Returning to the sitting room, she saw that the tray and dishes had disappeared, another example of Romwald's stealth. She went back to the hall and tried the outside door, but found it locked. She had half-expected it to be so, given the general tenor of her visit so far. Well, if the building caught on fire during the night, she could always go out the window, she supposed, so there seemed no real harm. But she still felt rather like a prisoner, even if she now knew that she would be one of the most handsomely paid prisoners of all time.
Catherine was exhausted, but too restless to sleep, so she drew all the curtains and settled herself in the sitting room, reading one of the books there. The selection in this room was somewhat unexpected in a medical doctor's home, as it seemed to be all literature. She picked a copy of Jane Eyre, a story she remembered loving as a girl. After a while, when it must've been quite late, she heard voices in the main house, then a door opening. She heard scratching on the outside door to the west wing, and what sounded like the doctor's voice saying, "No, dear, not there, no. Come away to bed. You're tired. We'll talk about it tomorrow." The scratching continued, then there was some unidentifiable growling, and finally Catherine jumped and sat bolt upright at the sound of a very high, loud, and sustained shriek. There was the sound of scuffling, more growling, and the door to the main house slamming shut. Then Catherine was left sitting there for several minutes that seemed so very much longer -- eyes wide, heart pounding, breathing through her nose in short and silent huffs, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair as tightly as she could, until she darted to her bedroom and locked the door.
After those nocturnal events, Catherine quite understandably did not sleep well, but she roused herself early, dressed, and went to the sitting room where breakfast had appeared as surreptitiously as dinner had. She ate, then puttered about the room until the little clock on the mantle there finally chimed nine o'clock. At that point, she dared to try the outside door, which was now unlocked. She found the door to the main building similarly unfastened, and she entered. Not having been instructed where to go at nine, she went to the only room she knew, the doctor's study, and knocked on the door.
It was almost immediately opened, and there again was Dr. Wallston. "Good morning, Dr. MacGuire," he said as he stepped aside and motioned for her to enter the study. "I hope you are rested and ready to begin your work this morning."
Catherine felt enough toadying had been done yesterday, and she needed to know a bit more of the goings on here if she were ever to survive and not go mad from lack of sleep, never mind be able to conduct her treatment effectively. "My nighttime rest did suffer from some unusual noises, doctor."
He frowned slightly. "Yes, I'm sorry about that. I had certainly hoped you were asleep by then. It was, as I'm sure you guessed, the patient. Sleep is perhaps the most difficult of her daily routines, for the medicines she is taking leave her exhausted, but also agitated, so she is both too tired, yet unable to fall asleep. But she is resting and recuperating physically right now and we will see her shortly."
Catherine nodded, but also frowned. At least she knew the patient's gender, but she would need much more information. And how could the doctor have a female patient here alone in his home? Perhaps she was a relative, an unfortunate sister or niece.
"Doctor, I'm sure you know enough of psychoanalysis to understand that I must have a great deal of the patient's history and the exact nature of the disorder before I can even begin to proceed. I will need that before I see her this morning."
"Of course, yes, I understand. I'm afraid, however, that it is quite complicated, to say the least, for she suffers both physical and mental disorders. Much of her condition will have to be shown to you, in order for you to appreciate it fully, rather than simply explained. But I know that I must do everything I can to give you the information you require, as difficult as it may be for me." He still had not sat, nor offered her a seat, which seemed strange, but the stress of explaining the situation seemed to be distracting him from the basics of propriety or even simple practicality, so there they stood as he continued to describe the situation. "I am sure you know that my wife died late last year. Christmas Day, to be exact."
"Yes, doctor, I had heard. Everyone in the medical community was greatly saddened by your loss."
"She was much younger than I, even a little younger than you, so it just wasn't fair. I took it upon myself to right that injustice, Dr. MacGuire. What no one outside of this house knows is that I was able to revive her that Christmas Day."
Catherine tried to fit the statement into the accepted categories of medical phenomena and physical laws of biology. "Revived? You mean, she was only unconscious and she awakened? Or was she briefly in a coma?"
