by Джеффри Лорд
«Oh, Dick,» she whispered, pulling his head down, pulling herself up. They kissed. She realized that if he killed her she wouldn’t mind. It would be all right.
The darkness was settling in around them.
A plane passed overhead, blinking its lights red, green, white, red, green, white.
Gently she pulled herself free of his arms.
«Will you come with me to my room?» she asked, her voice shaking.
He nodded, but his face was in shadow so she could not read his expression.
They started back toward the mansion.
Zoe noticed, as she passed them, the two white-clad guards standing in the bushes, tranquilizer pistols in hand.
When Richard emerged from Zoe’s room shortly before noon the following day, J and two guards were patiently waiting for him in the hall.
«Good morning, J,» Richard said, smiling.
«Good morning, Richard,» J answered, returning the smile somewhat stiffly. «You look refreshed.»
«I feel positively top-hole.» Richard yawned and stretched. Indeed, in his white T-shirt and white slacks (though the slacks were rumpled) he looked top-hole, at least physically.
J said, «You had an appointment with Dr. Colby this morning. Did you forget?»
«That’s right!» Blade snapped his fingers. «It completely slipped my mind. I’m awfully sorry, really I am. Why didn’t you remind me?»
J looked down, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. «I did not think you’d want to be disturbed.»
«You’re always a true gentleman, sir. How refreshing in this decadent age!» At times like this Blade was as charming as a pet giant panda. J could not stay angry with him.
«Well, come along to lunch, Richard. Dr. Colby will be able to give you another appointment this afternoon, I’m sure.» J turned and started down the hall.
«That’s good of him.» There was no trace of sarcasm in Richard’s voice, yet J glanced at him sharply. Blade’s roughhewn features were expressionless, perhaps too expressionless. J realized with uneasiness that Richard’s animal cunning was returning much more rapidly than his memory.
The two men went downstairs side by side in silence, the guards a few steps behind.
As they entered the sunlit dining room, J noticed Richard’s glance darting around the room, taking in every detail in an instant. The rectangular tables. The paper plates and plastic tableware. The paper tablecloths. The patients, some of whom turned to eye the newcomers sullenly. The doctors and nurses at the head table. J thought, What’s he looking for?
Colby waved and smiled.
«Let’s sit at the head table,» J suggested.
«As you like,» Blade agreed.
They made their way down the center aisle, between two rows of tables. The murmur of conversation went on. Some of the patients had begun eating. Others were waiting as the harassed waiters rushed to and fro from the kitchen and back. Too few waiters. J took this as yet another indication, that poor Colby’s sanitarium was, at best, a marginal operation from the financial standpoint.
Colby stood up and leaned forward to shake hands, first with Richard, then with J. J noted (and he was sure Richard must have noticed too) that the lean psychiatrist’s palms were sweating.
«Do sit down,» Colby said brightly. «And where is the charming Mrs. Smythe-Evans?»
«She decided to sleep in,» Richard answered, pulling back a chair.
Colby sat down. «I’m sure she’ll be able to find a snack later.»
«No doubt,» Richard agreed.
J and Richard found themselves facing Colby across the table, the patients behind them. With a quick glance over his shoulder, J reassured himself that the two guards were still on duty, then saw that Blade was watching him and felt, for some reason, deeply embarrassed.
Colby too was ill at ease, so it was Blade who, after a considerable period of strained silence, said, «I want to apologize for missing my session with you this morning, Dr. Colby.»
Colby, speaking with his mouth full, answered, «That’s quite all right.»
«Could I have another appointment for this afternoon?» Blade inquired.
J felt a twinge of surprise. This was the first time Richard had shown more than the most perfunctory cooperation in his therapy. Now, suddenly, Richard was requesting an appointment!
Colby, also surprised, said, «Of course. Two o’clock is open.»
«Two o’clock it is.» Richard smiled warmly, then added, «I’ve been bonkers for over ten years, haven’t I?»
