Hex

by Robert Sheckley

feeling of contact, and then--

  There.

  It didn't take long, actually, not once you had your subject located.Tom hadn't really been a hard case; his juvenile delinquency, Gloria wasquite sure, was a thing of the past. He'd be back in school as soon asthe details could be worked out between Mrs. Francis and the Board ofEducation, and that would take care of that.

  With a satisfied smile, she put the doll away in her drawer. She'd mashit back into clay later in the afternoon; that would enable her to usethe same piece over and over again.

  Clay cost money, and a case worker's salary wasn't large. Gloria couldnot see how she could put the cost of the clay down on a specialrequisition, anyhow; she had to pay for it herself, and so she was verycareful and saving with it.

  After she'd put the Tom doll away with the Rudi doll, making a mentalnote to take care of both of them before she left for the day, shefished out her beret and put it on and went out for a quick lunch.

  * * * * *

  It was just after two o'clock when Mr. Gerne came in. The others wereused to his periodic arrivals, of course, and Gloria had never felt anyfear of the director. He didn't work in the same office, but elsewherein the building, and once a week he made a habit of touring the varioussocial-work agencies under his direction.

  It kept the workers on their toes, Gloria imagined: the actual sight ofthe boss' boss would do that. Mr. Gerne never smiled; he was a small,thin-lipped man with white skin and very little hair. He stood in theouter office, peering round, for a few minutes, and then, nodding hishead slowly, he went on and knocked at Mr. Fredericksohn's door.

  "Who's there?" Mr. Fredericksohn called from inside.

  "Mr. Gerne," said Mr. Gerne. There was a little pause, and then Mr.Fredericksohn said:

  "Ah. Come in."

  The door opened and shut and Mr. Gerne was invisible.

  Gloria picked up a folder and pretended to concentrate on it. Of course,she could hear what was happening in the private office perfectly well.She remembered studying medieval witchcraft and thought suddenly ofastral bodies.

  But that had been a guess some distance from the truth.

  The projection of the sense of hearing was such a simple thing, really;why did people have to complicate it with all this talk about witchesand the soul--she was reminded of Mrs. Wladek but put the woman out ofher mind. Mr. Gerne was talking.

  "... For instance, the new girl--what's her name?"

  "Gloria Scott," Mr. Fredericksohn's voice said. "Yes?"

  "What's she like?" Mr. Gerne's voice said. "I don't know herpersonally--of course I've seen her there in the office, and she seemslike a friendly, pretty girl. But you deal with her every day--"

  "Very nice," Mr. Fredericksohn said. "Pleasant and easy to work with. Agood type. Now, you take her record--"

  "That's what I meant," Mr. Gerne said. "A record like that--it's justnot possible. There isn't any chance she's faking it?"

  After a little silence Mr. Fredericksohn said: "No chance at all. I'vehad follow-ups on a random selection of her cases--standard practice fora newcomer. Of course, she doesn't know about any of that."

  "Of course. And?"

  "No fakes," Mr. Fredericksohn said. "And don't tell me it's hard tobelieve. I know perfectly well it's hard to believe."

  "No returns," Mr. Gerne said. "Not a single return in over a month."

  "Except the old woman," Mr. Fredericksohn said. "Mrs. Wladek."

  Gloria turned a page in the report she was holding, without taking herattention from the conversation in the private room.

  It was always helpful to know the kind of thing people said about you,as well as what they thought. It gave you more facts to work with, andmade you more efficient and better able to work at your chosenprofession.

  Mr. Gerne was saying: "You can discount Mrs. Wladek. That one's atrouble-spot."

  "Always has been," Mr. Fredericksohn said.

  "All right, then discount her," Mr. Gerne said. "Forget about her.And--outside of that one case--there hasn't been a repeat."

  "Some of the clients have died," Mr. Fredericksohn said.

  Mr. Gerne waited a second. Then he said: "A little higher percentagethan normal. So?"

  "I mean, that's a reason for some of the non-repeats."

  "And the others?" Mr. Gerne paused a minute and then went on. "You can'tdiscount the girl's record like that."

  "I wasn't trying to," Mr. Fredericksohn said mildly. "I was onlypointing out--"

  "Let those go," Mr. Gerne said. "Obviously she had no control over thatsort of thing. Unless you think she went out and killed them?"

  "Of course not." Mr. Fredericksohn said.

  "And outside of that, then--no repeats. The girl's a wonder."

  "Certainly," Mr. Fredericksohn said. "Let's see how long it keeps up,that's all."

  Mr. Gerne said: "Pessimist. All right, we'll drop the subject for now.Anyway, I did want to talk to you about the progress reports we've beengetting from Frazier's office. It seems to me--"

  Gloria broke the connection. Frazier, a supervisor for another office,didn't interest her; she only wanted to hear what the conversation aboutherself would be like. Well, now she knew.

  And, thankfully, no one suspected a thing. Why, the subject had beenbrought up, right in the open, and dropped without a word or a thought.

  "Unless you think she went out and killed them."

  Gloria didn't smile. The idea was not funny. Sometimes you had to dosomething like that--but the necessity didn't make it pleasant.

  The trouble was that you couldn't always cure something by a simpleprojection into the mind. Sometimes you ran into a compulsion that wasreally deeply buried.

  If the compulsion was a big one, and went back far into childhood,Gloria couldn't do anything directly about it. Sometimes it was possibleto work around, and, of course, you did that when you could. Theimportant thing was society, but you salvaged the individual whereverpossible.

  Where it wasn't possible--

  Well, here's a man who has a compulsion to get drunk. And, when drunk,he's got to pick fights. Maybe he hasn't killed anybody in a fightyet--but some day he will. He's got the strength and, under theinfluence of sufficient alcohol, he's got no inhibitions about using it.

  None.

  You can let the man live, and by doing that kill an unknown number ofother people. At the least, keeping your hands and your mind off thecompulsive drinker-fighter will serve to injure others--how many others,and how badly, you can't tell.

  There are times when you've got to take an individual life in yourhands.

  And yet, because you can't always be sure--

  Gloria's "talents" could kill out of hand, she was sure. But she didn'tuse them that way. Instead, she simply projected a new compulsion intothe mind of her subject.

  The next time he got drunk and wanted to start a fight, he wanted to dosomething else, too.

  For instance: walk along the edges of roofs.

  The original compulsion had been added to, and turned into a compulsiontoward suicide; that was what it amounted to.

  Gloria didn't like doing it, and she was always glad when it wasn'tnecessary. But there was a dark side to everything--even, she thought,helping people.

  She told herself grimly that it had to be done.

  And then she returned to her work.

  * * * * *

  Mrs. Wladek pounded on the door of the gypsy's store a few minutesbefore four. Her face was white and her lips set in a thin line; shebreathed with difficulty and with every move she made she could feel herold bones creak.

  It was a shame what was being done to an old woman.

  But did they care? Did any of them care?

  Mrs. Wladek gave a little snort that was half laughter and halfself-pity. She pounded on the door again and dropped her arm, feelingold and tired and nearly helpless.

  But she had to fight on.

  There was a limit to what
an old woman could be expected to stand. Theywould learn, all of them, what--

  The door opened.

  Marya Proderenska said: "Yes? You are early."

  "I am in a hurry. Terrible things have occurred."

  The gypsy woman sighed and stepped aside. "Come in, then," she said, andMrs. Wladek entered slowly, peering round the front room.

  "Come in the back," the gypsy woman said. "I have been preparing to helpyou. But more is required."

  It was Mrs. Wladek's turn to sigh. She reached into her purse and founda fifty-cent piece, which she handed over very slowly.

  "More is