Dr. Wallston shook his head very slowly and again did not take his eyes off her, nor she off him. "No, definitely not a coma. All respiration and heartbeat had stopped. Physical death by any definition we know."
Catherine could feel her eyes widening, but she was still trying to understand what the doctor was saying or implying, and she was still not willing or able to step beyond the boundaries of logic or reason. She blinked and tried to will her eyes into a calm and controlled expression, even as she felt them not cooperating. "Then I don't understand what you're saying, doctor."
"That's why I had so much trouble broaching this with you. When my wife fell ill, I greatly accelerated the experiments I had been performing on stimulation of the brain and nervous system. I barely slept for months, not just proceeding along the paths I had already charted, but constantly trying new methods, elixirs, or chemical compounds, even those from unorthodox sources. Chinese and African folk medicine, leaves chewed by South American warriors before going into battle that supposedly give them superhuman strength and bravery, reports of trance-like states induced in people in the Caribbean or in charismatic Christian sects, even speculations about the volcanic gases that might have seeped up into the Temple at Delphi to 'inspire' the oracle there. I investigated practically any heightened mental state that had ever been reported, to see if I could reproduce any part of it. I, of course, did not want just the sleep or stupor that so many plants and drugs induce. If I were to find something that might help my wife, then I needed to know what causes the frenzy, the ecstasy, the whirling dervish, the rapid-fire glossolalia, all the phenomena where people seem to go outside themselves and beyond their normal consciousness, not just sink down into it, as in sleep or death."
He paused to shake his head again. "But of course, my experiments on animals showed me how little the body could tolerate such extreme forces. Our little garden is the graveyard for hundreds of animal corpses that have broken backs, burst blood vessels, compound fractures from their mad convulsions, paws bitten off as they ravaged themselves, faces torn off by their own frenzied claws. When my poor Victoria finally died of fever, I had developed a chemical compound so potent and yet so precisely calibrated to her size and weight that I thought it might be able to excite and stimulate the nervous system even of a corpse... without, I prayed, destroying the subject in the process. Once she passed, I had to work very fast, of course, before there was brain damage, but she had already been packed in ice to try to quell the raging fever. It gave me the time I needed to administer the elixir. And, in short, it worked. My Victoria awoke, stood up, walked, and spoke. She was back with us. I was overjoyed." There was a faint smile at the recollection of a moment that must have been the happiest and proudest of his life.
Catherine still did not quite believe what she was hearing, but at least it had been presented to her in terms that skirted close to the logical and possible. "But, why would you keep this secret? If this is what happened, then this is the greatest medical breakthrough in all of human history."
His smile vanished as he shook his head again, slower and more sadly than ever, and she felt a lump in her own throat, seeing his beautiful eyes glistening with tears. "Oh, I certainly thought so, at first. Even before I had properly rejoiced with Victoria myself, I was thinking of
when I could get to town to send the telegram, informing the world of my Great Deed. The Nobel Prize? There would be no prize commensurate to the very conquest of death itself!" His frown was more of a sneer now and he nearly spat the words out. "Fool! Proud, vain fool! There is no prize for being the maddest fool that ever lived. So intent on how I could cheat death, I never stopped to think of whether I should, of whether such a thing would be good, or damnable. No, doctor, I soon saw that one does not advertise, let alone brag, when one violates the most basic -- I dare say, the most sacred -- laws of nature. For beginning soon after she awakened, Victoria has been overwhelmed by an all-consuming rage which I do not understand, which she will not explain and cannot control, and which Romwald and I struggle to contain, lest she hurt herself or someone else. I have conquered her body's death, only to make all of us prisoners to her mind's torment. This is why I have sought out your help."
"Dr. Wallston, I don't know what to say to such an account." But Catherine's practicality again asserted itself, despite the unbelievability of the doctor's story. For ultimately, it made little difference what Mrs. Wallston's exceptional, even unique physical journey had been. Today she was a patient whose pain Catherine might be able to diminish, and immediately that settled all other matters. "I will do whatever I can to treat Mrs. Wallston and improve her condition. Please know that I will do whatever is necessary, whatever is possible, and whatever is within my power and knowledge." She knew it was terribly forward, even scandalous, but she couldn't help putting her right hand on his arm, lightly. "If there is anything in modern science that can cure her pain and yours, I will find it." And despite her skeptical statements of the previous day, she felt it necessary to add, "God willing."
