Susan lay quiet after he had gone, trying dutifully to make her mind a blank. It wasn’t easy. It was, in fact, so nearly impossible that she feared her treatment might not do her the good the doctor was hoping for. But gradually, in spite of her worries, the warmth in the room, the soft light, the gentle vibration of the pad under her shoulders worked their usual magic. Everything presently clouded lightly over and she drifted off into a doze.
The sound of voices from downstairs broke into her oblivion. Confusedly she swam to the surface of consciousness. Men seemed to be shouting at each other somewhere downstairs. How could that be, here in this temple of healing? It seemed almost sacrilegious. But the shouting went on.
She was fully awake now. And, in spite of herself, curious. Cautiously she released her arm from the metal band and got up, tiptoed to the door, opened it a little. The muffled voices were quarreling loudly. She stepped into the hall and craned over the balustrade. As she stood there trying to see and hear, a door downstairs was thrown violently open and a big young man came out. She got a good look at his face as he stamped through the lower hall, and he made her think somehow of an American Indian, his face carved out of flat, heavy slabs of muscle and flesh. He moved like an Indian, too, light and smooth, carrying his weight very easily. She had never seen him before.
He paused in the hall and turned to direct one last angry comment to an invisible enemy in the room he had just left.
“—and if you don’t call off your dog I’ll break your God-damned neck for you!” he shouted. He didn’t wait for an answer, but went out rapidly, slamming the door behind him.
Susan tiptoed back into her room, shaking her head. Everybody has troubles, she reflected. Even Dr. Brand. She wouldn’t think about it now. She still had ten minutes of wonderful, relaxing treatment to enjoy before her hour was over. She lay down and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the delightful vibrations of Dr. Brand’s magic machine.
8
Gray’s telephone rang just as he was showing the second patient of the morning out of the office. He picked it up and heard Karen Champion’s voice, tight with anxiety.
“I’ve just come from the hearing,” she said without preamble. “Mr. Gray—they didn’t believe me. The judge dismissed the case. He—he bawled me out right in front of everybody.”
Gray said, “I’m sorry—very sorry,” and meant it.
“But now—” she went on, “well, I don’t know what to do. Dennis was—oh, Mr. Gray, I’m scared. Oliver’s with me—Oliver Albano, you remember him?—but I don’t know what to do next.”
Gray said, “Would you like to drop in and talk about it a little?”
Her voice was grateful. “Yes, I would. This afternoon?”
Gray consulted his calendar and gave her an appointment. After she had hung up he stood there frowning. How much was she exaggerating? Was she in any real danger from Dennis Champion? Was there any way to know, actually, when she was or wasn’t lying? Gray thought it over briefly. Then he dialed Dr. Ettinger’s number. This time Ettinger was in.
“Bob, I want you to tell me something about Karen Champion,” Gray said. “I want to try a little experiment. Can you think of a couple of times when she’s told real whoppers about something? Give me the details if you can.”
Dr. Ettinger, probably with considerable effort, restrained himself from asking what Gray had in mind. Instead, he thought a moment and then reported on two episodes, evidently selecting them from a rich collection of other like ones.
“There was the time she claimed a well-dressed man followed her on the street, shouldered her into a dark alley and jabbed a hypodermic into her arm,” he said. “That one she reported to the police. But since she couldn’t even show the hypo mark, nobody took her very seriously.”
“All right, that’s one,” Gray said. “How about two?”
“Well, here’s one my wife told me about. She and Karen used to be part of a group that gets together to play cards informally every few weeks. One day one of the girls was at her dentist’s. His office is right across from one of the big department stores. From the dentist’s chair this woman noticed Karen go into the store. Quite a long time later she saw her come out again.
“Well, she happened to mention it the next time they met. Just casually asked Karen what she was doing in there all that time. Karen gave her a long story about how she’d been trying on dresses and struck one that looked so wonderful on her the salesgirl called the fashion show producer, and the upshot of it was Karen modeled the dress in the fashion show parade that afternoon.”
“And she didn’t?” Gray asked.
“There wasn’t any fashion show that day. The girl who passed the story on to my wife happened to know it had been called off. She was mean enough to tell Karen so and ask her to explain that one. Karen got very huffy and dropped out of the club. Hasn’t been back since.” Ettinger paused. “How about it?” he asked. “Is that enough?”
Gray said, “Yes, thanks, that ought to do it.”
Rather wistfully Ettinger said, “I suppose you can’t tell me what you’re up to?”
“I’ll tell you later, if it works out,” Gray promised. “I want to have a talk with you about Karen anyhow. We’ll get together for lunch in a day or two. Okay?”
This time Karen Champion was demure in a long gray cashmere coat and a hat like a flowerpot swathed in some filmy gray material. Under it her face looked drawn with anxiety. Demureness hadn’t helped her with the judge.
“Mr. Gray, I don’t know what to do next!” she said, leaning forward in her chair anxiously. “I thought of swearing out a peace warrant against Dennis, but—nobody will believe me. I’m afraid! I don’t know who to turn to. The police won’t help me.”
Gray said, “Let’s talk a little about what actually happened that night. I wonder if you’d go over it for me exactly as you remember it.”
