Chapter Sixteen

As the end of the week approached I was beginning to hope that the whole nasty business was over. Maybe revealing the uniform to me marked the end of it, I told myself. Maybe they were giving up—Mrs. Reddy, her daughter and whoever else was involved. Maybe the death of Stephanie had frightened them into quitting.

And hopefully they would no longer try to involve my son in their filthy practices. That was the main reason I didn’t say anything to Duff about the glasses. He must have found them, although he still wasn’t wearing them. Nevertheless I had no intention of reporting the matter to the authorities, and I wasn’t going to confront my son with it either. If he had killed Stephanie, I didn’t want to know it. If he had done it, the others had caused him to do it, and I was hoping—and as a couple of peaceful days went by, beginning to believe—that nothing like that would ever happen again.

On Friday morning I mentioned to Duff that the psychiatrist would probably be in Cainesville the next day. Actually, I was wondering if I shouldn’t call Father Jackson and cancel the whole thing.

“He’s coming to see me?”

“Well, he hopes to see you, but that’s not the only reason he’s coming. Father Jackson says he and his brother haven’t gotten together for a long time, so that’s probably the main reason.”

“I sure can’t understand why he’d want to bother with me. After all, it’s just a simple behavior problem, isn’t it? You think I haven’t been behaving as I should lately and you want to know why. Any good shrink must see a dozen such cases every week.”

“That’s right. Dr. Jackson has probably agreed to see you only because he doesn’t play golf or tennis and there’s nothing else to do in Cainesville on a weekend.”

“He could go riding.”

I turned and stared at him.

“There are plenty of riding stables around here, aren’t there?”

“I don’t know, are there?”

“I would assume so. This is the country, after all. Plenty of open land around here.” He grinned and then said, “All right, Mother. I don’t have anything else to do this weekend either.”

That night Father Jackson called to say that his brother was in town. He had suggested seeing Duff at his motel the next morning if I could arrange it. Also, Jim would like to talk with me before the meeting with Duff. Could I come to the motel and have a drink with them in an hour or so? Maybe Jack would like to come too, Father Jackson suggested.

I didn’t even mention it to Jack. I was sure he would only laugh at the idea of meeting with a psychiatrist and a priest to talk about his son, whom he considered to have very minor, if any, problems. I told Franny I was going for a drive when I left for the Siesta Time Motel about eight-­thirty, and she didn’t question it. I don’t know whether Duff was in the house or not. I was getting sick of always looking for Duff anyway.

When I arrived Father Jackson and his brother were in Jim’s room which was large enough to turn around in if you did it carefully. They were drinking Scotch. Father Jackson was wearing his bookie jacket again.

Jim was older, heavier and handsomer than his brother. He offered me the one chair. “Couldn’t we go somewhere else? Isn’t there a bar or something?” he asked.

“I can’t very well patronize the bars around here,” Father Jackson said. He fixed me a Scotch and water and then sat on the bed with Jim.

“Am I supposed to begin?” I asked. “First may I say I’m rather surprised that you’ve consented to this sort of arrangement, Dr. Jackson.”

“Your problem sounded very interesting.”

“It’s not exactly my problem. I mean, not in your sense. I hope your brother assured you of that.”

Dr. Jackson nodded. “Tell me about your son.”

“Hasn’t your brother told you?”

“I’d rather hear it firsthand.”

So I told my tale again. Everything, even about the dreams. Father Jackson got up a couple of times to replenish his drink, but Jim sat watching me attentively, seldom even sipping his Scotch.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked when I finished. “Is Duff a schizoid, or is he possessed by the devil?”

He took a long swallow now. “Well, I don’t think he’s the former. Not from what you tell me. And as for the other, there’s been entirely too much emphasis on that kind of thing lately. Books, movies . . .”

“Duff seldom goes to movies or reads fiction.”

“But he has seen Mrs. Reddy,” said Father Jackson.

“Yes,” Jim said, “that could be what triggered it. Have you ever heard of multiple personality, Mrs. Caine? Jekyll and Hyde. Two or more distinct personalities in the same person. Each personality has its own way of thinking, feeling and acting, its own habits and mannerisms. Multiple personality differs from schizophrenia in that the personalities in most cases are completely different and not split aspects of the same personality.”

