"I don't remember when I first noticed it," began Nick in a low voice,
"but I'm two people. I'm me, the person who's talking to you now, and
I'm--another."
Pat, looking very pale and serious in the dusky light, said nothing at
all. She simply gazed at him silently, without the slightest trace of
surprise in her wide dark eyes.
"This is the real me," proceeded Nick miserably. "The other is an
outsider, that has somehow contrived to grow into me. He is different;
cold, cruel, utterly selfish, and not exactly--human. Do you
understand?"
"Y--Yes," said the girl, fighting to control her voice. "Sort of."
"This is a struggle that has continued for a long time," he pursued.
"There were times in childhood when I remember punishments for offenses
I never committed, for nasty little meannesses _he_ perpetrated. My
mother, and after her death, my tutoress, thought I was lying when I
tried to explain; they thought I was trying to evade responsibility.
After a while I learned not to explain; I learned to accept my
punishments doggedly, and to fight this other when he sought dominance."
"And could you?" asked Pat, her voice frankly quavery. "Could you fight
him?"
"I was the stronger; I could win--usually. He slipped into
consciousness as wilful, mean little impulses, nasty moods, unreasoning
hates and such unpleasant things. But I was always the stronger: I
learned to drive him into the background."
"You said you _were_ the stronger," she mused. "What does that mean,
Nick?"
"I've always been the stronger; I am now. But recently, Pat--I think
it's since I fell in love with you--the struggle has been on evener
terms. I've weakened or he's gained. I have to guard against him
constantly; in any moment of weakness he may slip in, as on our ride
last week, when we had that near accident. And again Saturday." He
turned appealing eyes on the girl. "Pat, do you believe me?"
"I guess I'll have to," she said unhappily. "It--makes things rather
hopeless, doesn't it?"
He nodded dejectedly. "Yes. I've always felt that sooner or later I'd
win, and drive him away permanently. I've felt on the verge of complete
victory more than once, but now--" He shook his head doubtfully. "He
had never dominated me so entirely until Saturday night--Pat, you
don't know what Hell is like until you're forced as I was to watch
the violation of the being you worship, to stand helpless while a
desecration is committed. I'd rather die than suffer it again!"
"Oh!" said the girl faintly. She was thinking of the sorry picture she
must have presented as she reeled half-clothed through the alley. "Can
you see what--_he_ sees?"
"Of course, and think his thoughts. But only when he's dominant. I
don't know what evil he's planning now, else I could forestall him, I
would have warned you if I could have known."
"Where is he now?"
"Here," said Nick somberly. "Here listening to us, knowing what I'm
thinking and feeling, laughing at my unhappiness."
"Oh!" gasped Pat again. She watched her companion doubtfully. Then the
memory of Dr. Horker's diagnosis came to her, and set her wondering.
Was this story the figment of an unsettled mind? Was this irrational
tale of a fiendish intruder merely evidence that the Doctor was right
in his opinion? She was in a maze of uncertainty.
"Nick," she said, "did you ever try medical help? Did you ever go to a
doctor about it?"
"Of course, Pat! Two years ago I went to a famous psychiatrist in
New York--you'd know the name if I mentioned it--and told him about
the--the case. And he studied me, and he treated me, and psychoanalyzed
me, and the net result was just nothing. And finally he dismissed
me with the opinion that 'the whole thing is just a fixed delusion,
fortunately harmless!' Harmless! Bah! But it wasn't I that did those
things, Pat; I had to stand by in horror and watch. It was enough to
_drive_ me crazy, but it didn't--quite."
"But--Oh, Nick, what is it? What is this--this outsider? Can't we fight
it somehow?"
"How can anyone except me fight it?"
"Oh, I don't know!" she wailed miserably. "There must be a way. Doctors
claim to know pretty nearly everything; there must be _something_ to
do."
"But there isn't," he retorted gloomily. "I don't know any more than
you what that thing is, but it's beyond your doctors. I've got to fight
it out alone."
"Nick--" Her voice was suddenly tense. "Are you sure it isn't some
kind of madness? Something tangible like that could perhaps be treated."
"It's no kind your doctors can treat, Pat. Did you ever hear of a
madman who stood aside and rationally watched the working of his own
insanity? And that's what I'm forced to do. And yet--this other isn't
insane either. Were its actions insane?"