contents surprised him: the articles and the book. There was a letter with the materials.
Dear Professor McShane:
I’m sorry I wasn’t home to receive the readings personally. Thank you for thinking of me. There are some interesting points here and information that was of some value to me some time ago.
However, I have since left these topics and gone on to others. Please forgive my returning everything through the mails, but I won’t be able to attend your last classes, as I have too much to do here yet. There is so little time left. As you know, my orientation for college will begin in a little less than three weeks.
Thank you again for your interest. I do hope you have an intellectually stimulating year.
Sincerely yours,
Lois Wilson
Kevin sat back and read the letter again. Although the tone was correct and polite, he felt it confirmed his worst fears. She had decided to cut him off completely because he had gone to her house and seen some of what was going on. She didn’t want any follow-up questions asked. She certainly didn’t want him coming around again. How could he go back there? What would be his pretense this time?
Out of habit, he took Lois Wilson’s letter to his file cabinet to place in her file. Before he slipped it in, he fingered through some of her old papers from the college-in-escrow course. He looked at the topics, mentally reviewing some of their postclass discussions.
He noted that there was a period during which she had been quite interested in the mental control of the body, especially control of the so-called involuntary muscles, such as the heart. She had done a paper on brainwashing, making references to experiments utilizing techniques during isolation, illustrating that the subjects so cut off from the outside world would be more susceptible to behavioral conditioning.
Brain Child Page 21