“And could something like that come on suddenly?”

“It could reveal itself overnight. It’s very rare, however. I’ve never encountered a case before in fifteen years of practice.”

“Would the person know what was happening? Duff doesn’t seem to realize. He could be lying, of course, but when the General appeared in the car and in the kitchen, Duff honestly didn’t seem to know about it.”

“That’s possible. Almost always one personality is stronger than the other, and sometimes the stronger one is aware of the actions and thinking of the other. In this case, the General might be the stronger. From your description, it sounds as though he would be. Consequently he could be aware of what Duff is doing and thinking and not the other way around.”

“That’s it, I’m sure of it!” I was elated, but then I remembered my dreams.

I must have blushed because Dr. Jackson smiled. “You’ve been dreaming about the General, not Duff,” he said reassuringly. “And now that you have a possible explanation for the visits of the General, I’m sure you won’t have any more such dreams.”

“Or, if you do, get up quickly and take a shower,” said Father Jackson, grinning.

I ignored him. “Could the appearances of the two be so completely different?”

“They might just have seemed very different on a quick glance, and while you were emotionally upset. One face could have been very distorted, for example. And the General may be much stronger than Duff, possessing strength that would be unimaginable in Duff.”

“But he seemed so much heavier. And his hair is darker and sparser. And his beard . . .”

“How about that, Jimmy? Can you lose and grow hair with multiple personality?” Father Jackson asked. “Maybe we should try it.”

I finished my drink and put my glass on the dresser. “It’s time for me to go,” I said. “I’ve told you all I can.”

Dr. Jackson was staring at me. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, no.”

“Then why are you looking at me that way?”

Father Jackson giggled. “Maybe he finds you attractive.”

Dr. Jackson escorted me out to the car. “I’m sorry about Pete. He never could handle his liquor.”

“Do you think you can help Duff?”

“I’ll know better after I talk with him.”

“Supposing it isn’t a case of multiple personality?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. But let’s wait and see.”

I hesitated. “Can a psychiatrist believe in the devil?”

He laughed. “We all, in one way or another, believe in the devil. That’s not to say there is a devil, but in the collective unconsciousness there are still demons and dragons and witches flying around. Deep down, some people think, we’re still very primitive, but the normal conscious mind can control all that.” He started to close my door, then held it. “Are you normally left-­handed, Mrs. Caine?”

“No, why? What’s that got to do with Duff?”

“Nothing. Good night.”

I slammed the door and drove off, showering him with gravel as I left the parking lot. Why had he asked a question like that? I kept wondering all the way home. I had given him my right hand, I was sure, when his brother introduced us. Did left-­handed mothers sometimes produce children with mental problems?

Jack was at his literary labors in the front room when I let myself in. Franny was in her room, maybe reading, and prob­ably brooding over the lack of a television set.

“Why don’t we get her one tomorrow,” I said, “as long as we’re going to be here for a few more weeks.”

He looked up briefly. “Wonderful,” he said without expression. “Why don’t you go into Cainesville and get it.”

“Is Duff upstairs?”

“He could be. If he didn’t go out.”

“Did he tell you he was going out?”

“No.” And seemingly my husband was disinclined to say anything more than that.

I went upstairs and found Duff’s door closed. There was no response when I knocked. I opened the door quietly. He was sitting on his bed with an impish grin on his face.

“Mama, Mama.” He admonished me with his finger.

“Why didn’t you answer when I knocked?”

“Because I knew you’d come in.”

“I just wanted to see if you were covered properly. It’s chilly tonight.”

“Bosh, it’s warm.” He patted my hand. “Never mind, Mama. I know you have my best interests at heart. Did you make an appointment for me with the shrink.”

“Yes, for tomorrow right after breakfast.”

“Okay. I hope some good comes of it for your sake.”

“You must be honest with the man, Duff. You must answer all his questions truthfully as best you can.”

“Right on, Mama.”

I wanted to kiss him—he seemed such a child again then—but I was afraid to. Instead I just nodded and went to my room and soon after to bed. Of course, I checked to see if the uniform coat was still under my mattress. It was, and I went to sleep certain that I wouldn’t be troubled by the General for another night.