“All right, all right,” Michael said irritably. “Stop talking down to me. I’ll accept any hypothesis you shove at me, if you’ll just tell me what to do about it.”
“You know better than to ask me for advice.”
“Professional reticence?” Linda asked, too politely.
“Professionally I’m full of advice. As a human being I’ll be damned if I will take on the combined role of leaning post and punching bag. Make your own decisions and kick yourself if they turn out badly.”
“There’s something you may not know,” Michael said. His voice was quiet, but he was furious; Linda knew him well enough now to recognize the signs. “If Randolph were just our personal Nemesis, you’d be justified in staying out of this. But he is planning to go back into politics. That’s a fact; I’ve checked it out. By your own description he’s a paranoidal maniac with enormous charm. Does that remind you of any other political figure in recent history? Gordon isn’t a runty paperhanger with a funny moustache; he’s got a lot more on the ball.”
Galen’s lips tightened. He showed no other reaction; but after a moment Michael flushed and turned away.
“I have not refused to concern myself,” Galen said quietly. “What I’m trying to do is make this a joint project.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael muttered. “You’re right; the long-range effects aren’t important now. The main thing is to get Linda free of him. At the risk of sounding simpleminded, I suggest one of the quick divorce mills.”
“What’s happened to your brain?” Galen asked nastily. “You can’t treat this as an ordinary case of mental cruelty. Randolph is not an ordinary man.”
“He doesn’t own the whole goddamned world.”
“He owns her.” Galen’s head jerked in Linda’s direction. Illogically, it was at that moment, with the impact of his brutal statement still aching, that Linda decided to trust him.
“He’s right,” she said to Michael. “Call it what you like-obsession, neurosis, whatever. He does own me.” She turned to the psychiatrist. “You’ve been very persuasive, Doctor. But I don’t believe any of it. Gordon isn’t an ordinary man, you’re right. He’s not a man at all, not any longer.”
Galen leaned back in his chair.
“At last,” he said, with a sigh. “I thought I spotted something… What do you think he is? Demon, disciple of Satan, werewolf…Ah. The dog.”
In Michael’s hurried, incoherent account, this theory had somehow escaped mention-probably because he rejected it himself. Linda knew there was no use trying to avoid it. Squaring her shoulders, she looked Galen straight in the eye.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I think he is.”
“Hmph.” Galen rocked back and forth. “Why?”
“If you don’t stop saying that-” Michael began.
“Shut up. I’m investigating Linda’s crazy ideas, not yours. Lycanthropy…You are not referring, I’m sure, to the mental aberration which involves cannibalism, necrophilia, sadism, and a craving for raw meat, among other symptoms?”
“Is there such a thing?” Linda asked incredulously.
“As a form of psychotic paranoia, sometimes called zoanthropy, there certainly is such a thing. It is comparatively rare, but well documented; some of the famous mass murderers of history probably suffered from a form of this complaint-Gilles de Rais, Jack the Ripper…
“But that’s not what you mean. You are referring to the belief that some human beings can transform themselves into animal form, through the application of various magical techniques. The werewolf is the most familiar to us, because it is a product of European mythology and is described by the classical authors. In the East, however, one encounters were-tigers, and in Africa the supernatural beast may be a hyena or a leopard. The leopard societies of West Africa, which terrorized whole villages, are well known; there was a strong element of such a cult in the Mau Mau atrocities, in Kenya. The mutilations inflicted on the victims of these societies resemble those made by the claws of a predatory animal, and were done with artificial instruments designed to resemble claws.
“Of course it’s impossible to separate the supernatural and pathological elements. A culture with an implicit faith in lycanthropy produces men who are susceptible to the mania, and an individual who found it impossible to attain prestige by normal methods might well turn to lycanthropy as a means of intimidating those he cannot otherwise control.”
“Good God,” Michael muttered.
“There is, as well, a connection between lycanthropy and witchcraft,” Galen went on calmly. “The tradition of supernatural animals is widespread and very ancient. The ability of a witch or warlock to assume animal form was one of the powers granted by Satan to his disciples. Often witches made their way to the Sabbath meeting in animal form. The great black goat was a manifestation of Lucifer. Black is, of course, the color of evil. And the black dog is not unknown as a supernatural animal, sometimes representing the warlock and sometimes Satan himself. The wild dog or wolf like beast is a symbol of the bestial qualities of the human mind, freed from the bonds of reason and conscience.”
“A vile slander on animals,” Michael said.
Galen went on, without appearing to hear him.
“You see, I am sure, how the various traditions mingle-pre-Christian superstitions, perversions of Christian theology, and a variety of mental aberrations, ranging from paranoia to autohypnosis and hallucination. But the elements of the classic Western werewolf legend are explicit. Some werewolves, as in the popular films, are helpless victims of a curse, involuntary skin-turners. Most are not innocent; they seek the change by diabolical means and use their animal form to satisfy bestial desires. According to these accounts, it is the soul, or astral body, of the man that takes the animal form. The real body lies in a cataleptic coma, barely breathing; but the astral form is actual, physical, in that it can inflict pain and death, and feel pain and death. Any wound inflicted on the animal is reproduced on the sleeping human body, and drawing the animal’s blood forces it to resume human shape. In some traditions, the beast can only be killed by a silver bullet, or by a sword which has been blessed by a priest. When death occurs, the body of the beast disappears and the body of the lycanthrope is found with the same wounds that killed the animal. Intelligent observers have already suspected the werewolf’s human identity because of such signs as hairy palms and eyebrows that meet in the middle. He is often strangely affected by the full moon. Has Gordon any of these traits, Mrs. Randolph?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Linda said disgustedly. “Those are old wives’ tales.”
Meeting Galen’s gently ironic eye, she began to laugh, helplessly.
“Oh, dear…that’s probably the craziest thing I’ve said yet. Maybe I’m not as far gone as I thought I was. No, I think Gordon belongs to your second category. How was it you phrased it? ‘The ability of a warlock to assume animal form was one of the powers granted by Satan to his disciples.’”
“It makes sense,” Galen said. “Given his past history, his dabbling in demonology as a young man, and his desire for control over others.”
Linda’s insane desire to laugh broke out again at the sight of Michael’s stupefied expression.
“Wait a minute,” he gasped. “First you said…And now you’re saying…”
“You seem to be degenerating,” Galen snapped. “I’m not telling you what I believe. I am endeavoring to ascertain what Randolph himself believes.”
“I think he believes it,” Linda said stubbornly. “What I just said.”
“I don’t know,” Michael said.
Galen rose. He seemed taller; from where Linda sat, on a low chair by the desk, he seemed to tower over her.
“Maybe we’d better ask him,” he said.
For the last few minutes, Linda had been partially aware of background noises, but in the immediacy of the conversation she had paid little attention. Now the meaning of the muffled sounds came home to her-a doorbell ringing, footsteps down the stairs and along the hall, the rattle of locks, and the opening and closing of the door. She sprang to her feet. The footsteps were coming down the hall, toward the study. Footsteps she knew. Gordon’s steps.