Читать книгу Straight Jacket - Adrian Deans - Страница 9

‘A winged horse … white as snow … running in slow motion over the tops of the clouds … in dazzling bright moonlight …’

‘Then what?’

‘That’s all. I don’t remember any more.’

‘Hmmm.’

He wanted to know about my dreams, but what could I tell him? I never dream. I made up the horse, in case he thought ‘not dreaming’ was strange.

He ran his fingers through his de rigueur goatee and gleamed at me through rimless spectacles, more Freudian than any complex.

‘A flying horse,’ he mused, ‘but moving in slow motion … fascinating. It’s almost as though you are craving to be free, but sense that any form of freedom has its impediment. Am I right?’

The question hung in the air between us, and he seemed to be holding his breath.

‘You may be right,’ I said, all deft and delicate. ‘But if so, you’re talking about a freedom I’ve never sought consciously. I’m very happy with my life … especially since my appointment. I think the flying horse may be my desire to serve Gulliman Cross well, but the slow motion represents the need to be responsible in pursuit of my ambition.’

A single arched eyebrow, but I could sense it was almost over. The doctor scribbled briefly on his clipboard and backhanded a couple of obvious ticks — ticks are good.

Then, with the contrived gravitas of the professional justifying his existence, he said, ‘So … nothing else you think I ought to know?’

‘I don’t think so.’

He tapped the pen against his perfect teeth, savouring his judgment.

‘What about the dazzling bright moonlight, Morgen? What can you tell me about that?’

‘I don’t think it’s important.’

‘You were quite specific. I always find the key to the psyche is in the details. Two men standing next to each other witness a murder. For one, the key memory is the face of the victim … for the other, it may be the colour of the sky or a button on the sleeve of the killer. What we remember, or choose to remember, is very revealing.’

I wasn’t sure he wanted me to respond, so I did my best to radiate boredom — to let him know he was wasting my time. He scribbled some more on his clipboard, then at last he said, ‘Alright Morgen, I think I can probably recommend …’

At that moment, an almost subliminal burr broke his concentration, and he reached into a shoulder holster to retrieve his telephone, peering closely at the displayed number before answering.

Fuck it! Another three seconds and I would’ve been gone.

He continued to stare at me while pressing the phone to his ear — occasionally murmuring a monosyllable — and I did my best to stay calm. It would all be over in a minute. I’d walk out with my appointment confirmed and everyone else could kiss my arse.

The doctor’s face became grave, but his eyes never left mine.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘I see … thanks for letting me know.’

He broke the connection with his thumb, returned the phone to its holster and continued to gaze at me — unblinking — once again holding his breath.

I shifted in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs — willing him to speak.

‘You were saying, doctor, that you could recommend …’

He exhaled noisily, lips pursed like a Jungian duality, and his eyes returned to the clipboard.

‘You seem nervous, Morgen.’

I could easily have lost my temper at that point, but I managed to grit my teeth and maintain the bearing befitting a man of my station.

‘Not nervous, Bryan … I just can’t see the point. I’d have to be the most normal … ordinary person in the world. And I’ve never had occasion to speak with a psychiatrist before.’

‘Yes, forgive me,’ he said, pleased to hear my acknowledgement of his power yet surely aware that once my appointment was confirmed I could make a dangerous enemy. ‘But most normal person in the world, Morgen? That’s an extraordinary claim.’

I shut my mouth, positive that every word was doing me damage. Bryan began to scribble once more on his clipboard and he sighed: as Napoleon might have sighed, gazing at the pyramids; as Hitler might have sighed, adding titian brown to the walls of a church.

Then at last he said, ‘The position to which you were provisionally appointed requires exactly that … the most normal person in the world. I think, Mr Tanjenz, that I want to know some more about you. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?’