"Oh, of course he's still alive. But can't you see what happened
to him? He was living in his father's mind; he knew everything his
father knew--but he didn't understand it. He thought with his father's
thoughts, he saw through his father's eyes, because they were mutually
and completely telepathic. He felt his father's fear and frustration
and bitterness when we trapped him in that office building finally. He
lay screaming on the ground on a farm somewhere, but actually he was in
his father's mind.
"It was a mad mind, a mind rising to the highest screaming heights
of mania, as he waited for me to come down and kill him. And Jeff
was surrounded with his father's hatred. He saw my face through his
father's eyes, and all he could understand was that his daddy was being
butchered and that I was butchering him. When the bullet went into his
father's brain and split his skull open, Jeff Meyer felt that too. When
his father died, Jeff died too--a part of him, that is. They were one
mind and part of that one mind was destroyed."
Conroe paused, his forehead covered with perspiration. The room was
silent except for the hoarse breathing of the man on the table.
Conroe's face, as he looked down, was that of a ghost.
"No wonder the boy disappeared," he whispered. "He'd been shot through
the head. He was almost virtually dead. He must have gone into shock
for years after such a trauma, Roger. He must have spent years roaming
that farm, cared for by an aunt or uncle or cousin, while he slowly
recovered. No wonder we could find no trace. And then, when he did get
well, all he knew was that his father had been murdered. He didn't
know how; he didn't know why, and he dared never remember the truth.
Because, the truth was that _he_ had been killed. All he dared
recognize was my face--a recurrent, nightmarish hallucination, rising
out of his dreams, plaguing him on the streets, tormenting him day and
night."
"But you were hunting him."
"Oh, yes, we were hunting him. It was inevitable that sooner or later
we would come up face to face. But when we did, I received such a
horrible mental blow that I couldn't even look to see what he looked
like. I could do nothing but scream and run. When he saw me that day in
the night club, he took complete leave of his senses. He exploded into
hatred and bitterness. And then he resolved to hunt me down and kill me
for killing his father."
Conroe spread his hands apologetically. "It seemed good sense to use
that hatred and singleness of purpose to draw him here. But it was
torture. He followed me with his mind, without even knowing it. It was
old Jacob Meyer's face that haunted me everywhere I went. I didn't know
why, then, because I didn't know Jeff had been part of that mind. And
Jeff didn't know that he carried and broadcast that horror wherever he
went."
Conroe leaned back, his body limp in exhaustion. "We needed Jeff
so desperately. Yes, we needed him in here, for testing, for this
study. It's been a long, tedious job, studying him, observing him,
photographing him, learning how much of his father's power he had. And
we dared not bring him in here until we were sure it was safe. And now,
with what he knows, he is more vitally dangerous than his father ever
was. There are hundreds that carry the change, in larger or smaller
part, all gene-linked with insanity. And Jeff Meyer is insane as any
of the rest of them. But at least there's hope, because we can study
him now. Because unless we can somehow separate the function of the
insanity from the function of the psychokinesis, we have no choice
left, no hope."