by Clark Howard
“Are you saying that I didn’t know what I was doing?” she challenged.
“Not at all. You probably knew exactly what you were doing. You simply did not know how to stop what you were doing. That’s why you had the breakdown.”
“I could have stopped,” she said confidently. “I could have stopped any time I wanted to.”
“Why didn’t you then?” Dr. Fox asked.
“Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I enjoyed doing those things!”
“I’m sure you probably did, some of them anyway. Physically you were and are a normal, healthy young woman, Abigail. It is only natural that you would have responded physically to some of the sexual activity in which you participated. ”
“I wasn’t talking about some of the things,” she challenged. “I meant all of them. I may have enjoyed every single thing I did, you don’t know!”
“Yes, of course you might have,” he admitted, totally ignoring the growing hostility in her voice. “But then your mind wouldn’t have revolted as it did, would it? And you wouldn’t now be referring to those same acts as ‘terrible things, animal things.’ ”
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Her voice was a contemptuous hiss now.
“No, not at all. I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression. I’m sorry, too, that you no longer trust me.”
“What makes you think I no longer trust you?” she demanded, as if he had insulted her.
“The fact that you are resisting me so strongly. Of course, I shouldn’t be disappointed in you for it, because I know exactly why you’re doing it, but—”
“You know why I’m acting like this?” she said dubiously.
“Certainly.”
“Tell me then,” she defied him.
“All right. You have adopted a hostile attitude toward me in order to maintain a last, desperate defense against allowing me final and complete access to your mind. You are deeply ashamed of what I will find there, so you are trying to keep me out. That’s the reason for this part of your act. The other part, that nonsense about your having enjoyed the things Keyes made you do, that was simply a poor attempt at self-degradation. You see, as weak as most of us humans are, we still like to feel that we are stronger than those who degrade us. Keyes, of course, degraded you far more than you could ever consciously degrade yourself; but in attempting to satisfy your ego that you are better than him, you try to outdo him by degrading yourself even farther than he did. And you shouldn’t really; not with me, anyway. I already know that you are a far better person than he can ever hope to be.”
She began crying then, and from the tape recorder for several long moments came the sound of labored, convulsive sobs, uncontrollable sobs, punctuated from time to time by soothing but unintelligible words from the voice of Dr. Fox.
“There, there, dear,” the men in the Blue Room finally were able to distinguish as the heaving sobs began to subside. “There, there now—here, take my hand—that’s it, hold as tightly as you like—”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she blurted out, “I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me—”
“Of course I won’t be mad at you; have I ever been? If I were the patient and you were the doctor, I would have done the same thing.”
“I didn’t mean what I said, about enjoying all those—those things. Some of them were so—so awful, I don’t see how anyone could enjoy them!”
“Sexual activity is a peculiar pursuit, Abigail,” he said gently. “What one person desires and enjoys is often considered a perversion to someone else. Even the most basic practice, ordinary intercourse between a man and woman, is rejected, for instance, by homosexuals. In most cases, it must be left up to the individual to decide what in his or her particular case is normal and desirous, and what is abnormal and repulsive. But even then the individual must be careful not to go beyond the bounds of what is mentally healthy. There are some sexual practices that no well balanced person would consider indulging in, even if he or she secretly felt that it would be physically satisfying. These are the really perverse practices; the ones that only a mentally ill person would allow himself to enjoy. ”
“Like the ones—some of them—that I did?” Her voice trembled slightly.
“Not that you did, dear; that you were made to do. There’s a big difference there. And I really can’t answer your question because I don’t know what they were. We haven’t gone into that, you know.”
“Should we?”
“When you’re ready, yes, I think we should. The human mind is like an ordinary room, you see, and in order to air it completely one must open all its windows, all its doors. That’s what we must do with you.”
“Do—do you want to do it now?” she asked.
“I want to do it anytime,” the doctor told her. “The important thing is when you want to do it.”
“I think I’d like to do it now,” she said.
“All right.”
“What do I—I mean, where do I start?”
“Why not start at the very beginning, dear? The very first time you were intimate with Keyes.”
“All—all right.” She sighed heavily. “It was one night after he had taken me to dinner. He had never been in my apartment before and when he drove me home he asked if he could come in for awhile. It was still early so I—I let him. I should have known better, it was all so obvious what he had in mind; but by then I was so infatuated with him, I thought he was so wonderful, that I—well, I just let him, that’s all.” Her voice became resigned. “I let him come in—and after that night I let him do anything he wanted to do.”
“What happened that first night you allowed him into your apartment?” the doctor asked.
“He kissed me a lot. He petted me. He undressed me and carried me to bed.”
“You didn’t resist?”
“No.” She grunted softly. “He didn’t rape me, Doctor, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t think he did,” Dr. Fox assured her. “He didn’t rape your body, that is; he certainly raped your mind. Tell me, now, how long did you have normal sexual intercourse with Keyes before he led you to other, more involved sex acts?”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “He did things so—gradually; I don’t think I even realized half the time that I was being led into—into the other.”
“But you do realize now that he did do precisely that? That he led you?”
“Yes.”
