“What does the doctor have to say about that? Is that how most people react to Morphenol, I mean, is that normal?”
“I don’t think Abernathy could tell you what a normal response to Morphenol should be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t trust Abernathy or his dreamland wonder drug. He’s supposed to be this hot shot psychiatrist up on all the latest methods in experimental therapy, but I haven’t seen one shred of evidence to prove that’s actually the case. I bet no one here really knows anything about Clark Abernathy other than what we have ‘heard’. You for instance, have you seen anything in print, any recommendations from the psychiatric community?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Just how did you come to be here?” Chet asked.
Elizabeth hesitated. “It was my agent’s idea. He told me several of his clients have been successfully rehabilitated by Dr. Abernathy.”
“And that was good enough for you, wasn’t it? Quick in, quick out, and then back to the glamorous life of a Hollywood movie star.”
“I resent that.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to belittle your work, I’m sure acting can be very difficult and strenuous. But my point is, you needed a quick fix, right? You didn’t want it to become public knowledge that you were seeking psychiatric treatment. You didn’t want to be committed to a mental hospital. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“If you have such little faith in Dr. Abernathy and his methods, then why are you here?”
“I don’t have much of a choice. I know my chances at moon exploration at this point are nil. I want to remain in the space program, but in order to do that I have to go through with the full treatment. Let’s face it, an astronaut with a proclivity for setting fires is a liability.”
“Don’t you have any other options?”
“According to the United States government, this is my only choice.”
“This sounds so sinister.”
Chet laughed. “Keep listening, it gets better. My attorney checked into other options for me. It turns out this is the only thing NASA will consider that will allow me to continue my career as an aeronautic scientist for the US government. While my lawyer was checking out alternative therapies, he did some background investigation into Abernathy’s work in Switzerland.”
“And?”
“And, it’s about as clear as a view of downtown L.A. on a smoggy summer day. For starters, this Medical Center where Abernathy and his partners began their experiments with Morphenol wasn’t part of any university and it wasn’t under the auspices of grants from ‘multiple European governments.’”
“Then what was it?”
“Gigenberg.”
“Should that mean something to me?”
“Abernathy did his European residency at Gigenberg Hospital, an asylum for the criminally insane which was established after the Second World War. The ‘patients’ at Gigenberg were prisoners of war.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, unwilling to accept what Chet was insinuating.
“I mean the only clinical trials for Morphenol were conducted on Nazi war criminals.”
Elizabeth’s mind reeled. The idea was too crazy to believe. She had a hard time believing what Chet said, but maybe there was some shred of truth in his belief. Did Gavin Danvers know the truth about Abernathy’s background? And was it the truth? She didn’t know Chet at all. She thought he was a stand up guy, the All American Boy. But what if pyromania wasn’t his only psychosis? What if he was just trying to undermine Dr. Abernathy’s progress? If Chet was compelled to be here against his will, maybe he made this outlandish accusation out of sheer spite.
She said, “Have you told any of the others about this?”
“It seems I’m in the minority here. This is the Clark Abernathy Fan Club Hour. I said something about it to Joan. I thought she was like me, Christian, conservative, maybe here against her will. That was before I knew her mind had turned half of Southern California into a communist conspiracy”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m confused about a lot of things. Joan’s death was--”
“I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
“Don’t be. It’s food for thought. I just don’t know how to process this information.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“If I were you I would proceed with extreme caution.”
Chapter Ten
When Bryce found her in the dining room Elizabeth was staring absently at the sideboard as if expecting food to magically appear.
“Why the long face?” Bryce asked.
“Do I look that bad?”
“You don’t look bad, Elizabeth, you never look bad. You just look perplexed. Bewildered.”
“I am,” she said.
“What do you say we get out of here? Want to go for a drive in the hills this afternoon with me?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
Less than fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth waited beside the Lamborghini watching Bryce emerge from the house with a wicker picnic basket in one hand and his leather camera equipment bag slung over one shoulder.
He gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“Sorry it took so long. I had to wait until Mrs. Valdez’s was in her office scolding the maids before I could raid the refrigerator. Don’t let that charming exterior fool you. From the sound of it she’s as totalitarian as the rest of them. Of course, it was in Spanish so I didn’t understand a word she was saying.” Bryce hefted the wicker picnic basket into the trunk of the Lamborghini, took off the cameras and placed them securely between the picnic basket and his equipment bag, and slammed the trunk.
“What all have you got in there?”
Bryce winked wickedly. “Have you seen the refrigerator in Mrs. Valdez’s kitchen? It’s like a double walk-in closet. She’s got enough food in there to feed an entire movie crew. And you, my dear, are going to eat. You haven’t eaten all day, have you? Don’t lie, I can tell by the look in your eyes. Look, you’re salivating already.” He wiped an imaginary drop from her chin.
