Show of Evil

  He stopped and lit his pipe again, each draw making a gurgling noise, and blew the smoke towards the blue sky.

  'And I spent two hours a day, five days a week, for eight years with Aaron. Nobody, sir, nobody knows him as I do.'

  Woodward began talking intimately about Aaron Stampler, a rambling discourse that brought back, in a rush, details that Vail had forgot. Woodward described Stampler as a misplaced child who had grown into a gifted but frustrated young intellectual, his accomplishments scorned by a stern and relentless father determined that the boy follow him into the hell of the coal mines.

  His mother considered Aaron's education akin to devil's play; a boy to whom the strap and the insults of his parents had done little to discourage him from a bold and persistent quest for knowledge. That quest was abetted by a sympathetic schoolteacher, Rebecca, who saw in the lad a glimmering hope that occasionally there might be resurrection from a bitter life sentence in the emotionally barren and aesthetically vitiated Kentucky hamlet, and who ultimately seduced him. Aaron was a loner, attracted to both the professions and the arts, who had wanted - as do most young people at one time or another - to be lawyer, doctor, actor, and poet - but whose dreams were constantly thwarted by everyone except his mentor, Rebecca.

  And Woodward talked about the schoolteacher who appeared to be Crikside's only beacon, a lighthouse of lore and wisdom in an otherwise bleak and tortured place; a woman who threatened the bigotry of their narrow and obdurate heritage, a notion possibly vindicated by Rebecca's 'education' of Aaron Stampler. And finally he talked about the sexual liberation of Aaron Stampler, first by Rebecca, then later in a perverse and tormenting way by the paedophile, Bishop Rushman.

  'It's easy to understand how this could have happened, considering what we know about Aaron's childhood and teen years. The simplified assumption was that Aaron created Roy to assume the guilt and responsibility for acts that Aaron couldn't perform himself. He transferred his guilt to Roy. As I said, this is an oversimplification of a very complex problem. We're dealing with the human mind, remember. The science isn't as obvious as DNA or fingerprints, which are unequivocal.'

  'Look, Dr Woodward, I wasn't in any way demeaning your -'

  'I understand that. I just want you to understand that work with him isn't a twice-a-week gabfest. This young man has dominated my professional life. I'm not complaining, it has also been most rewarding. But just achieving transference with him took three years.'

  'Transference?' Vail said.

  'A form of trust. When it works, the patient comes to regard the analyst as a figure from the past, a parent or a mentor, somebody they relate to. Trust is transferred from the mentor to the therapist.'

  'You just said Aaron transferred his guilt to Roy. Is this the same kind of thing?'

  'Yes. He simply created his own avenger. There is a downside, there always is. It creates a subconscious fear that old injuries and insults will be repeated - what we call re-experiencing. Fear of reliving pain from children, friends, husband, wives, just about anybody.'

  'So all the pain is transferred from past to present?'

  'Everything. Pain, anger frustration, unreasonable expectations. But it is important because it permits us to make connections between the past and the present. Drugs can ease the fear. And, of course, at times the pain.'

  'What's the ultimate objective, Doctor? What did you call it, the baseline?'

  'Free association. Encouraging the subject to concentrate on inner experiences… thoughts, fantasies, feelings, pain. Hopefully creating an atmosphere in which the subject will say absolutely everything that comes to mind without fear of being censored or judged.'

  'How does that help you?' Vail said.

  'Well, what you're getting is their mental topography, like a roadmap to their secrets. They remember things from the deep past - traumatic events, painful encounters - very clearly, re-experience the fears and feelings that go with them. And, we hope, learn to accept them. Doesn't always happen, of course. Ours is not a perfect science like mathematics, where two and two always equals four. No, no, sometimes when dealing with the human mind two and two equals eight or twelve...'

  'Or one?'

  'Or one - or a half. In Aaron's case, remembering some of the horrible acts committed by Roy and learning to deal with the knowledge was the product of re-experiencing and free association.'

  'So you have made progress?'

