“What did you do to her?” I whispered. Images of the whole arsenal of depressing movie clichés about psychiatric treatment were unreeling before my mind’s eye: electric shocks, straitjackets, lobotomies, and I saw Anabel tied down to a bed, staring into space with empty eyes.
Dr. Anderson came a step closer. “There are some very acceptable soporifics that prevent REM sleep,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “That’s why you haven’t seen Anabel here for so long. Maybe you’ll come to visit her sometime? She’ll be staying in my department for a long time yet, and she’s so lonely.” Then he struck his forehead. “Oh no, that won’t do—I put her on a no-visiting regime. All for her own good.”
“You…” All the color had drained away from Arthur’s angelic face. “You’re lying! Anabel is far too clever to let … Oh God!”
Dr. Anderson smiled triumphantly. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you, my young angel? I’ll admit that she’s an extremely pretty girl—those incredible turquoise eyes!” He paused for a moment and winked at Arthur. “Yes, I can understand you. But believe me, she’s bad news for you.”
“You monster,” said Arthur with difficulty.
“If Anabel hasn’t sent you here, then why are you trying to get close to us?” asked Henry, frowning. “What do you expect us to do for you?”
The self-satisfied smile gave way to an expression of annoyance. “I don’t expect you to do anything for me. But you’re the only ones roaming around these corridors, myself excluded. And I have to practice on someone!” His chin jutted, and I could see the deranged light in his eyes. “Anabel talked so much about you all in her therapy sessions, and I must say she has a good understanding of human nature. When I first set eyes on you, it was like meeting old friends.”
Arthur’s jawbones were still working. He was probably imagining all the things about him that Anabel had told her psychiatrist.
“You’re still better at this than I am, but that will soon change.” Dr. Anderson had raised his voice now. “And then, my dear children, you’d better be careful!”
Henry was right. The man really did suffer from megalomania. I felt like throwing a bolt of lightning back at him.
But nothing came of that idea. An electronic beep sounded, and as we were looking around for the source of it, Senator Tod disappeared without a trace.
“His duty beeper in the hospital,” said Henry. “He’s awake again. All the same, we know a little more now. I thought he was delightfully free with his information.”
Arthur was still looking baffled. “I just can’t believe any of this,” he murmured. Then he pointed to his door, right behind him. “Why don’t we go in here and discuss it further?” He tapped in a numerical code—making sure we couldn’t see it, of course—and the door opened. “I’d like to know how you two found out who he is. And think what we should do next.”
I was about to follow him, but Henry grasped my wrist and held it firmly.
“We aren’t about to do anything, Arthur,” he said. “We’re not a team any longer, remember? Even Dr. Anderson doesn’t change that.”
“Henry…” Arthur’s expression might have melted a heart of stone, but Henry was already turning to walk away. And taking me with him, my wrist still in his steely grasp.
I felt Arthur’s eyes on our backs, and then I heard his door latch shut.
20
“WHY EXACTLY WERE you going to see Arthur?” Henry asked in his usual light, conversational tone. But his body language was saying something else entirely. He was still holding my wrist tightly, and I had difficulty keeping up with him.
I didn’t reply, if only because I didn’t know why I was going to see Arthur myself. It probably wouldn’t have been difficult to break free, but I let Henry lead me to his door. Meanwhile I was feverishly checking my appearance—you never knew in dreams. Hair—check. Clothes—check. Blotches gone—check. Glasses gone—check. You didn’t need those in a dream, anyway; in dreams my eyes worked perfectly without any help.
I couldn’t manage to slow my pulse down; that was all. I was almost certain that Henry could hear my wildly beating heart.
He let go of me and took out three keys to open his door. The sight of them reminded me that he’d given me a replica of one of them. Along with a string so that I could hang the key around my neck. At the time, that had felt romantic. Now it seemed to me pure mockery. What use was one key when you needed three to get into his dreams?
“Coming?” He was through the doorway already. I followed him—and was blinking at bright sunlight. We were in some kind of park with flowering shrubs and tall trees. No, wait a moment, not a park …
“A cemetery? How appropriate.” I slipped my hands into the pockets of my jeans. My heart was still doing its own thing, but I had the rest of myself under control. No tearful lump in my throat, preventing my voice from sounding the way it ought to sound. “On the other hand, it’s a pity, because I was looking forward to a dip in that whirlpool.”
“That wasn’t my dream,” said Henry.
“No, right—it was your girlfriend B’s dream.”