Read Online The Warlock's Companion by Christopher Stasheff - Free Book Online Page B

lightly. Don't mention Homestead, or her parents, or anything about her past for a while. There's no way of knowing what will trigger a memory painful enough to set her back."
    Whitey nodded. "And she'll have to have psychiatric care?"
    "Yes, that's vital."
    "I see… Do you take private patients, Doctor?"
    "Yes, a few," Dr. Ross said instantly, "and I can make room for Lona."
     
    So he had to settle down, after all—find an apartment to buy, arrange the financing, have the furniture cast and delivered. Then, finally, he was able to lead her out of the hospital and out into the corridor, her little hand in his, already trusting, on her way home.
    She was very good.
    Too good—Whitey found himself wishing for a little naughtiness. But she was totally obedient, did exactly what she was told—
    And not one thing more.
    When he didn't have something for her to do, she just sat watching the 3DT, hands in her lap, back straight (as he had commanded, hoping to get a rise out of her). Everything he taught her, she learned on the first try, then did whenever he told her to do it. She made her bed every morning, washed her dishes, studied her alphabet—
    Like a robot.
    "She could simply be naturally good," Dr. Ross said carefully. "Some children are."
    "Some children may be, but it's not natural. Come on, Doctor—just a little disobedience? A little backtalk? Why not?"
    "Guilt," the doctor said slowly.
    Whitey stared. "What could she have to feel guilty about?"
    "The explosion," the doctor sighed. "Children seem to feel that if something goes wrong, it must be their fault, must be the result of something they did."
    Whitey frowned. "I can see that making her sad, all right—but absolutely perfectly behaved? And why would that keep her from dreaming?"
    "Everyone dreams, Mr. Tambourin."
    "Whitey." he squeezed his eyes shut; his real name had unpleasant associations with his past. "Just 'Whitey.' "
    " 'Whitey,' " the doctor said reluctantly. "And we know Lona dreams—that's why I gave her the REM test."
    "Then how come she says she doesn't?"
    "She doesn't remember. She's repressing that, too."
    "But they're happening now ! And the accident was months ago!"
    "Yes," the doctor said, musing, "but she may feel that it's wrong to dream."
    "In Heaven's name, why ?"
    "She may have been angry at her parents," Dr. Ross explained. "Children frequently are, any time they're told No or punished. They want to strike back at their parents, want to hurt them, tell them to drop dead—and, if she'd gone to bed in that frame of mind…"
    "She might have dreamed she was killing them?"
    "Something like that. Then she woke up, and found they really were dead—so she repressed the traumatic event, and repressed all memory of her parents, since that reminded her of her guilt."
    "Isn't this a little farfetched?"
    "Very," the doctor admitted. "It's just conjecture, Mr… Whitey."
    He sighed. "Mr. Whitey" would do. "We don't have enough information for anything more than a guess, do we?"
    "Not yet, no."
    "Okay, let's say you're right, Doctor. What do we do about it?"
    "Prove to her that wishes don't make things happen, Mr.— Whitey."
    Whitey suddenly turned thoughtful. "I suppose that is how it looks to her. But why would that make her so scrupulously obedient?"
    "Because if you're naughty," the doctor murmured, "horrible things happen."
    "And if you've been that naughty…"
    "You want to be punished," the doctor finished for him. "Yes."
    "Well." Whitey stood up, with a smile. "She shouldn't have to do it all by herself, should she?"
     
    So he punished her. Tirelessly, relentlessly, ruthlessly, no matter how it made his heart ache. Made her scrub the floor. Do the dishes. Dust the furniture. All by hand, too.
    She should have protested that the robot could do it.
    She didn't.
    He made her comb her own hair, and watched with a beady eye to make sure every tangle was out, trying to ignore the ache in his chest—watched the tears rolling down her cheeks