Eve Eden rattled it off, apparently verbatim. "It didn't seem to make sense at the time," she admitted. "But it does now, don't you think?"
Dr. Prager refused to commit himself. It made sense all right. A dreadful sort of sense. This poor child was struggling to retain her identity. Everything pointed to that. She was adrift in a sea of illusion, peopled with Mock Turtles—Mock Turtle, very significant, that—and distorted imagery.
Now the story of the Turtle and the Gryphon and the Lobster Quadrille began to take on a dreadful meaning. All the twisted words and phrases symbolized growing mental disturbance. Schools taught "reeling and writhing" and arithmetic consisted of "ambition, distraction, uglification, and derision." Obviously fantasies of inferiority. And Alice-Eve growing more and more confused with twisted, inverted logic in which "blacking" became "whiting"—it was merely an inner cry signifying she could no longer tell the difference between black and white. In other words, she was losing all contact with reality. She was going through an ordeal—a trial.
Of course it was a trial! Now Eve was telling about the trial of the Knave of Hearts, who stole the tarts. (Hadn't Eve once been a "tart" herself?) and Alice-Eve noted all the animals on the jury (another paranoid delusion: people are animals) and she kept growing (delusions of grandeur) and then came the white rabbit reading the anonymous letter.
Dr. Prager picked up his own ears, rabbit-fashion, when he heard the contents of the letter.
"My notion was that you had been
(before she had this fit)
An obstacle that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don't let him know she liked them best
For this must ever be
A secret kept from all the rest
Between yourself and me."
Of course. A secret, Dr. Prager decided. Eve Eden had been afraid of madness for a long time. That was the root of all her perverse behavior patterns, and he'd never probed sufficiently to uncover it. But the dream, welling up from the subconscious, provided the answer.
"I said I didn't believe there was an atom of meaning in it," Eve told him. "And the Queen cried, 'Off with her head,' but I said, 'Who cares for you? You're nothing but a pack of cards.' And they all rose up and flew at me, but I beat them off, and then I woke up fighting the covers."
She sat up. "You've been taking an awful lot of notes," she said. "Mind telling me what you think?"
Dr. Prager hesitated. It was a delicate question. Still, the dream content indicated that she was perfectly well aware of her problem on the subliminal level. A plain exposition of the facts might come as a shock but not a dangerous one. Actually a shock could be just the thing now to lead her back and resolve the initial trauma, wherever it was.
"All right," Dr. Prager said. "Here's what I think it means." And in plain language he explained his interpretation of her dream, pulling no punches but, occasionally, his goatee.
"So there you have it," he concluded. "The symbolic story of your life—and the dramatized and disguised conflict over your mental status which you've always tried to hide. But the subconscious is wise, my dear. It always knows and tries to warn. No wonder you had this dream at this particular time. There's nothing accidental about it. Freud says—"
But Eve was laughing. "Freud says? What does he know about it? Come to think of it, Doc, what do you know about it either? You see, I forgot to tell you something when I started. I didn't just have this dream." She stared at him, and her laughter ceased. "I bought it," Eve Eden said. "I bought it for ten thousand dollars."
4
Dr. Prager wasn't getting anywhere. His fountain pen ceased to function and his goatee wouldn't respond properly to even the most severe tugging. He heard Eve Eden out and waved his arms helplessly, like a bird about to take off. He felt like taking off, but on the other hand he couldn't leave this chick in her nest. Not with a big nest egg involved. But why did it have to be so involved?
"Go over that again," he begged finally. "Just the highlights. I can't seem to get it."
"But it's really so simple," Eve answered. "Like I already told you. I was getting all restless and keyed up, you know, like I've been before. Dying for a ball, some new kind of kick. And then I ran into Wally Redmond and he told me about this Professor Laroc."
"The charlatan," Dr. Prager murmured.
"I don't know what nationality he is," Eve answered. "He's just a little old guy who goes around selling these dreams."