Colby said sharply, «Did someone tell you that?»
Richard shook his head. «If you wanted to keep it a secret, you should have gotten rid of all the calendars in this place.»
J said guardedly, «You haven’t been-as you put it bonkers for that long.»
«How long then?» Richard demanded.
«A little over a week,» J replied.
Colby shot J a warning glance. «It’s best if these things come out under controlled conditions, during therapy. Has your memory started to return, Mr. Blade?»
Blade mused, chewing on a chicken leg, then said, «So, it’s amnesia I’m in for. No, I’m afraid my memory isn’t coming back, but I do have eyes.»
Very sharp eyes, thought J. He wondered how long Richard had been playing dumb and watching, watching, watching. In fact, Richard was not above pretending not to remember even though completely recovered. The man was a trained special agent, damnit! Deception was his business. And they had only Richard’s few, perhaps deliberately misleading, remarks to go on.
J found himself staring at Blade’s profile, trying to read that unreadable face.
Blade said suddenly, «Have I killed someone?»
Colby stiffened but did not reply. J, too, found himself unable to speak.
Blade nodded slowly. «I see that I have.»
Colby said, «How did you guess?»
Blade gestured with his plastic fork toward the two nearby guards. «You’re watching me so closely. You’re all so frightened of me. I knew I must have done something frightful.» Who was it I did in?»
Colby said, «It wasn’t your fault. It’s better we don’t talk about it now.» He had turned quite pale.
Blade said, «Not polite lunch conversation, eh? Well, I’ll see you at two this afternoon, doctor. I promise you a more than usually interesting hour.»
Richard was the only one at the table who was smiling.
Chapter 10
Dr. Saxton Colby was radical in his willingness to explore the more hidden and occult aspects of the mind, to advance into those shadowed areas normally reserved for quacks, charlatans, fanatics and madmen. In this he followed the example of the great psychologist C.J. Jung. In his therapeutic methods, however, Colby was an archconservative. Thus his office was furnished with an old-fashioned psychoanalytical couch, not unlike the one used by Dr. Freud in Austria in the early years of this century, the favored symbol of cartoonists to this day. The couch was a Victorian antique, armless, raised at one end, deep-tufted, fringed all around, and upholstered in maroon crushed plush. As Richard Blade sat down on it, Colby looked on with ill-concealed agitation.
«Lie back and relax, Richard,» the doctor instructed.
Richard obeyed. «Like this?»
«Exactly.»
Colby quickly crossed to close the heavy maroon window drapes, plunging the small cluttered room into semidarkness, then returned to seat himself behind the couch on a sturdy Morris chair, outside Richard’s field of vision, next to a three-foot-tall pedestal on which rested a lifesize bronze bust of the logotherapist Joseph Fabry.
Colby opened his notepad, and with his faintly gleaming silver ballpoint pen wrote Richard’s name and the date at the head of the first blank page he came to. He glanced at Richard, who seemed, in white T-shirt and slacks, almost to be glowing. He thought, Today we’ll make some progress. Five daily one-hour sessions had thus far yielded Colby little more than Richard’s name, rank and serial number, plus the defi
nite impression that Richard had mislaid ten years and was in no hurry to track them down. Colby pursed his lips and waited. When Richard said nothing, he prompted, «In the dining room you promised me an interesting hour.»
«So I did,» Richard mused. «I fully intend to keep that promise.»
«Have any more memories returned?»
«No, but I am gradually beginning to understand what’s happened to me, by detective work rather than recall. You’re a detective of sorts, aren’t you?»
«One might say that.»
«Your job is to unearth all your patients’ dirty little secrets. That’s detective work. You might do well in my line, doctor. I think I’d do well in yours.»
«You don’t say. Do you think you could-as you put it-unearth all my dirty little secrets?» Colby had confronted this psychological gambit before. In fact, sooner or later every patient took a turn at trying to switch places with the therapist. They were never very good at it, but the false ideas they came up with were often their own problems projected, and thus worth listening to.