  Woodward stopped, knocked the dead embers from his pipe into a trash barrel, and stuffed the pipe in his cardigan pocket. 'I would say so,' he said. 'I want you to meet someone. His name is Raymond Vulpes.'

  'Who's Raymond Vulpes?'

  'The only other person alive who knows - as I do - every intimate detail of the lives of Aaron and Roy.'

  They walked across the yard to what was known as MaxSec. The first thing Vail noticed was that the windows had no bars, they were made of thick, bulletproof glass. It was an attractive-looking structure and obviously built to provide the most pleasant circumstances possible. Maximum security was at the end of a long, wide hallway that connected it to one of the wards in the newer wing. There was an office off to one side of the hall with a wire-mesh door and Woodward led Vail to it, took out a bunch of keys, unlocked the door, and entered. As Vail stepped through the doorway, he was instantly seized with an overwhelming sense of evil.

  The air seemed suddenly to be sucked out of the room.

  A wet, icy chill swept through it.

  The hair bristled on the back of Vail's neck.

  Gooseflesh rippled up his arms.

  Sweat burst from the pores in his forehead - a frigid sweat, like water dribbling down the torso of a melting snowman.

  He shivered spasmodically.

  He unconsciously gasped for air.

  And then it was over.

  Vail was rooted in place for a moment, as if his legs had suddenly atrophied.

  What was it? A rampant chimera let loose by his imagination?

  A subconscious fear of the uncharted and unpredictable minds in this community of the deranged?

  An omen of some kind?

  He quickly regaining his bearings, wondering if Woodward had had the same reaction. But it was obvious that Vail had been the only one who had experienced… whatever it was. They were in a fairly confined space, an electronic repair shop littered with TVs, VCRs, oscilloscopes, and computers lined up on workbenches and tables and further cramping the limited space.

  A man in his mid to late twenties leaned over a work-table in a corner near the room's single window. A gooseneck lamp curved down beside his face, its light revealing the insides of a dismantled computer. He had the smooth, muscular build of a swimmer, dark blond hair, and pale eyes, and he was wearing the khaki pants and dark blue cotton shirt of a guard, the shirt's sleeves hitched halfway to his elbows. He looked up as Woodward and Vail entered the room and grinned, a wide, boyish grin, full of straight white teeth.

  'Mr Vail, I'm Raymond Vulpes,' he said, sticking out his hand. 'Can't tell you what a great thrill it is to meet you.'

  Vail took the hand and looked into Vulpes's face and in that moment realized that he was shaking hands with Aaron Stampler.

  Twenty-Four

  Caught off guard and shocked, Vail stepped back from Vulpes and turned to Woodward, who was leaning against a bench, smiling. For an instant he thought perhaps this was a perverse joke; that they were all mad and Woodward was the maddest one of all; that when Vail tried to leave, they would slam the doors and trap him inside with the other lunatics.

  'I wanted you two to meet,' Woodward said casually. 'We're going to the vistor's suite, Raymond. I'll send Terry up for you in a few minutes.'

  'Fine, I have to finish changing a couple of chips in Landberg's machine.'

  'Excellent.'

  'See you then, Mr Vail,' Vulpes said, flashing another million-dollar grin as they left the repair room.

  'What the hell's going on?' Vail asked as Woodward locked the door.
r />   'Recognized him, eh?'

  'Ten years hasn't changed him that much. He's a lot heavier and he seems to be in great shape.'

  'Works out an hour a day. Part of the regimen.'

  'What regimen? Is this some kind of bizarre joke?'

  'Joke? Hardly. Relax, Martin, all in good time.'

  MaxSec was sealed from the hallway and the rest of the ward by a wall with a single, solid, sliding steel door. The security officer, a skinny young man named Harley, smiled as Woodward and Vail approached. He pushed a button under his desk. The heavy door slid open. Harley waved them in without bothering with the sign-in sheet.

  The wide hallway continued inside the steel-guarded entrance. Light streamed in through the glass-panelled roof. The walls on both sides were lined with locked rooms. There was moaning behind one of the doors, but the hall itself was empty. Woodward led them into the first room on the right.