“Well, it began with a crash. That was what woke me….” Karen rehearsed the whole story in considerable detail, rather enjoying herself, though the little frown of anxiety on her face seemed genuine.
Gray sat in silence for a moment after she had finished.
“Suppose it wasn’t your husband,” he said. “Have you any idea who it might be?” She shook her head, looking rather blank. “Well, then—had anyone a key to your apartment? Had you ever lost your own key? Have you anything valuable there a prowler might be after?”
Karen, who had been shaking her head to every question, broke in now. “It had to be Dennis, I tell you! Nothing else makes sense.” She gave him a look of desperate appeal. “Mr. Gray, I want you to take me on as a patient.”
Gray raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“Why? Well—because I—I need help. I know I do. I don’t know where else to turn!”
“What kind of help do you mean?”
“I’ve got to find out how to make people believe me! Dennis could kill me!”
Gray said, “Psychotherapy treats emotional illness, you know. It’s not a substitute for—well, for police protection. The question is whether you really feel you need psychotherapy.”
“Dr. Ettinger says I do,” Karen told him.
“But what do you think?”
She shook her head impatiently and didn’t answer.
“Try it this way,” Gray said. “Is there anything about you you’d like changed?”
Karen looked a little startled. “I don’t know. I never thought about it that way. I suppose … well, no. I don’t want to change. I just want Dennis to leave me alone!”
Gray nodded. “All right. Let me ask you a few questions. For one thing, do you ever play bridge?”
She flashed him a guarded look. “Why?”
“I was just wondering how you handle your social life. That sometimes helps to throw light on a person’s emotional life. How about it? Do you?”
She shrugged impatiently. “I—I used to. Not lately.”
“Why not?”
“What difference does
it make? I don’t know. I just stopped.” Gray waited patiently, saying nothing. After a moment Karen said, “I had a disagreement. One of the girls in the club started telling lies about me.”
Gray said, “What kind of lies?”
Karen shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Her hand had begun to stroke the chair arm again. Gray watched it.
“Just lies,” Karen said.
“What about?”
“Oh—there was some mix-up about a fashion show. It doesn’t matter.” Her hand took a firm grip on the chair arm. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“How does it make you feel?” Gray asked gently.
“Dizzy,” she said, and laughed. “That’s silly. Let’s talk about something else.”
Gray said, “All right. Let’s talk about the hearing today.”
Karen’s grip on the chair arm relaxed.
“Why do you suppose the judge wasn’t convinced by your story?” Gray asked.
Karen flushed. “I expect you know,” she said resentfully. “I expect Dr. Ettinger told you.”
“I wish you’d tell me,” Gray said.
Karen’s fingers closed around the chair arm again, tentatively, not tightly. “I’ve had some very frightening experiences in my life,” she said. And then, for a moment, she went quite silent and sat there staring at Gray wide-eyed, as if she’d uttered some profound, illuminating truth without intending to. Gray held his breath. But she shook her head and laughed a little, uncertain laugh. “I don’t know,” she said.
“What were you thinking about just then?” Gray asked.
“A dream I used to have. Still do—I think.” Now she had a death-grip on the chair. “A kind of nightmare, only I never can remember it when I wake up.”
“Do you want to try to remember it now?”
She shook her head decisively.
“Does it make you feel anxious?”
She nodded this time, still without speaking.
Gray said, “It often happens that recurring dreams or dreams that make us very anxious have a special meaning. You see, most people have problems somewhere in their lives that are too painful to think about. So our minds try to bury them out of sight and forget them. But that’s a very poor way to treat any kind of infection. And it never really works. You can’t get rid of a trouble by ignoring it. These painful memories almost always try to struggle to the surface one way or another. A recurring dream is one way. They can give us important clues to what the real trouble is if we know where to look. Because the dream almost never states the actual problem—it just hints at it.”
Karen said positively, “I haven’t any problems like that.”
“Maybe not,” Gray said in an agreeable voice. “Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones.”
Karen frowned. “How do you mean—the dream just hints at the problem?”
“Well, I’ll give you an example. A young woman I once knew kept dreaming she came home from work and found her apartment full of small wild animals. She felt extreme anxiety about how she could possibly feed and care for them in a city. She didn’t know what to do. Each time, in the dream, she finally chased them out of the apartment, telling herself it was lucky they were wild animals, because they could take care of themselves. It seemed to take her hours to get the last ones out. They’d run everywhere except out the door. When she was finally through she’d sit down with a feeling of tremendous relief. But when she woke, the anxiety was back.”
Karen laughed. She had let go the chair arm now.
“Where’s the clue in that?” she asked.
“Oh, there could be lots of interpretations. The one the girl herself gave it was that when she was a child she’d had to take care of smaller brothers and sisters because her mother had died. She resented the work. At the time she started this dream she was pregnant for the first time. It meant she’d have to leave her job and stay home doing the same kind of work she’d learned to hate. She hadn’t realized how much she resented the baby she was expecting. In the dream, the coming baby and the brothers and sisters she’d taken care of long ago were all mixed up with the wild animals. She felt if she could only get rid of them they’d learn to take care of themselves and she’d be free. But she knew a wild animal would be helpless in the city, and the children would have been helpless without her, so the anxiety was never relieved by the solution the dream offered her. She had to find a solution in real life.”
