The bed fell. It spilled Bruno out. He saw the oblong of the window opening like a mouth to swallow him. He plunged through into utter blackness, into an echoing, roaring hell of night and thunder. …
“Oh, good heavens!” Bruno moaned. “What a dream! Morrissey, get me a sedative!”
The psychiatrist laughed. “You’ve had a dream-within-a-dream before, haven’t you, Doctor? It sounds unnerving, but now you’ve told me all about it. The catharsis is better than a barbiturate.”
“I suppose so.” Bruno lay back in the bed.
This wasn’t the room he had dreamed about. It was much larger, and outside the windows was normal darkness. Morrissey had said that the anesthetic had lasted for several hours.
“Anyway, I’m jittery,” Bruno said.
“I didn’t know you had any nerves. … Here, Harwood.” Morrissey turned to the nurse and scribbled down a few symbols on a pad. “There. We’ll get your sedative. Don’t you want to know about Gregson?”
“I’d forgotten about him completely,” Bruno acknowledged. “Can you tell anything definite yet?”
“We caught him on the downcurve of the depressive cycle, remember? Well, he isn’t talking yet, but there’s a touch of euphoria. The elation will wear off. One thing, you’ve broken the cycle. His mind isn’t adjusted yet to those—damper bars you put in ’em, but offhand, I’d say it looks pretty good.”
“What does Parsons think?”
“He’s immersed in calculations. Said he’d be around to see you as soon as you woke up. Here’s that sedative.”
Bruno accepted the capsules from the nurse and washed them down with water.
“Thanks. I’d rather rest a bit. I must have unconsciously piled up quite a lot of tension.”
“So I gather,” Morrissey said drily. “Well, here’s the bell-cord. Anything else?”
“Just rest.” Bruno hesitated. “Oh—one thing.” He extended his arm. “Pinch it.”
Morrissey stared and chuckled.
“Still not sure you’re awake? I can assure you you are, Doctor. I’m not going to jump out of the window. And it’s still night, you’ll notice.”
When Bruno didn’t move, Morrissey pinched up a fold of the other’s forearm between thumb and finger.
“Ouch!” Bruno said. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” Morrissey said cheerfully. “Get some rest now. I’ll be back.”
He went out with the nurse. Bruno blew out his breath and let his gaze wander around the room. Everything looked perfectly solid and normal. No black, thundering abyss lurked under the floor. An unpleasant dream!
He reached for pad and pencil and made careful notes on the curious double-delusion before he let himself relax. Then he felt the sedative creeping slowly along his nerves, a warm, pleasant sensation that he was glad to encourage. He didn’t want to think. Later would be time enough. The empathy surrogate experiment, Gregson, the physicist Parsons, Barbara—later!
He drowsed. It seemed only a moment before he opened his eyes to see sunlight beyond the window. Brief panic touched him, then he looked at his wristwatch and was reassured to see that it said eleven o’clock. He could hear the muffled sounds of the ordinary hospital routine going on outside door and window. Presently, feeling refreshed, he got up and dressed.
In Nurse Harwood’s office he telephoned Morrissey, exchanged brief greetings, and then went to his own office to shower and shave.
He telephoned Barbara.
“Hello, there,” she said. “Morrissey notified me you were doing all right. So I thought I’d wait till you woke up.”
“I’m awake now. Suppose I come over to the house for lunch?”
“Swell. I’ll be waiting.”
“Half an hour, then?”
“Half an hour. I’m glad you called, Bob. I was worried.”
“You needn’t have been.”
“Was your experiment a success?”
“Can’t tell yet. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Ten minutes later Bruno’s fingers were still crossed as he examined Gregson. Parsons and Morrissey were present. The physicist kept making notes, but Morrissey stood silent and watchful.
There was very little to be seen as yet. Gregson lay in his bed, the shaved spots on his head white against the dark hair, his features relaxed and peaceful. The typical anxiety expression was gone. Bruno opened the man’s eyes and flashed his light into them. Contraction of the pupils seemed normal.
“Can you hear me, Gregson?”
Gregson’s lips moved. But he said nothing.
“It’s all right. You’re feeling fine, aren’t you? You’re not worried about anything, are you?”
“Headache,” Gregson said. “Bad headache.”
“We’ll give you something for that. Now try to sleep.”
Outside, in the corridor, Bruno tried hard to repress his exultation. Parsons blinked at him, scowling.
“Can you tell anything yet?”
Bruno checked himself. “No. It’s too soon. But—”
“The manic-depressive phase is passed,” Morrissey put in. “He seems rational. And he hasn’t been for three years.”
“Those damper bars—” Bruno smiled. “Well, we’ll have to wait and see. We can’t write up a report yet. He’s certainly oriented. We’ll give him a chance to rest. More tests later. I don’t want to jump the gun.”
But with Barbara he let himself be more enthusiastic.
“We’ve done it, Barbara! Found a specific for insanity.”
She leaned across the table to pour coffee.
“I thought there were so many types of psychosis that the treatment varied considerably.”
“Well, that’s true, but we’ve never got to the real basis of the trouble before. You can cure a cold by rest therapy, force fluids and aspirin, but cold vaccine gets directly to the root of the trouble. Some types of insanity have been thought incurable, but tetanus was incurable till we got a vaccine for it. The empathy surrogate therapy is the lowest common denominator. It works on the electronic structure of the mind, and unless there’s physical deterioration, as in advanced paresis, our treatment should work beautifully.”
“So that’s what you were working on,” Barbara said. “Bob, you don’t know how glad I am that it’s successful.”
“Well—we hope. We’re almost sure. But—”
“You can take a vacation now? You’ve been working so hard!”
“A few more weeks, and I’ll be ready. I’ve got to collate my notes. I can’t run out on Parsons at this stage. But very soon, I promise.”
He looked up to see her smile. Suddenly he stiffened. Her smile was broadening, stretching, the lower lip dropping