“All right, Abigail. What we must do now is going to be rather difficult for you, but it is the only way in which we will be able to completely cleanse your mind. I want you to describe for me all the various things that Keyes made you do—
“No!”
“You must, Abigail—”
“No! They—they’re too—terrible!”
“You’re absolutely right; they are too terrible: too terrible to keep inside your head. They must be washed out.”
“You’ll think I’m an animal, I can’t do it, I won’t tell you—”
“The only one who is an animal,” Dr. Fox said firmly, “is the person who is responsible for your being here—Keyes. He is the one who infiltrated your mind, and he is the one that we must get out of your mind, Abigail, once and for all! Do you understand?”
“I—I can’t—”
“You can, Abigail. You can and you must.”
“No—”
“Yes, Abigail.”
“No, please—”
“Yes, Abigail.” Fox’s voice did not alter in tone, but his words were firm and unyielding. Each time the girl resisted his suggestion, he reiterated his insistence with one simple phrase: “Yes, Abigail.” Over and over he said it, again and again, for a full three minutes. He used the phrase like a pick to chip away at her determination and strip the protective covering from her subconscious.
“Yes, Abigail—” he said relentlessly. “Yes, Abigail. Yes, Abigail. Yes, Abigail. Yes—”
Until finally the girl’s mind was, as it had been fo
r Keyes, at his command.
“All right—please, all right. What do you want me to say? ”
“I want you to tell me exactly what Keyes did to you, what he made you do, everything, every detail. You are to conceal nothing, do you understand?”
It was at this point that Abigail Daniels probably nodded her head, because there was silence on the tape and then Dr. Fox said, “All right, please begin.”
The girl’s voice became lower, reducing almost to a whisper, as if she were afraid that someone other than Fox might hear her. In tortured tones she described how Keyes had taken her from normal sexual intercourse into a labyrinth of deviant activities such as only a twisted mind could conjure and enjoy. From time to time in her monologue Fox would interrupt to interject a comment of his own designed to alleviate some of the guilt she felt so deeply.
“For your own information, my dear,” he would say, “those two are both very common practices which are not considered perversions unless used as a permanent substitute for ordinary intercourse. Do you understand that? ”
She would answer affirmatively and the doctor would then guide her back to the confession she was making. After awhile her voice raised a bit and she seemed to become more used to what she was doing. Several times she stopped speaking, her voice breaking off on an inquisitive note which Fox would immediately answer.
“Yes, well those are animalistic forms of eroticism. Both are definitely perversions indicative of an unbalanced mind. I believe I can conclude from your tone that you enjoyed neither of these practices, am I correct?”
“Yes. I—they made me ill several times.”
“All right, good. We’re doing fine, aren’t we? Go on, please.”
And she continued her terrible revelation.
“—his stepdaughter—a girl about fourteen or so—he kept planning to bring her over some night. He was going to put some kind of dope in something she drank—he said she wouldn’t be able to remember anything we did to her—”
“Did he tell you what he planned to do to her?”
“Oh, yes. Many times. He enjoyed planning—those things.”
“Tell me what the things were.”
She told him of Keyes’ basest desires: tribadism, troilism, paedophilia, the others. And she asked, almost pitifully, “Those are terrible things, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Fox told her candidly. “Quite terrible.”
“They’re perversions, aren’t they?”
“Yes, very definitely.”
“And people who practice them are perverts?”
“People who voluntarily practice them, yes. Someone like yourself, someone who had been mentally coerced into participation, would not be classed as a pervert any more than someone who had been forced at gunpoint to do the same things.”
“But how could I have let him!” she suddenly cried out. “How could I have gone on from one disgusting thing to another like that, letting him use me and treat me the way he did! How, Doctor, how?”
“You let him, as you say, simply because you had no way to stop him,” Dr. Fox answered calmly. “You see, my dear, next to him, next to his vastly superior experience and intellect, his commanding personality, you by comparison were a very weak and hollow individual. You were immature, comparatively uneducated in the broad sense of the word, and quite unaccustomed to the so-called chic and sophisticated world you had entered. It was quite simple for him to see the things you longed for: to be prettier, better dressed, to fit into the glamorous pattern that the lives of other girls seemed to follow. You were very transparent to him, Abigail; he knew instinctively exactly what food you needed for your ego. All he had to do was give you that food—slowly and subtly, so as not to arouse your suspicions. He flattered you, paid attention to you, charmed you, built you up in your own estimation. He made you think that you were somebody—and since no one else did this, it was only natural that you should gradually drift closer and closer to him. He became your alter ego, your second self. You wanted to be a part of something or someone and he suited your requirements perfectly. He knew it, of course, and he took full advantage of it. He called you his little ‘protege’; you and he had a great, exciting secret together. But while you were enjoying it, while you were basking in the sunshine and warmth of this wonderful relationship, he was perpetrating a very clever, step-by-step infiltration of your mind. I’m sure that if you look back and reflect on your relationship with him you will be able to see very clearly just how this was done.”
“Yes,” she said levelly, a bitterness edging into her voice. “I can look back now and see many things that he did to make me a pervert.”