He let her hand stay where it was for just a moment, before stepping back slightly and letting Catherine withdraw her hand. "Yes, I believe you will agree how necessary God's will is in this matter, when you see the severity of the problem." He walked to a large, dark wooden dresser and opened the top drawer. "Please come over here, Dr. MacGuire." She stood next to him and saw that in the drawer was a leather jerkin of some kind, together with large, thick gloves of the same material, and a metal helmet, much like the soldiers had worn in the Great War, though with the sides bent down more, so that they would come closer to the wearer's collar, covering more of the ears and neck. "She's so violent that I must ask you to wear these, at least when you first meet her. Romwald wore them at first, but she's gotten used to him and me. It's mostly changes in the routine now that send her into a murderous frenzy. She becomes so savage that she may even try to bite you, and you must be especially on guard against that, for the wound might be so septic as to be fatal." He held up the jerkin. "I wouldn't want you hurt."
"Oh, do you want me to take that back to my room and put it on?" She didn't quite understand what he was suggesting.
Dr. Wallston saw her confusion, and blushed now at his own lack of perception. "Oh, no, it fastens in the back, there's no way you could put it on yourself." At this Catherine was blushing much more than he, though his own redness deepened several shades beyond hers when he realized what she thought he was suggesting. "Oh, but it's very large, as we made it for Romwald, so you need only take off your jacket, nothing more."
Catherine cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Having a man watch her unbutton her jacket seemed much more lewd than the simple fact of being in front of him in only her blouse, so she turned her back to the doctor as she unfastened the buttons, removed her jacket, and draped it over a chair. She turned back towards him and he held up the leather jerkin so she could put her arms in it. She then had to turn away from him so he could fasten it. There was a pause. "Dr. MacGuire, I'm sorry, I hadn't reckoned on all the details of having a woman wear this. May I ask you to let down your hair? It won't fit under the helmet otherwise, I'm sure."
The blood was rushing back to her face again. "Well, at least fasten the jacket and then I'll take care of my hair."
There was another pause. "That would be another problem. I think it best if the hair went under the jacket. Again, changes and surprises seem to incite my wife to a particular fury, and I am afraid the site of your long, red hair would be much like the red capes bullfighters use."
Catherine knew her hair incited enough negative attention in men, she hardly doubted that it could have a similarly deleterious effect on a deranged woman. But it was still galling, as though she flaunted it or brought it on herself. What was she supposed to do? She was already three-quarters of the way to being a eunuch; she bitterly thought how she might as well shave her head and finish the job. She half turned back toward Dr. Wallston, her eyes narrowed, her teeth clenched, and her voice just a whisper. "What are you implying, doctor?"
He was stammering and as flustered as she. "Nothing. Please, doctor, I just think concealing your hair would be more therapeutic at this time."
"I see." Catherine turned away from him again. As with the buttons, to let down her hair while facing him would be more whorish than anything she could imagine or endure. She reached up and pulled out the pins and let her hair fall. Dr. Wallston took the rather enormous flow of curls and laid it on her back, then gathered in the strays locks and gently smoothed down the soft and vibrant mass with his hands. Catherine very deliberately kept herself from stiffening or flinching at his very nearly inappropriate touch, but really, she felt little inclined to bristle, for his touch was neither suggestive, nor was it as awkward and tense as their verbal exchange had just been. Instead, she could immediately feel how he had successfully earned his reputation as a seducer, for his touch was purely and simply comfortable, confident, and natural.
Equally comfortable was how he finished, letting her hair alone before it became impossible to ignore the inappropriateness of their position, leaving her with a calm and pleasant memory instead of more embarrassment. She could feel him fastening the lowermost hook, then working his way up, tucking her hair in at each hook. When he was finished, she turned and he offered her the gloves and the helmet. She put these on. There was a mirror above the chest and she saw herself, how absurd she looked, like some Medieval pageboy at a battle or tourney. All she needed was a halberd or lance to complete the picture.
