Jonathan Kellerman - Private Eyes

I fought down nausea and panic. Gabney had danced farther away from me, half-concealed behind the big gray box, finger still on the gray remote.

I moved toward the barber chair.

Gabney stopped pushing long enough to say, “Go ahead. Flesh is an excellent conductor. I’ll turn up the voltage and cook both of you.”

I stood still. Ursula had sunk like a sack of rocks. Wheezing, whistling sounds came from her open mouth. She moved her head from side to side, throwing off sweat-drizzle, chest heaving, panting gutturally through grotesquely swollen lips. Her legs were the last to relax, parting slightly. The electrode between them was attached to some kind of sanitary napkin.

I snapped my head away, looked for Gabney.

From behind the gray box, his voice said, “Sit down- farther back. Even farther- that’s good. And keep your hands in full view. Exactly.”

He emerged, paler than before, one arm resting on the top corner of the chrome-shiny thing. Took a sidelong glance at the giant breast.

Wondering if he had help, I said, “Quite a setup. A lot for one man to handle.”

“Don’t patronize me, you insolent shit. Everything’s manageable, as long as the proper variables are controlled. No, don’t scoot forward or I’ll have to deliver more aversives.”

“You made your point,” I said.

His fingers danced above the buttons on the gray remote but didn’t touch them.

“Control,” I said. “Is that the primary goal?”

“You call yourself a scientist. Isn’t it yours?”

Before I could answer he shook his head in disgust. “Define, predict, and control. Otherwise, why bother?”

“How does that reconcile with your ideas about free will?”

He smiled. “My little disquisitions? How conscientious of you to read them. But if you were half as smart as you think you are, you’d see there’s plenty of free will in all of this. This is about free will- its restoration.” Glancing at the apparatus. “A person shackled by major personality defect can never be free.”

Ursula groaned.

The sound made his brow crease.

I said, “Where is Gina?”

He ignored me. Said nothing for what seemed like a long time. Looked at the floor.

Pulled on the chrome thing and brought half of it into view.

Bed on wheels. Pull-up caged sides. Adult-sized crib, the kind they use in nursing homes.

Gina Ramp behind the bars. Lying inert. Eyes closed. Sleeping or unconscious or… I saw her chest move. Saw her checkerboard scalp… cables attached to her, too.

“Listen carefully, idiot,” Gabney finally said. “I’m going to go over there and retrieve that bandana. But my hand will remain on the highest-voltage button. If you move, I’ll incinerate your precious Gina. Fifteen seconds at this level elicits death. Irreversible brain damage requires much less.”

Lightly tapping a button, making the prone body twitch.

I said, “I’m not moving.”

Keeping his eye on me, he crouched next to his wife’s chair, picked up the gag, stood, wadded it, and inserted it in her mouth. She coughed and made choking sounds but didn’t resist. The seam of her gown read PROPERTY MASS. GENERAL.

“Relax, darling,” he said. Using the black remote, he switched off the TV. Taking a stance in front of the screen, he gave her a look that I couldn’t categorize- domination and contempt, lust and just a bit of affection, which sickened me the most. I looked over at Gina, who still hadn’t stirred.

“Don’t worry about her, ” said Gabney. “She’ll be out for a while- chloral hydrate, ye olde Mickey Finn. She responds well to it. Given her history and weak constitution, I’ve treated her with kid gloves.”

“What a guy.”

“Don’t interrupt me again,” he said louder, pressing a button that made the room scream and caused Gina’s body to flop like a cloth doll. No conscious perception of pain was evident on her face, but her lips drew back in a toothy rictus that stretched and puckered the skin on her bad side.

When the noise died, Gabney said, “A bit more of that, and all that lovely plastic surgery will have been for naught.”

“Stop,” I said.

“Quit whining. This is the last time you’ll get a warning. Understood?”

I nodded.

The burnt-toast smell filled my head.

Gabney stared at me, contemplative.

“This is a problem,” he said, and tapped the gray remote.

“What is?”

“Why the hell did you meddle? How did you find out?”

“One thing kind of led to the other.”

“ “Kind of led,’ ” he said. “ “Kind of led.’ Wonderful grammar- who wrote your thesis for you?” Shaking his head. “ Kind of led- just a loose chain of events, was it? Knocking around aimlessly, damn near random?”

I looked at the machines.

His face darkened. “Don’t judge me- don’t you damn well dare. This is treatment. You’ve violated confidentiality.”

I said nothing.

“Do you have even the slightest notion of what I’m talking about?”

“Sexual reconditioning,” I said. “You’re trying to rechannel your wife’s sexual orientation.”

“Profound,” he said. “Just brilliant. You’re able to describe what you see. Freshman psych, second part of the first semester.”

He stared at me, tapping one boot.

I said, “What am I missing?”

“Missing?” Dry laughter. “Just all of it. The meat, the raison d’Être, the goddam clinical rationale.”

“The rationale is that you’re helping her become normal.”

“And you don’t think that’s worthwhile?”

Before I could answer he shook his head and cursed, then tightened the arm holding the shock remote. My eyes snapped reflexively to the gray plastic. I realized I’d broken out into a sweat. Waiting for the high-frequency shriek and the pain that was sure to follow.

Gabney lowered his hand, smiling. “Empathetic conditioning. And so rapidly. My, you have a mushy heart- a pity for your patients.” The smile dissolved in a pool of contempt. “Well, what you think doesn’t matter one goddam iota.”

Keeping his eye on me, he inched over toward Ursula. Lifting her gown with the black remote, he exposed her thighs and said, “Flawless.”

“Except for the bruises.”

“Nothing that won’t heal. Sometimes creativity is called for.”

“Creativity?” I said. “Interesting way to think of torture.”

He stepped directly in front of me, just out of arms’ reach. Fingers tapping the buttons lightly. Setting off high-frequency chirps and staccato movements of both women’s bodies.

“Are you being intentionally stupid ?” he said.

I shrugged.

“ Torture implies intent to cause harm. I’m delivering aversive stimuli in order to enhance the rate of learning. Aversives are potent little buggers- only a mushy-hearted moron would question their usefulness. This is no more torture than a vaccination is, or emergency surgery.”

From around Ursula’s gag came the sound a mouse makes when cornered.

I said, “Just speeding up the old learning curve, Prof?”

Gabney studied me, gave the gray remote a couple of quick jabs, and caused both of the women to convulse.

I forced myself to look casual.

He said, “Something amusing?”

“All your talk about treatment, yet you keep using the shocks to vent your anger. Doesn’t that break the stimulus-response chain? And why, if you’re retraining Ursula, are you shocking Gina? She’s just the stimulus, isn’t she?”

He said, “Oh, shut up.”

“Sexual reconditioning,” I said. “It was tried years ago- back in the early seventies- and discredited.”