  The room contained a small desk with two chairs, a padded wooden chair, a table and a TV, and a cot. The window was five feet above floor level. The entire space and everything in it - walls, furniture, and floor - was painted pure white.

  Vail remembered the room. Except possibly for a slight rearrangement of the furniture, it had not changed in ten years.

  'Is this, uh, what's his name again?'

  'Raymond Vulpes.'

  'Is this his room?'

  'No, no, this is the visitor's suite, as we jokingly call it.'

  'So they have visitors here.'

  'Yes. Patients in max are not permitted any visitors in their quarters, so we provide this homey little visitor's room. They're not permitted to associate with other patients, either.'

  'Can't they talk to each other?'

  'No, sir. Sounds a bit medieval, I know. The reason, of course, is that they are in various stages of recovery. Social intercourse could be disastrous.'

  'I should think total isolation would be just as disastrous.'

  'There are people around,' Woodward said with a shrug. 'Therapists, security people, some staff. It's not solitary confinement. And they can spend an hour or two a day outside.'

  'They just can't communicate with each other?'

  'Quite right.'

  'So Aaron hasn't had any communication with the outside world in ten years?'

  'You mean Raymond.'

  'Raymond, Aaron,' Vail said with annoyance.

  'It's an important, even crucial distinction. Sit down, Martin. I hope that what I'm about to tell you will give you a sense of pride.'

  'Pride?'

  'You had a part in it. Had it not been for you, Raymond would never have existed. The host would certainly have been dead by now, either by electrocution or terminal injection.'

  'Who is Vulpes?'

  'Raymond is what is known as a resulting personality.'

  'A what?'

  'Resulting personality. Roy was a resulting personality. Now Raymond is one.'

  'So Aaron's split into a third person?'

  'Yes and no. He's certainly a third person. However, the others no longer exist. It's not a unique case, although it well might become one.'

  'How?'

  'If we've stabilized Raymond. By that I mean he won't split again. They usually do.'

  'Where did Raymond come from and when?'

  'He was created to mediate the problems between Roy and Aaron. He first appeared almost three years ago.'

  'Who created him?'

  'Aaron was always the host.'

  'Another escape mechanism?'

  'Not an escape. An alternative. Another form of transference. As I explained to you, transference is the conscious or subconscious mirroring of behaviour patterns from one individual to another. This also applies to personae in a split personality. It's a form of denial. The schizoid places guilt on another individual, in this case, a new person - voila, Raymond.'

  'Voila.' Vail said it with obvious distaste. 'What if Roy had transferred to Raymond instead of Aaron?'

  'It wouldn't have happened. Raymond didn't want that. Abhorrent behaviour patterns can be mirrored only to individuals who would normally accept the transference.'

  'In other words, the receiver must be capable of such behaviour to begin with?'

  'Correct. Raymond doesn't need Roy, never did.'

  'And Aaron transferred to you, right?'

  'Yes. That was a major breakthrough, I might add. It was not an easy transition. My strategy was to appeal to his need to be appreciated by his supervisors. That was what attracted him to Rushman. Aaron had transferred his need - as a child — for approval from his parents to the bishop. My problem, of course, was Rushman, who had betrayed that trust. Aaron didn't trust me for several years. The advantage, of course, is that Roy would come out, so I got to deal with them both. Then when Raymond emerged, the transference was complete. Aaron and Roy eventually disappeared.'

  'And now you have Raymond, the perfect specimen.'

  Woodward was surprised by the remark. He nervously stroked his beard with both hands, then said, 'There's no need for sarcasm, Martin. He'll be down in a minute. Talk to him before you judge him.'

  'I just mean it sounds like Raymond encompasses all the best of Aaron - his intelligence, his dreams, desires…'

  'Exactly. Aaron always saw himself as an innocent victim. He had no control over Roy. He couldn't even communicate with him. I was the pipeline between them.'

  'There were two tapes. Do you know about them?'

  'You mean the Altar Boys tapes?'

  'You do know about that.'

  'Of course.'

  'Both the original and one copy were erased by mutual agreement with the prosecutor.'

  'Why?'

