Pat emitted a small, startled shriek, and heard it echoed by a
surprised grunt from Dr. Horker.
"Queer!" he muttered. "The stuff must be mislabeled. Scopolamine
doesn't act like this; it's a narcotic."
"He's--the other!" gasped Pat, while the being on the couch grinned
sardonically.
"Eh? An attack? Can't be!" The Doctor shook his head emphatically.
"It's not Nick!" cried the girl in panic. "You're not, are you?" she
appealed to the grim entity.
"Not your sweetheart?" queried the creature, still with his mocking
leer. "A few hours ago you were lying here all but naked, confessing
you were mine. Have you forgotten?"
She shuddered at the reference, and shrank back in her chair. She heard
the Doctor's ominous, angry rumble, and the evil tittering chuckle of
the other.
"Pathological or not," snapped Horker, "I can resent your remarks! I've
considered several times varying my treatment with another solid cut to
the jaw!" He rose from his chair, stamping viciously toward the other.
"A moment," said Nicholas Devine. "Do you know what you've done? Have
you any idea what you've done?" He turned cool, mocking, red-glinting
eyes on the Doctor.
"Huh?" Horker paused as if puzzled. "What _I've_ done? What do you
mean?"
"You don't know, then." The other gave a satyric smile. "You're stupid;
I gave you the clue, yet you hadn't the intelligence to follow it.
Do you know what I am?" He leaned forward, his eyes leering evilly
into the Doctor's. "I'll tell you. I'm a question of synapses. That's
all--merely a question of synapses!" He tittered again, horribly. "It
still means nothing to you, doesn't it, Doctor?"
"I'll show you what it means!" Horker clenched a massive fist and
strode toward the figure, whose eyes stared, steadily, unwinkingly into
his own.
"Back!" the being snapped as the great form bent over him. The Doctor
paused as if struck rigid, his arm and heavy fist drawn back like the
conventional fighting pose of a boxer. "Go back!" repeated the other,
rising. Pat whimpered in abject terror as she heard Horker's surprised
grunt, and saw him recede slowly, and finally sink into his chair. His
bewildered eyes were still fixed on those of Nicholas Devine.
"I'll tell you what you've done!" said the strange being. "You've freed
me! There was nothing wrong with your scopolamine. It worked!" He
chuckled. "You drugged _him_ and freed me!"
Horker managed a questioning grunt.
"I'm free!" exulted the other. "For the first time I haven't _him_ to
fight! He's here, but helpless to oppose me--he's feeble--feeble!" He
gave again the horrible tittering chuckle. "See how weak the two of you
are against my unopposed powers!" he jeered. "Weaklings--food for my
pleasures!"
He turned his eyes, luminous and avid, on Pat. "This time," he said,
"there'll be no interruptions. A witness to our experiment will add a
delicate touch of pleasure--"
He broke off at the Doctor's sudden movement. Horker had snatched
a glistening blue revolver from his pocket, held it leveled at the
lust-filled eyes.
"Huh!" growled the Doctor triumphantly. "Do you think I come trailing a
maniac without some protection? Especially a vicious one like you?"
Nicholas Devine turned his eyes on his opponent. He stared long and
intently.
"Drop it!" he commanded at length. Pat felt a surge of chaotic terror
as the weapon clattered to the floor. She turned a frightened glance on
Horker's face, and her fright redoubled at the sight of his straining
jaw, the perspiration-beaded forehead, and his bewildered eyes. The
demon kicked the gun carelessly aside.
"Puerile!" he said contemptuously. He backed away from them, re-seating
himself on the couch whence he had risen. He surveyed the pair in
sardonic mirth.
"Pat!" muttered the Doctor huskily. "Get out of here, Honey! He's got
some hellish trick of fascination that's paralyzed me. Get out and get
help!"
The girl moved as if to rise. Nicholas Devine shifted his eyes for the
barest instant to her face; she felt the strength drain out of her
body, and she sank weakly to her chair.
"It's useless," she murmured hopelessly to the Doctor. "He's--he's just
what I told you--a devil!"
"I guess you were right," mumbled Horker dazedly.
There was a burst of demonic mirth from the being on the couch. "Merely
a matter of synapses," he rasped, chuckling. His face changed, took
on the familiar coldness, the stony expression Pat had observed there
before. "This palls!" he snapped. "I've better amusement--after we've
rendered your friend merely an interested on-looker." He narrowed his
red eyes as if in thought. "Take off a stocking," he ordered. "Tie his
hands to the back of the chair."
"I won't!" said the girl. The eyes shifted to her face. "I won't!" she
repeated tremulously as she kicked off a diminutive pump. She shuddered
at the gleam in the evil eyes as she stripped the long silken sheath
from a white, rounded limb. She slipped a bare foot into the pump and
moved reluctantly behind the chair that held the groaning Horker. She
took one of the clenched, straining hands, and drew it back, fumbling
with shaking fingers as she twisted the strip of thin chiffon. The
demon moved closer, standing over her.