“I don’t want you calling yourself that—”
“Why not?” she almost snarled. “That’s what I am! If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be in a place like this!”
“That is not true, Abigail,” Fox said firmly.
“Oh yes it is!” she contradicted him violently, her voice rising, hardening. “He put me here, the rotten bastard—!”
“Abigail,” the doctor said urgently.
“The goddamned rotten pervert—!”
“Abigail, calm down—here, take my hand again—”
“Pervert, pervert, pervert!”
“Nurse!” Dr. Fox yelled above the girl’s tormented screams.
Then with a click the tape went silent.
Seventeen
Devlin stood in the doorway of a small, darkened shop and watched the thin, misting rain lay a sheet of moisture on the sidewalk before him. His light raincoat was slung folded over one shoulder; he had not put it on because the air was still warm and its humidity was rising rapidly from the wetness of the sudden cloud-burst.
Across the street he could see the entrance and lighted lobby of the building in which Keyes Enterprises had its offices. Most of the lights had been turned off on the upper floors and during the few minutes he had been standing there several groups of people had abandoned the building and dispersed along the drizzly street toward parking lots and bus stops. The blond receptionist, whom Devlin had seen during his brief visit to Keyes’ office, had emerged a moment or so before and hurried off down the street with two other girls. Devlin waited patiently now for Evelyn Lund to come out.
Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly twenty past five. Jennifer, he thought, was probably at his apartment by now and, he hoped, fast asleep; she had, toward the end of their meeting at the Cove, begun to look very drawn and tired. He had seen the weariness creeping into her face shortly after she started telling him about her husband’s activities. Some of it, he knew, was mental strain, arising from the necessity of having to bare her darkest secrets to him; the rest, he supposed, was the result of their extraordinary physical efforts the night before. Both conditions were his fault, of course, and he wondered whether he should not have gone to the apartment with her and seen to it that she went to bed.
If he had done that, however, it would have meant not catching Evelyn Lund after work, and he felt an almost urgent necessity to talk to her again. Now that he had resolved what the relationship was between Keyes and the Daniels girl, it was essential that he find a source of information close to that relationship. He had to find some way—some factual way—to connect Dr. Fox or Reverend O’Hara with the missing man, for only then would he be able to draw a warrant and question them on an official basis. That, for Keyes’ sake, was considerably more important than assuring that Jennifer was resting properly.
The fact that he had now verified many adverse facts about J. Walter Keyes had in no way deterred Devlin’s determination to find the missing man. If anything it had served to stimulate and increase that determination. Nothing, he felt, made justice more deserving of its name than when it was properly served to a man like Keyes. If, as Jennifer had told him, Keyes was involved in any illegal activity, such as the abortions she mentioned, then without question he deserved to be punished accordingly. And if he was, as she believed, a sexual psychopath, then certainly he sho
uld be incarcerated and treated for his sickness. But those were matters for the courts to decide, and as far as Keyes’ personal rights were concerned, it was his privilege to remain at liberty until such time as the law deemed otherwise. If, as Devlin strongly suspected, Dr. Fox and Abraham O’Hara had interfered with that privilege and somehow, for some reason, were responsible for Keyes being missing, then it was his obligation as a representative of the law to correct that injustice—
His thoughts on the matter abruptly terminated as he saw Evelyn Lund emerge from the opposite building and pause to belt a raincoat tightly around her waist. He quickly slipped into his own coat and started across the street on a tangent to intercept her.
“Good evening, Miss Lund,” he said, stepping onto the sidewalk as she hurried along with her head bent slightly against the fine drizzle. She slowed at the sound of her name and a hint of a frown crossed her face at the sight of Devlin.
“Do you remember me?” he asked.
“I remember you, Mr. Devlin,” she said. “You’re the insistent policeman who admires womens’ legs.”
“We didn’t start off too well together, did we?” Devlin said easily. “Perhaps we could start again. May I talk to you for a few minutes?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said mock-pleasantly, closing her collar around her throat. “We’d both catch pneumonia, I’m sure.”
“I didn’t mean here on the street in the rain. I thought we could have a drink somewhere—”
“Really, I don’t see any point to it, Mr. Devlin. You probably noticed that I’m not very cooperative when it comes to answering questions.”
“That was probably because I wasn’t being completely honest with you, and you may have suspected it,” Devlin said frankly. “Incidentally, how is Mr. Keyes’ flu?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” she said coolly. Devlin smiled briefly and took her arm to step both of them nearer to a store front for protection from the rain.
“Look, Miss Lund,” he said, “I’m perfectly willing to be completely frank with you if you’ll do the same with me. I already know, as I’m sure you must by now, that Mr. Keyes is not at home ill with the flu. As a matter of fact he isn’t at home at all; he’s missing and no one seems to know where he is or why. I am trying to find him; quite frankly, I am not having an easy time of it. No one connected with the matter seems in the least interested in giving me any help. Now you seem like an intelligent, reasonable young woman; and whether you know it or not, you may very well be in possession of information that could help me find your employer. All I’m asking is that you give me a few minutes of your time. Won’t you do that?”