"Now wait a minute—"
"Sure, it sounds screwy. I thought so, too, when Wally told me. He'd met him at a party somewhere and got to talking. And pretty soon he was spilling his—you'll pardon the expression—guts about the sad story of his life and how fed up he was with everything, including his sixth wife. And how he wanted to get away from it all and find a new caper.
"So this Professor Laroc asked him if he'd ever been on the stuff, and Wally said no, he had a weak heart. And he asked him if he'd tried psychiatry, and Wally said sure, but it didn't help him any."
"Your friend went to the wrong analyst," Dr. Prager snapped in some heat. "He should have come to a Freudian. How could he expect to get results from a Jungian—?"
"Like you say, Doc, relax. It doesn't matter. What matters is that Professor Laroc sold him this dream. It was a real scary one, to hear him tell it, all about being a burglar over in England someplace and getting into a big estate run by a little dwarf with a head like a baboon. But he liked it; liked it fine. Said he was really relaxed after he had it: made him feel like a different person. And so he bought another, about a guy who was a pawnbroker, only a long time ago in some real gone country. And this pawnbroker ran around having himself all kinds of women who—"
"Jurgen," Dr. Prager muttered. "And if I'm not mistaken, the other one was from Lukundoo. I think it was called The Snout."
"Let's stick to the point, Doc," Eve Eden said. "Anyway, Wally was crazy about these dreams. He said the professor had a lot more to peddle, and even though the price was high, it was worth it. Because in the dream you felt like somebody else. You felt like the character you were dreaming about. And, of course, no hang-over, no trouble with the law. Wally said if he ever tried some of the stuff he dreamed about on real women they'd clap him into pokey, even here in Hollywood. He planned to get out of pictures and buy more. Wanted to dream all the time. I guess the professor told him if he paid enough he could even stay in a dream without coming back."
"Nonsense!"
"That's what I told the man. I know how you feel, Doc. I felt that way myself before I met Professor Laroc. But after that it was different."
"You met this person?"
"He isn't a person, Doc. He's a real nice guy, a sweet character. You'd like him. I did when Wally brought him around. We had a long talk together. I opened up to him, even more than I have to you, I guess. Told him all my troubles. And he said what was wrong with me was I never had any childhood. That somewhere underneath there was a little girl trying to live her life with a full imagination. So he'd sell me a dream for that. And even though it sounded batty it made sense to me. He really seemed to understand things I didn't understand about myself.
"So I thought here goes, nothing to lose if I try it once, and I bought the dream." She smiled. "And now that I know what it's like I'm going to buy more. All he can sell me. Because he was right, you know. I don't want the movies. I don't want liquor or sex or H or gambling or anything. I don't want Eve Eden. I want to be a little girl, a little girl like the one in the dream, having adventures and never getting hurt. That's why I made up my mind. I'm quitting, getting out while the getting is good. From now on, me for dreamland."
Dr. Prager was silent for a long time. He kept staring at Eve Eden's smile. It wasn't her smile—he got the strangest notion that it belonged to somebody else. It was too relaxed, too innocent, too utterly seraphic for Eve. It was, he told himself, the smile of a ten-year-old girl on the face of a thirty-three-year-old woman of the world.
And he thought hebephrenia and he thought schizophrenia and he thought incipient catatonia and he said, "You say you met this Professor Laroc through Wally Redmond. Do you know how to reach him?"
"No, he reaches me." Eve Eden giggled. "He sends me, too, Doc."
She was really pretty far gone, Dr. Prager decided. But he had to persist. "When you bought this dream, as you say, what happened?"
"Why, nothing. Wally brought the professor here to the house. Right up to this bedroom actually. Then he went away and the professor talked to me and I wrote out the check and he gave me the dream."
"You keep saying he 'gave' you this dream. What does that mean?" Dr. Prager leaned forward. He had a sudden hunch. "Did he ask you to lie down, the way I do?"
"Yes. That's right."
"And did he talk to you?"
"Sure. How'd you guess?"