"Loose knots!" he snarled abruptly. He knocked her violently away with
a stinging slap across her cheek, and seized the strip in his own
hands. He drew the binding tight, twisting it about the lowest rung of
the chair's ladder back. Horker was forced to lean awkwardly to the
rear; in this unbalanced position it was quite impossible to rise.
Nicholas Devine turned away from the straining, perspiring Doctor, and
advanced toward Pat, who cowered against the shattered cabinet.
"Now!" he muttered. "The experiment!" He chuckled raspingly. "What
delicacy of degradation! Your lover and your guardian angel--both
helpless watchers! Excellent! Oh, very excellent!"
He grasped her wrist, drawing her after him to the center of the room,
into the full view of the horrified, staring eyes of Horker.
"Always before," continued her tormentor, "these hands have prepared
you for the rites--the ceremony that failed on two other occasions
to transpire. Would it add a poignancy to the torture if I made you
strip this body of yours with your own hands? Or will they suffer more
watching me? Which do you think?"
Pat closed her eyes in helpless resignation to her fate. "Nick!" she
moaned. "Oh, Nick dearest!"
"Not this time!" sneered the other. "Your friend and protector, the
Doctor, has thoughtfully eliminated your sweetheart as a factor. He
struggles too feebly for me to feel."
"Nick!" she murmured again. "Dr. Carl!"
But the Doctor, now pulling painfully at his bonds, could only groan in
distraction, and curse the unsuspected strength of sheer chiffon. He
writhed miserably at the chafing of his wrists; his strange paralysis
had departed, but he was quite helpless to assist Pat.
"I think," said the cold tones of Nicholas Devine, "that the more
delicate torture lies in your willingness. Let us see."
He drew her into his arms. He twisted a hand in her hair, jerked her
head violently backward, and pressed avid lips to hers. She struggled a
little, but hopelessly, automatically. At last she lay quite passive,
quite motionless, supported by his arms, and making not the slightest
response to his kiss.
"Are you mine?" he queried fiercely, releasing her lips. "Are you mine
now?"
She shook her head without opening her eyes. "No," she said dully. "Not
now, or ever."
Again he crushed her, while the Doctor looked on in helpless,
bewildered, voiceless anger. This time his kiss was painful, burning,
searing. Again that unholy fascination and unnatural delight in her own
pain stirred her, and it took what little effort she was able to make
to keep from responding. After a long interval, his lips again withdrew.
"Are you mine?" he repeated. She made no answer; she was gasping,
and tears glistened under her closed eye-lids, from the pain of her
crushed lips. Again he kissed her, and again the wild abandonment to
evil suffused her. She was suddenly responding to his agonizing caress;
she was clinging fiercely to his torturing lips, feeling an unholy
exaltation in the pain of his tearing fingers in the flesh of her back.
"Yours!" she murmured in response to his query. She heard her voice
repeat madly, "Yours! Yours! Yours!"
"Do you yield willingly?" came the icy tones of the demon.
"Yes--yes--yes! Willingly!"
"Take off your clothes!" sounded the terrible, overpowering voice. He
thrust her from him, so that she staggered dizzily backward. She stood
swaying; the voice repeated its command.
The girl's eyes widened wildly; she had the appearance of one in an
ecstasy, a religious fervor. She raised her hand with a jerky impulsive
gesture to the neck of her frock, still pinned together in the
makeshift repairs of the evening.
There came a strange interruption. The Doctor, helpless on-looker,
had at length evolved an idea out of the bewilderment in his mind. He
opened his mouth and emitted a tremendous, deep, ear-shattering bellow!
Nicholas Devine sent the girl spinning to the floor with a vicious
shove, and turned his blazing eyes on Horker, who was drawing in his
breath for a repetition of his roar. "Quiet!" he rasped, his red orbs
boring down at the other. "Quiet, or I'll muffle you!" Closing his
eyes, the Doctor repeated his mighty shout.
The demon snatched the blanket from the couch, tossing it over the
figure of the Doctor, where it became a billowing, writhing heap of
brown wool. He turned his gaze on Pat, who was just struggling to her
feet, and moved as if to advance toward her.
He paused. She had retrieved the Doctor's revolver from the floor, and
now faced him with the madness gone out of her eyes, supporting the
weapon with both hands, the muzzle wavering toward his face.
"Drop it!" he commanded. She felt a recurrence of fascination, and an
impulse to obey. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor's
head emerging from the blanket as he shook it off.
"Drop it!" repeated Nicholas Devine.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the vision of his dominant visage.