With a flourish he opened the passenger door for her, and once he was situated in the driver’s seat, he pressed a button in the dashboard and the roof retracted behind them. A pair of sunglasses were perched on his head which he slipped down over his eyes and then up again. He squinted up at the sky, and with a shrug, left the sunglasses nestled in the curls on his head.
“Not much of a chance of sunburn today.”
The Lamborghini whipped around the driveway and with an effortless twist of the steering wheel, the car shot fast and smooth down the steep grade of the drive. Elizabeth held her breath, certain they would crash into the security gate, but the man monitoring the camera must have seen them coming, for the gate slid open in time for the car to clear the space without a scratch. The car veered around the corner onto the road that led up into the hills. Elizabeth laughed at Bryce, a kid showing off in his first car, but buckled her seat belt nevertheless.
“You’re not frightened, are you?”
“Of course not,” she lied, but couldn’t help marveling at the smoothness of the ride at such an incredible speed.
Minutes later the car shot to the top of the hill and raced along with the vast vista of the sea to their left. Elizabeth tilted her head back against the vinyl cushion of the car seat, closed her eyes and allowed herself to merge with the sensation of the cool late autumn air as it rushed against her face and hair.
She was glad she had allowed Bryce to talk her into going on this little outing. The day was still gray and overcast, but Elizabeth could see that the mid afternoon sun was struggling to break through the cloud cover.
The road plummeted again and a panoramic view of a deep canyon with rolling valleys unveiled before them. The view was bathed in a mellow light as the sun battled for prominence behind the ever present cloud cover revealing a pattern of symmetrical rows lining the floor of the valley. E
lizabeth realized they must be grapevines that followed the curves of the little hills and valleys nestled beyond the wall of the canyon.
“Is that a vineyard?” She had to shout to be heard over the rushing wind.
Bryce nodded, pointing toward the wooden arch that announced their entrance to Shadow Valley Vineyards. The car sailed around another curve and then shot straight down another incline and sped along between the rows of grapevines.
The air was redolent with the smell of grapes, a smell as intoxicating as if they had an open bottle of wine right there in the front seat of the car.
The car pulled to a halt near a huddle of buildings, the winery, a restaurant and store. Everything seemed to be closed down. Elizabeth guessed it was the off season. A small herd of goats eyed them bashfully from a distance and scattered the moment Bryce stepped out of the car. He opened her door for her and held her hand as they walked across the dusty drive to the store.
“I’m surprised there’s a vineyard this close to the city,” Elizabeth said.
“There are vineyards in the city, too, believe it or not. Do you mean to tell me Sven never took you to a vineyard?”
They were greeted by a dusty old Hispanic woman who curtly informed them that the dining room had closed at two o’clock.
“We brought our own lunch,” Bryce said. “Need a little refreshment to go.”
Except for the wisps of white hair escaping from the bun at the back of her neck she could have been twin sister to Mrs. Valdez. Even Bryce seemed to notice the resemblance. Elizabeth saw a mischievous twinkle in the corner of his eye and an almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. Elizabeth feigned a cough to prevent herself from laughing.
She craned her neck to peer into the dining room. It was small, but quaint, designed and decorated in a style that was more reminiscent of a southern California hacienda than an old European café. She half listened as the old woman rattled off a list of dates and vintages, showing Bryce the labels on various bottles.
At Bryce’s request she poured samples into several small cups, but Elizabeth declined the offer to taste the different wines. “I can wait, I trust your judgment.” Sven had been a connoisseur of wine as well. She knew the difference between white and red and could taste sweet versus dry, but that was the extent of her knowledge.
Bryce made a dramatic show of sniffing and swirling before he settled on two bottles of a 1959 vintage Cabernet Sauvignon. Elizabeth accepted a brochure from the proprietress advertising the annual autumn harvest wine festival.
“You’ve never been to a wine festival?” Bryce said. “They’re lots of fun, like a county fair with a lot of erudite snobs standing around discussing art and politics instead of horse breeding and apple pie recipes. They have grape stomping contests, which are nothing but thinly disguised excuses for men to ogle bare legged young lasses with purple stains on their legs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“We could enter you in one of those contests, but I don’t suppose you’d win unless we fatten you up first. All those buxom Teutonic girls with more meat on their bones will have far more stomping power than you.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. She knew Bryce was making fun of her, but in a good natured way. For the first time in a long time she found herself thinking about the future, looking forward to getting out of here and finishing the production of Masquerade and then go on a month long eating binge to start gaining some of her weight back.
