William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

“I wanted to talk with you. Before… I’m forced to proceed.”

Her eyes darted about the room, obviously trying to learn as much as possible about her location. “What’s that noise? Sounds like a waterfall. Where am I?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why am I strapped down?”

“I couldn’t very well let you run free. I did leave you your clothes, and I left the restraints as loose as possible-”

“Let me out of here!” Her voice was finding its strength. “Now!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Susan.”

She bucked and heaved, straining against the belts that held her to the table. “Let me… go!”

“Susan… please remain calm. We don’t have that much time. I need to tell you about my work.”

“You don’t have any work. You’re a psychotic killer.”

“Just let me talk to you a few moments.”

“Let me go. Then I’ll listen.”

“Be reasonable. I know what I have to say may seem… unconventional at first, but I’m confident that you’re capable of assimilating it.”

“I want out of here!”

“We could be such a team, Susan, you and I. There is another world, Susan, a better world. And we can go there together. I can make it happen. Give up this mortal plane that has so ill-used you and join my quest! We’ll meet Virginia-”

“Who?”

“My dear late sister. We could all live together in peace and-”

“Listen to me!” Susan took several deep, invigorating breaths. “I know this will be hard for you to understand, but it’s the truth. You are not well. You don’t do these hideous things because you have been chosen or because a prophet is speaking to you. You do them because you are ill.”

“No, Susan, no.” His eyes became clouded. “Please don’t.”

“This is something I know about. I also know that people like you can be helped. With invasive drug therapy.”

“Chemical emasculation.”

“Or intensive behavior modification. Or a combination of the two. If you let me, I will try to help you. But if you go on killing as you have been, you’re going to end up dead. Do you hear me? They will catch you in the end. And they will kill you.”

Was it possible she was right? She seemed so earnest, so good, and her dark eye shone as clear as the-

“You know what you have to do.”

“No!” he shrieked, hands pressed against his ears. “Go away! I’m not ready.”

Susan’s brow creased. “What? Are you talking to me?”

“You know what you have to do.”

“There’s still time. I think she’s beginning to see, just a little…”

Susan strained futilely against her restraints. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have strayed. You have allowed this witch of Endor to seduce you.”

“No, you don’t understand. I just-”

“I am the Raven!”

“I… know… I-”

“Then you know what must be done.”

“I don’t want to hurt her. If there’s any chance-”

“No more chances! She must be broken! She must be shown the grievous error of the path she has chosen.” The voice thundered in his head, knocking him back against the table. Susan stared at him, brow creased, lips parted.

He stumbled to his feet, wiping the water from his eyes. He staggered until he found the black bag, then withdrew a syringe. “I’m so sorry, Susan.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I do. I don’t want to hurt you. But I have no choice.”

Susan twisted back and forth. “You always have a choice. It’s never too late.”

“It is,” he said, his voice cracked with pain. He clenched the syringe in his fist and thrust it into her neck. Almost immediately, her eyelids fluttered closed.

“Goodbye, Susan,” he choked. “Goodbye and farewell. Please remember that I loved you.”

After that, there was only blackness. For both of them.

“Damn it, Boss, it’s been five days.”

“I know how long it’s been, Granger.”

“The press is asking questions. A lot of questions.”

“The press can go screw itself.”

“Did you see those pictures?”

O’Bannon stiffened, like a metal rod had replaced his spine. “Yes.”

“I have to assume we’re not the only recipients. I’ll bet they went to all the papers, all the TV stations. They’re going to want to know what happened to our behaviorist.”

“Who the hell doesn’t?”

Granger’s face twisted up. “Boss-those pictures. They’re-we have to tell them something! Try to explain-”

“Why?” O’Bannon pushed away from his desk, matching Granger bellow for bellow. “It would be different if we knew something. But let’s face it-we don’t. We don’t have the slightest idea where she is or whether-” He stopped short of saying it.

“Face facts, Boss. Five days. None of this guy’s previous victims lasted five days. All of them were killed within a day or two of their capture.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m telling you, we’ve got to face up to it.”

“And I told you-”

“Susan is dead.”

O’Bannon froze.

Darcy sat behind him, in a chair in the corner of his office, not saying a word. Listening to everything.

“Darcy,” O’Bannon said, lowering his voice, “would you leave us alone for a moment?” He fumbled in his pocket for change. “Run across the street and get yourself an ice cream. Get us both an ice cream. Okay?”

“No.”

The response was so startling that both O’Bannon and Granger were thrown. “Excuse me?”

“I think I would rather stay here.” As if a sudden chill had come over him, Darcy’s hands rose and flapped against themselves. “Did you know there was a woman kidnapped in Vancouver in 1979 who was held for sixty-seven days till she escaped? She overpowered her kidnappers and ran away. She hadn’t been harmed.”

O’Bannon and Granger looked at one another. “Darcy…”

“In Omaha, in 1984, a teenage girl was kept in a basement for over six months until she was found by the police. She wasn’t hurt, too.”

O’Bannon felt as if he had gained a hundred pounds in the space of a second. “Darcy, we have to be realistic about this.”

“Elizabeth Smart was gone for eight months, but she came back. Patty Hearst was held for a hundred and twenty-four days until she was found by the FBI, but she had been brainwashed into joining their cause. Do you think Susan could be brainwashed?”

“No,” O’Bannon grunted. “I think anyone who tried to play mind games with Susan would probably end up in the loony ward himself.”

“Actual brainwashing in the post-World War II era has been quite rare and mostly ineffective,” Darcy recited. “Several instances of the Stockholm syndrome have been documented, but it is still uncommon.”

“What have you been reading?”

“Unless there’s torture involved. Do you think Susan might be tortured?” His voice remained as loud and expressionless as ever, but the flapping of his hands accelerated.

“No, son.” He took the boy’s hands and brought them to rest. “I don’t think so. But we have to accept the fact that Susan is prob-is-may not be coming home.”

“I think that I should have figured out that message sooner. Do you think that I should have figured out that message sooner? Should have should have should have. That makes it my fault that the Bad Man got Susan.”