With a surge of terror, she squeezed the trigger, staggering back to
the couch at the roar and the recoil.
She opened her eyes. Nicholas Devine lay in the center of the room on
his face; a crimson spot was matting the hair on the back of his head.
She saw the Doctor raise a free hand; he was working clear of his bonds.
"Pat!" he said softly. He looked at her pale, sickened features.
"Honey," he said, "sit down till I get free. Sit down, Pat; you look
faint."
"Never faint!" murmured the girl, and pitched backward to the couch,
with one clad and one bare leg hanging in curious limpness over the
edge.
31
"Not Humanly Possible"
Pat opened weary eyes and gazed at a blank, uninformative ceiling. It
was some moments before she realized that she was lying on the couch in
the room of Nicholas Devine. Somebody had placed her there, presumably,
since she was quite unaware of the circumstances of her awakening. Then
recollection began to form--Dr. Carl, the _other_, the roar of a shot.
After that, nothing save a turmoil ending in blankness.
A sound of movement beside her drew her attention. She turned her head
and perceived Dr. Horker kneeling over a form on the floor, fingering
a white bandage about the head of the figure. Her recollections took
instant form; she remembered the catastrophes of the evening--last
night, rather, since dawn glowed dully in the window. She had shot
Nick! She gave a little moan and pushed herself to a sitting position.
The Doctor glanced at her with a sick, shaky smile. "Hello," he
said. "Come to, have you? Sorry I couldn't give you any attention."
He gave the bandage a final touch. "Here's a job I had no heart
for," he muttered. "Better for everyone to let things happen without
interference."
The girl, returning to full awareness, noticed now that the bandage
consisted of strips of the Doctor's shirt. She glanced fearfully at the
still features of Nicholas Devine; she saw pale cheeks and closed eyes,
but indubitably not the grim mien of the demon.
"Dr. Carl!" she whispered. "He isn't--he isn't--"
"Not yet."
"But will he--?"
"I don't know. That's a bad spot, a wound in the base of the brain.
You'd best know it now, Pat, but also realize that nothing can happen
to you. I'll see to that!"
"To me!" she said dully. "What difference does that make? It's Nick I
want saved."
"I'll do my best for you, Honey," said Horker with almost a hint of
reluctance. "I've phoned Briggs General for an ambulance. Your faint
lasted a full quarter hour," he added.
"What can we tell them?" asked the girl. "What can we say?"
"Don't you say anything, Pat. I'm not on the board for nothing." He
rose from his knees, glancing out of the window into the cool dawn.
"Queer neighborhood!" he said. "All that yelling and a shot, and still
no sign of interest from the neighbors. That's Chicago, though," he
mused. "Lucky for us, Pat; we can handle the thing quietly now."
But the girl was staring dully at the still figure on the floor. "Oh
God!" she said huskily. "Help him, Dr. Carl!"
"I'll do my best," responded Horker gloomily. "I was a good surgeon
before I specialized in psychiatry. Brain surgery, too; it led right
into my present field."
Pat said nothing, but dropped her head on her hands and stared vacantly
before her.
"Better for you, and for him too, if I fail," muttered the Doctor.
His words brought a reply. "You won't fail," she said tensely. "You
won't!"
"Not voluntarily, I'm afraid," he growled morosely. "I've still a
little respect for medical ethics, but if ever a case--" His voice
trailed into silence as from somewhere in the dawn sounded the wail of
a siren. "There's the ambulance," he finished.
Pat sat unmoving as the sounds from outdoors detailed the stopping
of the vehicle before the house. She heard the Doctor descending the
steps, and the creak of the door. Though it took place before her eyes,
she scarcely saw the white-coated youths as they lifted the form of
Nicholas Devine and bore it from the room on a stretcher, treading
with carefully broken steps to prevent the swaying of the support. Dr.
Horker's order to follow made no impression on her; she sat dully on
the couch as the chamber emptied.
Why, she wondered, had the thought of Nick's death disturbed her so?
Wasn't it but a short time since they had both contemplated it? What
had occurred to alter that determination? Nick was dying, she thought
mournfully; all that remained was for her to follow. There on the
floor lay the revolver, and on the table, glistening in the wan light,
reposed the untouched lethal draft. That was the preferable way, she
mused, staring fixedly at its glowing contour.
But suppose Nick weren't to die--she'd have abandoned him to his
terrible doom, left him to face a situation far more ominous than any
unknown terrors beyond death. She shook her head distractedly, and
looked up to meet the eyes of Dr. Horker, who was watching her gravely
in the doorway.
"Come on, Pat," he said gently.
She rose, followed him down the stairs and out into the morning light.
The driver of the ambulance stared curiously at her dishevelled,
bedraggled figure, but she was so weary and forlorn that even the
effort of brushing away the black strands of hair that clouded her
smoke-dark eyes was beyond her. She slumped into the seat of the
Doctor's car and sighed in utter exhaustion.