"And did he keep talking until you went to sleep?"
"I—I think so. Anyway, I did go to sleep, and when I woke up he was gone."
"Aha."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you were hypnotized, my dear. Hypnotized by a clever charlatan, who sold you a few moments of prepared patter in return for ten thousand dollars."
"But—but that's not true!" Eve Eden's childish smile became a childish pout. "It was real. The dream, I mean. It happened."
"Happened?"
"Of course. Haven't I made that clear yet? The dream happened. It wasn't like other dreams. I mean, I could feel and hear and see and even taste. Only it wasn't me. It was this little girl. Alice. I was Alice. That's what makes it worth while, can't you understand? That's what Wally said too. The dream place is real. You go there, and you are somebody else."
"Hypnotism," Dr. Prager murmured.
Eve Eden put down the rabbit. "All right," she said. "I can prove it." She marched over to the big bed—the bed large enough to hold six people, according to some very catty but authenticated reports. "I didn't mean to show you this," she said, "but maybe I'd better."
She reached under her pillow and pulled out a small object which glittered beneath the light. "I found this in my hand when I woke up," she declared. "Look at it."
Dr. Prager looked at it. It was a small bottle bearing a little white label. He shook it and discovered that the bottle was half filled with a colorless transparent liquid. He studied the label and deciphered the hand-lettered inscription which read simply, "Drink Me."
"Proof, eh?" he mused. "Found in your hand when you woke up?"
"Of course. I brought it from the dream."
Dr. Prager smiled. "You were hypnotized. And before Professor Laroc stole away—and stole is singularly appropriate, considering that he had your check for ten thousand dollars—he simply planted this bottle in your hand as you slept. That's my interpretation of your proof." He slipped the little glass container into his pocket. "With your permission, I'd like to take this along," he said. "I'm going to ask you now to bear with me for the next twenty-four hours. Don't make any announcements about leaving the studio until I return. I think I can clear everything up to your satisfaction."
"But I am satisfied," Eve told him. "There's nothing to clear up. I don't want to—"
"Please." Dr. Prager brushed his brush with authority. "All I ask is that you be patient for twenty-four hours. I shall return tomorrow at this same time. And meanwhile, try to forget about all this. Say nothing to anyone."
"Now wait a minute, Doc—"
But Dr. Prager was gone. Eve Eden frowned for a moment, then sank back on the chaise longue. The rabbit scampered out from behind a chair and she picked it up again. She stroked its long ears gently until the creature fell asleep. Presently Eve's eyes closed and she drifted off to slumber herself. And the child's smile returned to her face.
5
There was no smile, childish or adult, on Dr. Prager's face when he presented himself again to the gatekeeper on the following day.
His face was stern and set as he drove up to the front door, accepted the butler's greeting, and went down the hall to where Mickey Dennis waited.
"What's up?" the little agent demanded, tossing his copy of Hollywood Reporter to the floor.
"I've been doing a bit of investigating," Dr. Prager told him. "And I'm afraid I have bad news for you."
"What is it, Doc? I tried to get something out of her after you left yesterday, but she wasn't talking. And today—"
"I know." Dr. Prager sighed. "She wouldn't be likely to tell you, under the circumstances. Apparently she realizes the truth herself but won't admit it. I have good reason to believe Miss Eden is disturbed. Seriously disturbed."
Mickey Dennis twirled his forefinger next to his ear. "You mean she's flipping?"
"I disapprove of that term on general principles," Dr. Prager replied primly. "And in this particular case the tense is wrong. Flipped would be much more correct."
"But I figgered she was all right lately. Outside of this business about quitting, she's been extra happy—happier'n I ever seen her."
"Euphoria," Dr. Prager answered. "Cycloid manifestation."
"You don't say so."
"I just did," the psychiatrist reminded him.
"Level with me," Dennis pleaded. "What's this all about?"