“And did she?’
Gray nodded. “Once she realized what her real feelings were about the baby she was able to sort out what was valid and what wasn’t in her reactions. It took time, of course. But the dreams stopped when she recognized what they’d been trying to tell her.”
Karen sat silent. Gray waited. Finally he said, “What are you thinking about?”
Karen laughed. “I was worrying about all those little animals running around.”
Gray laughed with her. “Well, let’s get back to you,” he said. “You were mentioning some frightening experiences you’d had.”
Karen drew a deep breath. “Once lately a man climbed up and looked in my window. I called the police. I don’t think they believed me that time, either. That’s why the judge thought I wasn’t telling the truth today.”
“Is that the only frightening thing that’s happened to you?”
Karen took a hard grip on the chair arm and said rapidly, “Oh, there’ve been one or two other times when—when things like that happened. Once somebody tried to kidnap me. It’s over now. Let’s talk about something else.”
“I’d like to know a little more about this kidnaping,” Gray suggested. “Could you give me a few details?”
Karen said vaguely, “He—he was well dressed. He followed me. He—oh, nothing came of it, so why should I upset myself remembering? The police didn’t believe anything really happened that time, either.”
Gray said in a soft voice, “And did it?”
She shut her eyes, gripped the chair, and said, “It did, it did!”
“All right,” Gray said. “I have to ask you about one thing, though, where I think you must have misunderstood me pretty badly. I met your husband recently and he told me you’d persuaded me to help get him judged insane. If you’ll think back, you’ll remember I didn’t say anything like that at all.”
Karen let go the chair arm, sat straighter and met his gaze candidly. “I know you didn’t. I’m not a fool.”
“Then why did you tell your husband—”
“Oh, that was a lie,” Karen said.
Gray blinked. “You could have got into trouble,” he said, “if anybody took you seriously. Do you often tell lies like that?”
“Everybody tells lies sometimes. I just wanted to scare Dennis. Mr. Gray, Dennis isn’t a normal man any more.” She leaned forward earnestly. “It isn’t just my opinion. People who know him well think so too. For his own good and everybody else’s he really ought to be put away. Look at what happened Wednesday night! He—”
Gray said, “If you’re serious about this, Mrs. Champion, you could probably arrange a sanity hearing. I think Dr. Ettinger and your lawyer should be consulted about that.”
“All right, then,” Karen said. “I’ll see them today. I’ve got to do something to protect myself.” She gathered her gloves and handbag together and stood up. “The quicker the better,” she added.
Gray rose too. “Do you want to come back again next week for another talk?” he asked.
“I don’t see why,” Karen said. “If I can get Dennis under control I’ve got nothing to worry about, have I?”
Gray smiled. “There was some talk of my taking you on as a patient.”
Karen laughed. “Maybe you’ve already cured me. I feel much better, just talking to you this way.” She sobered and said, “Actually, if I had any serious problems I’d come to you for help. But as it is—” She shrugged.
Gray said, “Well, I’ll be interested in how things work out. I hope you’ll keep me posted. And any time you wan
t to talk things over, I’m usually here.”
Gray opened the door for her. Oliver Albano was sitting stolidly in the outer office. He rose with his smooth, controlled ease.
“That didn’t take long,” he said. “Karen, I’d like to talk to Mr. Gray. Would you mind? If you have a few minutes, Mr. Gray?”
Gray waited for Karen’s reaction. She only gave Albano a curious glance and said, “All right. I’ll wait in the car.” She flashed Gray a smile and went out. Albano frowned as he looked after her.
“Do you want to come inside?” Gray asked.
“No—this will only take a minute. What I want to know is—you’ll look out for Karen, won’t you?”
Gray said, surprised, “I’m not sure I understand. I doubt very much if she’d accept help from me. She doesn’t seem to want therapy.”
Albano snorted.
“Hell. She told me you’d already started treating her.”
Gray smiled. “Therapy isn’t what she wants. She wants the external situation changed. I can’t do much about that. A person has to be conscious of internal conflicts before he’ll bother to try to solve them.”
Albano said, “Damn it, she’s a nice kid. But I’m sorry I ever got mixed up with her. It isn’t worth it. I wish to God Joyce had warned me about Karen.” He hesitated and coughed. “Champion’s got nothing to be jealous about. Karen won’t even go to bed with me.” He regarded Gray questioningly. “Look, if it’s a matter of money—would you take on Karen if I—”
“No, it isn’t that. Therapy’s no use at all if the patient doesn’t want it. The patient’s the one who does the work. As soon as it gets painful—and it gets very painful, very quickly—many of them drop out.” Gray smiled. “Often, those are the ones who say therapy’s a racket and doesn’t work. But you can see why nobody can shanghai Mrs. Champion into treatment she doesn’t want.”
Albano said uneasily, “If anybody ever needed it, she does. I wish I knew what to do about her.”
Michael Gray Novels Page 56