"Rush it!" Horker called to the driver ahead. "I'll follow you."
The car swept into motion, and the swift cool morning air beating
against her face from the open window restored some clarity to her
mind. She fixed her eyes on the rear of the speeding vehicle they
followed.
"Is there any hope at all?" she queried despondently.
"I don't know, Pat. I can't tell yet. When you closed your eyes, he
half turned, dodged; the bullet entered his skull near the base,
near the cerebellum. If it had pierced the cerebellum, his heart and
breathing must have stopped instantly. They didn't, however, and that's
a mildly hopeful sign. Very mildly hopeful, though."
"Do you know now what that devil--what the attack was?"
"No, Pat," Horker admitted. "I don't. Call it a devil if you like;
I can't name it any better." His voice changed to a tone of wonder.
"Pat, I can't understand that paralyzing fascination the thing exerted.
I--any medical man--would say that mental dominance of that sort
doesn't exist."
"Hypnotism," the girl suggested.
"Bah! Every psychiatrist uses hypnotism in his business; it's part of
some treatments. There's nothing of fascination about it; no dominance
of one will over another, despite the popular view. That's natural
and understandable; this was like--well, like the exploded claims of
Mesmerism. I tell you, it's not humanly possible--and yet I felt it!"
"Not _humanly_ possible," murmured Pat. "That's the answer, then, Dr.
Carl. Maybe now you'll believe in my devil."
"I'm tempted to."
"You'll have to! Can't you see it, Dr. Carl? Even his name,
Nick--that's a colloquialism for the devil, isn't it?"
"And Devine, I suppose," said Horker, "refers to his angelic ancestry.
Devils are only fallen angels, aren't they?"
"All right," said Pat wearily. "Make fun of it. You'll see!"
"I'm not making fun of your theory, Honey. I can't offer a better one
myself. I never saw nor heard of anything similar, and I'm not in
position to ridicule any theory."
"But you don't believe me."
"Of course I don't, Pat. You're weaving an intricate fairy tale about
a pathological condition and a fortuitous suggestiveness in names.
Whatever the condition is--and I confess I don't understand it--it's
something rational, and those things can be treated."
"Treated by exorcism," said the girl. "That's the only way anyone ever
succeeded in casting out a devil."
The Doctor made no answer. The wailing vehicle ahead of them swung
rapidly out of sight into an alley, and Horker halted his car before
the gray facade of Briggs General.
"Come in here," he said, helping Pat to alight. "You'll want to wait,
won't you?"
"How long," she queried listlessly, "before--before you'll know?"
"Perhaps immediately. The only chance is to get that bullet out at
once--if there's still time for it."
She followed him into the building, past a desk where a white-clad girl
regarded her curiously, and up an elevator. He led her into a small
office.
"Sit here," he said gently, and disappeared.
She sat dully in the chair he had indicated, and minutes passed. She
made no attempt to think; the long, cataclysmic night had exhausted her
powers. She simply sat and suffered; the deep scratches of fingernails
burned in the flesh of her back, her cheek pained from the violent
slap, and her head and jaw ached from that first blow, the one that had
knocked her unconscious last evening. But these twinges were minor;
they were merely physical, and the hurts of the demon had struck far
deeper than any physical injury. The damage to her spirit was by all
odds the more painful; it numbed her mind and dulled her thoughts, and
she simply sat idle and stared at the blank wall.
She had no conception of the interval before Dr. Horker returned. He
entered quietly, and began rinsing his hands at a basin in the corner.
"Is it over?" she asked listlessly.
"Not even begun," he responded. "However, it isn't too late. He'll be
ready in a moment or so."
"I wish it were over," she murmured. "One way or the other."
"I too!" said the Doctor. "With all my heart, I wish it were over! If
there were anyone within call who could handle it, I'd turn it to him
gladly. But there isn't!"
He moved again toward the door, leaning out and glancing down the hall.
"You stay here," he admonished her. "Don't try to find us; I want no
interruptions, no matter what enters that mind of yours!"
"You needn't worry," she said soberly. "I'm not fool enough for that."
She leaned wearily back in the chair, closing her eyes. A long interval
passed; she was vaguely surprised to see the Doctor still standing in
the doorway when she opened her eyes. She had fancied him already in
the midst of his labor.
"What will you do?" she asked.
"About what?"
"I mean what sort of operation will it need? Probing or what?"
"Oh," he said. "I'll have to trephine him. Must get that bullet."
"What's that--trephine?"
He glanced down the hall. "They're ready," he said, and turned to go.
At the door he paused. "Trephining is to open a little door in the
skull. If your devil is in his head, we'll have it out along with the
bullet."
His footsteps receded down the hall.