Back on the road the car zoomed up through the hills, around curves, back down through quick dales, zipping out again along the cliff’s edge facing the sea. Bryce pulled the car to the side of the road and hopped out, opening the car door for Elizabeth and helping her out of the car. They were on a bluff overlooking the ocean, another fantastic view not unlike the one from La Casa del Mar. Bryce opened the trunk, handing a bottle of the red wine and the cameras to Elizabeth, and then hoisted out the picnic basket and equipment bag.
They strolled across the road and into the bracken a short ways, coming upon a series of large, flat topped rocks, a perfect place to sit and picnic. It made Elizabeth think of a movie set, and she wondered if Bryce had been here before in order to have picked out such a perfect spot.
Opening the top of the picnic basket he took out a folded cloth and, shaking it, revealed proverbial red and white checks. Elizabeth helped him spread the tablecloth across the flat surface of the rock, and then looked on in amazement as he began unloading the contents of the basket: a container of celery, cucumber spears, and wedges of cauliflower, and a mason jar filled with Mrs. Valdez’s homemade salsa. Next came a wooden cutting board and a wedge of Havarti cheese, a box of stone wheat crackers, a Saran wrapped plate piled with slices of roast beef left over from last nights dinner, and a Tupperware container filled with grapes and cantaloupe. Elizabeth laughed and shook her head as Bryce had finished laying out the spread.
“Mrs. Valdez is going to have a fit when she notices piece of her silver and good china are missing,” Elizabeth chastised him.
“More scolding of the maids, I’m sure,” Bryce said. A corkscrew protracted from his Swiss army knife and the bottle of Cabernet was opened and poured into plastic cups compliments of Shadow Valley Vineyards. Bryce handed her a cup and they touched the rims of the plastic cups together.
“It’s good to see you smile. Three days ago you wouldn’t have cracked a smile if I held you down and tickled you.”
“Good thing you didn’t. I’d have been pretty hacked off and trust me, that’s not a pretty sight.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“You make me laugh. And that’s a good thing.”
“I’m glad. I know we’ve all been through a lot, but the atmosphere in that house can be overwhelming, don’t you think?”
“That’s an understatement. There are so many interesting people there, but listening to their life stories and going over my own experiences, over and over and over, I’m worn out and I haven’t even been here a week. You seem to be doing well.”
“Me? I’ve always been good at hiding my true feelings. I guess I use my sense of humor to masque my pain. Even when I was a boy I was the class clown, making light of the most serious situations.”
“I can see that. How does Dr. Abernathy react to your sense of humor?”
Bryce grinned. “He doesn’t. My jokes fly right over his head. I don’t think the man has a sense of humor. He has this weird way of smiling, have you noticed?”
Elizabeth attempted an imitation of Dr. Abernathy, grimaced, showing her teeth.
“Looks like he’s Lon Chaney ready to grow fangs, doesn’t he?” said Bryce.
“He’s an odd man. I like him, though.”
“At any rate, the way things are going I should be out of here by the end of next week.”
“You’re joking!”
“You caught me.” Bryce shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, for me. We’ve only been here a few days. I think I’m making progress, but what do I know? All I do is talk and talk and talk some more. Every now and then Dr. A will ask me a question, want me to elaborate on something, but he doesn’t have much to say. I guess that’s typical. Psychiatrists tend to be aloof and removed.”
“Tell me about it. Talk about keeping your cards close to your chest.”
“What do you think of him?” Bryce asked.
“I don’t know. He’s interesting. He reminds me somewhat of Sven, and he’s a little bit like my father, too. I don’t know what to make of that, the similarities, I mean. I have a sense that he’s hiding some deep emotional pain as well. I’d love the chance to play analyst with him, get him on the couch and bore down into his brain the way he drills into ours. He doesn’t mind probing into my personal life, but he sure doesn’t like it when I question his.”
“That’s psychiatrists for you.”
“Have you been to many?”
“My mother used to drag me along with her when I was a kid. Even when I was a te
enager she made me go to one on my own, but that was more for her problems than mine. Mom was pretty messed up. I was a pretty normal kid, interested in the usual things. Sports, cars, money, women,” Bryce said with a wink, “and not necessarily in that order. My only problem was that I wanted it all by the time I was eighteen, and I pretty much accomplished what I set out to do. Not nearly on the level that I have now, but I was pretty successful. Captain of the football team my senior year in high school, held two part-time jobs, one of which was working as an apprentice at a local photography studio. I bought my first car before I was even 16. A 1936 Ford Coupe.”
“Get out of here. That’s the kind of car an old lady drives to church on Sundays.”
Night of the Pentagram Page 18