  'To protect the Catholic church. Rushman was dead, the case was resolved. It wasn't necessary to drag all that up.'

  'That was very civilized of you two. I'm not sure it was in my patient's best interest.'

  'Why not? You could always get the information from the horse's mouth. I assume Roy went into detail about those events.'

  'That's true,' Woodward agreed.

  'Let's get back to Raymond. Where did the name come from?'

  'That's what he called himself the first time he appeared. I said, "Who are you?" and he said, "I'm Raymond Vulpes." '

  'So Roy dominated Aaron and Raymond dominated Roy.'

  Woodward nodded. 'Aaron never did confront either Roy or Raymond directly. As I said, I was the pipeline. But when Raymond appeared, I was able to bring both Raymond and Roy out. It was absolutely fascinating, watching them switch back and forth. They would interrupt each other, argue, an incredible clash of the two egos. And Raymond was as normal as you or I. His ego and id were all in the right places - he was totally in control. He completely frustrated Roy. Put him in his place. Roy was impotent in Raymond's presence.'

  'How about Aaron?'

  'He stepped out of it and left Raymond to deal with Roy.'

  'How convenient.'

  'Understandable. Raymond isn't pained. Raymond didn't go through the agonies of re-experiencing; Aaron did. And what Aaron ultimately came to terms with - from all that pain - Raymond learned from him. Raymond could step back, study the clash between Aaron and Roy objectively, rationally. He accepted Aaron and Roy as one, not as a split personality. The horror that Aaron had to deal with did not infect Raymond. Raymond was capable of happiness. Raymond was, and is, everything Aaron wanted to be. So Raymond took over and ultimately destroyed Roy - and, incidentally, was perfectly happy to be rid of both of them.'

  'I'll bet,' Vail snapped. 'So you can't bring either one of them out anymore?'

  'Precisely. For the past eighteen months, Raymond's been psychologically stable. No fugue events, no more appearances by either Aaron or Roy. In fact, for the last several months, Raymond has rarely mentioned them. He's become far more interested in the present and the future than the past.'

  'What you're telling me is that Raymond Vulpes is sane?'

  'As sane as we are. In this case
a very troubled teenager has been replaced by a charming, educated, intelligent man. A charming fellow with a genius level IQ and a remarkable memory. He's rational, well-adjusted, has a stunning spectrum of interests. We're good friends, Raymond and I. We play chess together, discuss movies and books - he reads incessantly, everything from textbooks, magazines, fiction, nonfiction, how-to-books. His thirst for information is unquenchable.' Woodward stopped and smiled.

  Looking at Woodward's smug, self-satisfied grin, Vail's uneasiness towards him changed to contempt. When he talked about Raymond, Woodward sounded like a modern Frankenstein who had taken Aaron's skin and bones and fashioned them into a human being on his own design.

  'My question was, has he had visitors, communication, letters, phone calls, anything from the outside world?' Vail asked.

  'Basically, no. We have had, in the past few months, visiting doctors who have come to observe what we've done with him. Always, of course, in concert with members of the staff. It's purely academic. Q and A, no social involvement whatsoever.'

  'No phone calls?'

  'Who would call him? He hasn't received a letter, not even a postcard, in a decade.'

  'And he doesn't correspond with any one?'

  'To tell you the truth, Martin, I don't think there's anyone Raymond wants to correspond with. Look at it this way: He knows a great deal about his past, but not everything. He knows enough to understand what happened to Aaron and why Roy appeared. Some things don't interest him. I suppose in a way you could compare Raymond to an amnesiac. He's learned enough about his past to be comfortable with himself. He doesn't need or want to know any more.'

  Woodward stood up and walked to the door. 'I'll send Max to get him,' he said. 'Excuse me for a minute.'

  Vail took out a cigarette and toyed with it. Everything Woodward said seemed perfectly logical. It was medically plausible, not even that uncommon. It all made perfect sense.

  Sure it did, Vail thought. Here was a psychotic madman living comfortably in an insane asylum, where he has convinced all the doctors that he has been miraculously transformed into a real sweetheart named Raymond Vulpes, who was perfectly sane.