And
you, young man, are to relax, compose yourself, get yourself into as
passive a state as possible. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir," The youth leaned back in the great chair, closing his eyes. "So! Now, think back to your childhood, your earliest memories. Let
your thoughts wander at random, and speak whatever comes to your mind." Nick sat a moment in silence. "That's hard to do, sir," he said finally. "Yes. It will take practice, weeks of it, perhaps. You'll have to
acquire the knack of it, but to do that, we'll have to start." "Yes, sir." He sat with closed eyes. "My mother," he murmured, "was
kind. I remember her a little, just a little. She was very gentle, not
apt to blame me. She could understand. Made excuses to my father. He
was hard, not cruel--strict. Couldn't understand. Blamed me when I
wasn't to blame. Other did it. I wasn't mischievous, but got the blame. Couldn't explain, he wouldn't believe me." He paused uncertainly. "Go on," said Horker quietly, while Pat strained her ears to listen. "Mrs. Stevens," he continued. "Governess after Mother died. Strict like
Father, got punished when I wasn't to blame. Just as bad after Father
died. Always blamed. Couldn't explain, nobody believed me. Other threw
cat in window, I had to go to bed. Put salt in bird seed, broke leg of
chair to make it fall. Punished--I couldn't explain." His voice droned
into silence; he opened his eyes. "That all," he said nervously. "Good enough for the first time," said the Doctor briskly. "Wait a few
weeks; we'll have your life's history out of you. It takes practice." "Is that all?" queried Pat in astonishment. "All for the first time. Later we'll let him talk half an hour at a
stretch, but it takes practice, as I've mentioned. You run along home
now," he said to Nick. "But it's early!" objected Pat. "Early or not," said the Doctor, "I'm tired, and you two aren't to see
each other except here. You remember that." Nick rose from his seat in the depths of the great chair. "Thank you,
sir," he said. "I don't know why, but I feel easier in your presence. The--the struggle disappears while I'm here." "Well," said Horker with a smile, "I like patients with confidence in
me. Good night." At the door Nick paused, turning wistful eyes on Pat. "Good night," he
said, leaning to give her a light kiss. A rush of some emotion twisted
his features; he stared strangely at the girl. "I'd better go," he said
abruptly, and vanished through the door. "Well?" said Pat questioningly, turning to the Doctor. "Did you learn
anything from that?" "Not much," the other admitted, yawning. "However, the results bear out
my theory." "How?" "Did you notice how he harped on the undeserved punishment theme? He
was punished for another's mischief?" "Yes. What of that?" "Well, picture him as a timid, sensitive child, rather afraid of being
punished. Afraid, say, of being locked up in a dark closet. Now, when
he inadvertently commits a mischief, as all children do, he tries
desperately to divert the blame from himself. But there's no one else
to blame! So what does he do?" "What?" "He invents this _other_, the mischievous one, and blames him. And
now the other has grown to the proportions of a delusion, haunting
him, driving him to commit acts apart from his normal inclinations. Understand? Because I'm off to bed whether you do or not." "I understand all right," murmured Pat uncertainly as she moved to the
door. "But somehow, it doesn't sound reasonable." "It will," said the Doctor. "Good night." Pat wandered slowly down the steps and through the break in the hedge,
musing over Doctor Horker's expression of opinion. Then, according
to him, the devil was nothing more than an invention of Nick's mind,
the trick of a cowardly child to evade just punishment. She shook her
head; it didn't sound like Nick at all. For all his gentleness and
sensitivity, he wasn't the one to hide behind a fabrication. He wasn't
a coward; she was certain of that. And she was as sure as she could
ever be that he hated, feared, loathed this personality that afflicted
him; he _couldn't_ have created it. She sighed, mounted the steps, and fumbled for her key. The sound
of a movement behind her brought a faint gasp of astonishment. She
turned to see a figure materializing from the shadows of the porch. The light from the hall fell across its features, and she drew back as
she recognized Nicholas Devine--not the being she had just kissed good
night, but in the guise of her tormentor, the red-eyed demon! 25

The Demon Lover


Pat drew back, leaning against the door, and her key tinkled on the
concrete of the porch. She was startled, shocked, but not as completely
terrified as she might have expected. After all, she thought rapidly,
they were standing in full view of a public street, and Dr. Carl's
residence was but a few feet distant. She could summon his help by
screaming. "Well!" she exclaimed, eyeing the figure inimically. "Your appearances
and disappearances are beginning to remind me of the Cheshire Cat." "Except for the grin," said the other in his cold tones. "What do you want?" snapped Pat. "You know what I want." "You'll not get it," said the girl angrily. "You--you're doomed to
extinction, anyway! Go away!" "Suppose," said the other with a strange, cold, twisted smile, "it were
_he_ that's doomed to extinction--what then?" "It isn't!" cried Pat. "It isn't!" she repeated, while a quiver of
uncertainty shook her. "He's the stronger," she said defiantly. "Then where is he now?" "Dr. Carl will help us!" "Doctor!" sneered the other. "He and his clever theory! Am I an
illusion?" he queried sardonically, thrusting his red-glinting eyes
toward her. "Am I the product of his puerile, vacillating nature? Bah! I gave you the clue, and your Doctor hasn't the intelligence to follow
it!" "Go away!" murmured Pat faintly. The approach of his face had unnerved
her, and she felt terror beginning to stir within her. "Go away!" she
said again. "Why do you have to torment me? Any one would serve your
purpose--any woman!" "You have an aesthetic appeal, as I've told you before," replied the
other in that toneless voice of his. "There is a pleasure in the
defacement of black hair and pale skin, and your body is seductive,
most seductive. Another might afford me less enjoyment, and besides,
you hate me. Don't you hate me?" He peered evilly at her. "Oh, God--yes!" The girl was shuddering. "Say it, then! Say you hate me!" "I hate you!" the girl cried vehemently. "Will you go away now?" "With you!" "I'll scream if you come any closer. You don't dare touch me; I'll call
Dr. Horker." "You'll only damage _him_--your lover." "Then I'll do it! He'll understand." "Yes," said the other reflectively. "He's fool enough to forgive you. He'll forgive you anything--the weakling!" "Go away! Get away from here!" The other stared at her out of blood-shot eyes. "Very well," he said in
his flat tones. "This time the victory is yours." He backed slowly toward the steps.