Dr. Wallston checked his pocket watch. "Let us go prepare to see the patient, doctor. It's nearly time."
Dr. Wallston led Catherine into a hallway near the back of the house where there was a pale blue curtain suspended on the wall. The curtain did not reach the floor, but only hung down about halfway. Dr. Wallston pulled the curtain aside, revealing a window behind it, about a foot high and six feet wide, set at eye level. This window looked into an immaculate, tiled room, almost blinding in its total and extreme whiteness, for not only were the tiles this color, but so was every other item in the room. On the left side of the room was a door -- or rather, an oval metal hatch with a circular handle and round window in it, the kind of watertight hatch they would have on board a ship, or on the new, hellish weapon of war, the submarine. Catherine looked to the left and saw that there was a door a few feet down the hall, and she suspected the hatch and that door both connected to an anteroom to allow access to the tiled laboratory. In the middle of the tiled room was an enormous tub, standing about four feet high and also made of white tiles. It was filled with a liquid which, if it were not for the stark and complete whiteness of its surroundings, might have also looked pure white, but which the contrast revealed to have a touch of yellow in it, like cream or buttermilk. The surface rippled and swirled slightly, as though there were currents or motion under the surface, and very faint wisps of a yellowish steam or fog drifted up from it. There was a metal grate in the ceiling above the tub, into which the yellow vapor drifted. Also in the room were a large table and cabinet by the wall, a smaller table with towels on it by the tub, and a folding screen near the back.
Dr. Wallston pointed at the metal hatch, the tub, then up at the grate. "We have to be extremely careful with the revivification elixir and the vap
ors from it. It is a compound of the most potent nerve stimulants, and it would be highly toxic to any person who was not already dead. A whiff of the vapors would induce tremors and mild hallucinations. Any contact with the liquid would bring on vomiting, convulsions, and death almost immediately."
"And for Mrs. Wallston what is the effect, or the side effects?"
"Motor and mental stimulation to normal levels of activity. I've also added emollients to keep her skin and hair from drying out. But of course, with such stimulants, we can't administer very much at once, or the effect would be fatal, similar to how it would affect a person not already dead, so she must bathe in it daily. She ingests a tiny bit as well, to keep her digestive organs stimulated and working. As I said, nighttime is when we see the primary adverse side-effect, the difficulty in sleeping, for by then the stimulation is wearing off to the point where she cannot move about normally, but she cannot fully relax and sleep. As you know, of course, our bodies do not require sleep, but rather, our brains do, or we would go completely mad, so it is crucial that she sleep, rather than simply give her more stimulants to keep her awake constantly. She has the chemical bath in the morning, so she can function normally through the day. I do not know if the chemicals have any part in her maniacal rages. I have repeatedly and meticulously gone over all the constituents and their properties and effects, and there is no clear connection. I fear it is some aberration or disorder much more deeply ingrained in her mind, in her soul." He shook his head.
Catherine nodded and watched the room, expecting Mrs. Wallston to emerge from behind the screen and enter the tub. Instead, two small hands slithered from out of the cream-colored liquid and grasped the sides of the tub. At first, they were hard to see, as they were so pale that they were indistinguishable from the stark white of the sides of the tub. Even the nails were the same shade, like chalk. Catherine gasped and her gloved hand instinctively covered her mouth. She was later quite amazed that she had stifled a scream, but really, the situation seemed beyond such a reaction. It was, quite literally, breathtaking. Following the hands, a head of wet blonde curls emerged. Under the curls was a pair of large, dark goggles, like a welder would wear; the black of the goggles and their strap was the only contrast in the room, since the blonde hair was so light, almost platinum. A woman's upper torso slowly and gracefully rose beneath the head, her breasts just breaking the creamy liquid's surface. Most hideous of all perhaps, neither her lips nor her nipples had the slightest tinge of pink. The woman stood, turned away from them, and stepped out of the tub. Her entire body was all the same ghastly hue. It was not emaciated, as Catherine might have expected, but really rather fulsome and curvaceous. The figure from the tub took up a towel from the small table and wrapped herself in it as Dr. Wallston closed the curtain.
Orpheus and the Pearl & Nevermore Page 2