"I can't until after I've talked to her," Dr. Prager told him. "I need more facts. I was hoping to get some essential information from this Wally Redmond, but I can't locate him. Neither his studio nor his home seems to have information as to his whereabouts for the past several days."
"Off on a binge," the agent suggested. "It figgers. Only just what did you want from him?"
"Information concerning Professor Laroc," Dr. Prager answered. "He's a pretty elusive character. His name isn't listed on any academic roster I've consulted, and I couldn't find it in the City Directory of this or other local communities. Nor could the police department aid me with their files. I'm almost afraid my initial theory was wrong and that Professor Laroc himself is only another figment of Eve Eden's imagination."
"Maybe I can help you out there, Doc."
"You mean you met this man, saw him when he came here with Wally Redmond that evening?"
Mickey Dennis shook his head. "No. I wasn't around then. But I been around all afternoon. And just about a half hour ago a character named Professor Laroc showed up at the door. He's with Eve in her room right now."
Dr. Prager opened his mouth and expelled a gulp. Then he turned and ran for the stairs.
The agent sought out his overstuffed chair and rifled the pages of his magazine.
More waiting. Well, he just hoped there wouldn't be any explosions this afternoon.
6
There was no explosion when Dr. Prager opened the bedroom door. Eve Eden was sitting quietly on the chaise longue, and the elderly gentleman occupied an armchair.
As Dr. Prager entered, the older man rose with a smile and extended his hand. Dr. Prager felt it wise to ignore the gesture. "Professor Laroc?" he murmured.
"That is correct." The smile was a bland blend of twinkling blue eyes behind old-fashioned steel-rimmed spectacles, wrinkled creases in white cheeks, and a rictus of a prim, thin-lipped mouth. Whatever else he might be, Professor Laroc aptly fitted Mickey Dennis's description of a "character." He appeared to be about sixty-five, and his clothing seemed of the same vintage, as though fashioned in anticipation at the time of his birth.
Eve Eden stood up now. "I'm glad you two are getting together," she said. "I asked the professor to come this afternoon so we could straighten everything out."
Dr. Prager preened his goatee. "I'm very happy that you did so," he answered. "And I'm sure that matters can be set straight in very short order now that I'm here."
"The professor has just been telling me a couple of things," Eve informed him. "I gave him your pitch about me losing my buttons and he says you're all wet."
"A slight misquotation," Professor Laroc interposed. "I merely observed that an understanding of the true facts might
dampen your enthusiasm."
"I think I have the facts," Dr. Prager snapped. "And they're dry enough. Dry, but fascinating."
"Do go on."
"I intend to." Dr. Prager wheeled to confront Eve Eden and spoke directly to the girl. "First of all," he said, "I must tell you that your friend here is masquerading under a pseudonym. I have been unable to discover a single bit of evidence substantiating the identity of anyone named Professor Laroc."
"Granted," the elderly man murmured.
"Secondly," Dr. Prager continued, "I must warn you that I have been unable to ascertain the whereabouts of your friend Wally Redmond. His wife doesn't know where he is, or his producer. Mickey Dennis thinks he's off on an alcoholic fugue. I have my own theory. But one fact is certain—he seems to have completely disappeared."
"Granted," said Professor Laroc.
"Third and last," Dr. Prager went on. "It is my considered belief that the man calling himself Professor Laroc did indeed subject you to hypnosis and that, once he had managed to place you in a deep trance, he deliberately read to you from a copy of Alice in Wonderland and suggested to you that you were experiencing the adventures of the principal character. Whereupon he placed the vial of liquid labeled 'Drink Me' in your hand and departed."
"Granted in part." Professor Laroc nodded. "It is true that I placed Miss Eden in a receptive state with the aid of what you choose to call hypnosis. And it is true that I suggested to her that she enter into the world of Alice, as Alice. But that is all. It was not necessary to read anything to her, nor did I stoop to deception by supplying a vial of liquid, as you call it. Believe me, I was as astonished as you were to learn that she had brought back such an interesting souvenir of her little experience."