«Nothing profound, of course. Your speech tells me you’ve lived in London, Scotland and Ireland,» said Blade.
«Well, not bad. You’re right so far.»
«You were educated in the USA, or at least went to a university here.»
«Right again. Did you get that from the way I talk?»
«No, but from where I’m lying I can see the books on your shelves. All the college-level texts are from American, not British, publishers.»
«Bravo!» Colby was genuinely amused.
«The books also tell me you have a lasting and deep interest in the occult. It would take time to collect as many occult titles as you have, and some of them are books of considerable rarity and value. You’ve spent money on those books, doctor, as well as time.»
«Right again!»
«You come from a theatrical family. «
«What? How did you guess that?»
«Your movements. The way you project. The theater-probably the legitimate theater-has left its mark on you, yet you yourself have no greasepaint in the blood. Your library, though it contains works of fiction, does not boast a single collection of plays or book on the theater.»
«Very clever, Mr. Blade.»
«You did not like your father.»
«Now you’re simply guessing.»
«No, I’m not. Your profession is so profoundly different from his you could not have chosen it without a violent rupture. Show business is a particularly difficult subculture to escape from, but you appear to have managed it all too well. At the same time your occultism and your stance in your profession is rebellious. I sense in your attitude toward the father-figures of psychology a carried-over hostility toward your own father. A substantial hostility, since it still influences you so much after all these years!»
Colby had become uncomfortable. Richard was hitting much too close to the mark. «That’s enough Sherlocking, Richard. Can we get back to you? It is you, not I, who has a problem.»
«I’ve solved my problem, doctor.»
«You have? How?»
«By forgetting it.»
Colby burst out laughing. When he could speak, he said, «I shall remember that one, Richard. You’re a wit, aren’t you, as well as a detective and amateur psychotherapist?»
«On your desk is a photo of a little girl. From the fading of the color it must be an old photo. Your daughter?»
«Yes, but…»
«Odd you have no more recent photos. Is she dead?»
«Yes, only I…»
«And no photos of a wife, no photos of the girl’s mother.»
«Dammit, I… «
«Anger? Are you angry? The mother’s not dead, yet it is obvious neither she nor any other woman is sharing your present life. If she were dead we’d see her photo alongside your daughter’s, wouldn’t we? And I’ve seen how you speak to the female members of the staff, of whom there are surprisingly few. I sense a divorce, Dr. Colby, a divorce in which you were deeply hurt, a divorce from which you have not even now recovered, a divorce that poisons your relationship with every woman you meet.»
Colby leaped to his feet. «Stop that! Stop!»
«Am I wrong?» Richard asked mildly.
After a long pause Colby said, «No, you’re quite right.» His voice was barely audible. «But I am not the patient here. You are.»
Blade said gently, «Sit down, Saxton.» Colby was about to protest against the undue familiarity, the blatant bossiness, but instead he did as he was told. Blade went on, «I know you want to help me. Believe me when I say you cannot. Each of us has a blind spot. Mine is that I cannot accept the kind of help you offer, even to save my life. I have always made my own decisions, helped myself, and my training has enforced that habit. In the field I have always had to act more or less on my own, and I certainly could never confide in anyone. As I may have told you, I have not been a docile agent, have even deliberately disobeyed orders several times, though thankfully it all turned out right. I have made mistakes, but they have been my own mistakes. I’m rather fond of them, since they’ve taught me so much. Now, with or without my memory, I intend to continue to make my own decisions, to ask no help from anyone, to reserve for myself all judgments of what is true and false, right or wrong, real or unreal. Do you understand?»
Colby felt a gray hopelessness, which he did not bother to conceal, as he replied, «I understand that there is no point in you and I continuing to work together.»
Richard sat up and turned to look at Colby, saying, «That’s not so, Saxton. While I am the sort who, ultimately, can’t be helped, you are a different breed of man. You care what people think of you, you listen to advice, you can accept help.»
«From whom?»
«From me, Saxton.»
Saxton considered this for some time, then said softly, «All right.»
When the hour reserved for Richard was up, Colby’s secretary said over the intercom, «Time for your next patient, doctor.» Her tone was crisp and businesslike.
Colby answered, his voice oddly hoarse, «Cancel all my appointments for the rest of the afternoon.»
«Yes, sir.» The woman was puzzled but submissive.
Four hours later the door to Dr. Colby’s office opened and Colby and Richard Blade emerged. Blade had his arm around the doctor’s shoulders and the secretary could not help but notice that Colby’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
«Is there something wrong, doctor?» she demanded.
«Not anymore,» Colby answered, a strange peaceful smile lighting up his gaunt features. She had never seen such relief, such calm, such inner stillness in a human face. It actually frightened her.
The two men passed her and entered the hallway, and she could have sworn she heard Dr. Saxton Colby turn to the hulking Richard Blade and say, «Thank you, Blade. Thank you. Thanks.»
She rolled her eyes heavenward, then went on reading her magazine.
After supper, when Zoe and Richard went upstairs, the usual guards trailed along behind them, two husky white-clad men with tranquilizer pistols.
«Do they watch you all the time, Dick?» she asked.
Richard smiled ironically. «When I’m safely locked in my room at night, they are satisfied to only spot-check me at half-hour intervals.»
«They lock you in every night?»
He nodded. «That’s right. They either lock me in or watch me. I daresay there was someone outside your door all last night.» He gestured toward a door they were passing. «They keep their weapons in there. Note the combination padlock. That’s a mistake.»
«A mistake?»
«On their part.» He blew on his fingertips. «Colby is keeping special services men here, and many of us have a way with combination locks. Dr. Colby is a good man in his field, but MI6 is well rid of him. He’s too careless.»
Blade opened the door to his bedroom and ushered her in. When he had closed the door he stood a moment, finger to lips, then relaxed, sayi
ng, «They didn’t lock us in. That means they’ll be standing guard out there.» He crossed to the window. «I should warn you not to say anything obscene. We wouldn’t want to shock whoever it is that is on duty at the listening post.»
She followed him. «Listening post?» she said.
«Of course. We must assume this room is bugged. And of course the heavy bars on the window are rigged with a burglar alarm. Isn’t it reassuring to know we’re being taken care of so well?»
She stood beside him at the barred window, watching the color fade from the evening sky. His arm slipped around her shoulders and rested there, and once again she felt that familiar rush of ambivalent emotion he always inspired in her. He was like a bear in a cage, warm, seemingly docile, yet not tame, not a safe pet, perhaps dangerous. Was he plotting his escape? Was escape possible? No, there was no way even Richard Blade could get out of this place!
Abruptly Richard broke in on her thoughts with, «At supper Dr. Colby called you Mrs. Smythe-Evans. Did you marry during those years I’ve forgotten?» His voice was casual, as if commenting on the weather.
«Yes, but you must understand…»
«I was under the impression that you were going to marry me. «
«That wasn’t possible.» She was flustered, a little defiant.
«Why not?» He was calm, seemingly emotionless.
«You were a stranger. Everything about you was a secret. But even so, I was willing. It was you, after your first enthusiasm wore off, who backed away from the idea.»
She saw a grimace pass fleetingly across his face, saw his eyes close. He said, «I’m remembering things. More than I’ve let on. I’ve been remembering bits and flashes since… I don’t know. But I’ve been pushing them out of my mind. They’re too insane to be real.»
«Remembering what?»
«A machine. Some kind of computer that sends me into alien universes.»
«It’s not insane, Dick. It’s true. That machine is what destroyed our relationship, though I didn’t know it at the time.»
«It’s true? The swordsmen? The primitive societies? The monsters? It’s not just my nightmares?»