Pengantar Psikologi Klinis

by Suprapti Sumarmo Markam

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes cast down in shame.

  I sighed and turned around. “Thanks, Stig.”

  “You owe me, boss.”

  “That I do.”

  We walked past dozens of other inhabitants of the Underneath. Since it was early, most were passed out drunkenly on the ground, though all of the ones who were awake stared at Meera in outright confusion and hatred. In fact, a number of demons hissed as soon as they saw her, and hunched down like they were preparing to attack –

  “CHILL, BITCH! They’re with me,” Stig announced proudly as he jerked his thumb at his chest, then continued strutting on down the tunnel like nothing was amiss.

  The demons would invariably stand down – but they would continue to stare at the angel, completely bewildered.

  Meera stared back in disgusted wonder. For somebody who as recently as twelve hours before thought there was no crime in Exardus, I’m sure the Underneath was a real eye-opener.

  “By Telok’s wings, it stinks in here,” she complained.

  “You’ll get used to it in a few minutes.”

  “Why do they live like this?” she asked – loudly.

  Several orcs and dark elves overheard her and snarled in our direction.

  “Be quiet when you say things like that,” I hissed.

  “Why do they live like this?” she asked again in a whisper.

  I looked over at the pimps and slave traders and cutthroats lurking in the shadows. I wanted to say Because the game designers programmed them this way, but that explanation wouldn’t exactly cut it – especially since her question was applicable to not just orcs and trolls, but humanity in the real world as well.

  “Well… some of them are outright evil, I guess. Actually, since they’re dehumanizing other people for money, I guess they’re all evil to some degree or another. Or maybe it’s that – ”

  “I know they are evil, but how are they dehumanizing other people?” she asked as she pointed at the ground.

  “What?” I asked, then realized who she was talking about: the drunks passed out in the shadows. “They aren’t evil – they’re just drunk and sleeping it off.”

  “No, they are evil,” she repeated with self-righteous conviction.

  I scowled at her. “I was drunk last night when I saved you. Does that make me evil?”

  She looked like a baby who had been spanked for reasons it didn’t understand. “I – I did not mean you – ”

  “No, of course you didn’t,” I sneered. “You just decided to use the same brush to paint everybody you don’t agree with.”

  She looked down at her feet, sufficiently cowed. When she spoke again, her voice was far less judgmental and more curious. “Why do they do it, though?”

  “Because they like it.”

  “Why do they like it?”

  “I don’t know – they just do.” Then I got a flash of inspiration. “This is just them acting out their impure thoughts.”

  “Ohhhhhhhh,” she murmured, and from that point onward she seemed to have less of a stick up her ass.

  I spotted a nearby guard – an orc with a horned helmet and a spear. I use the term ‘guard’ loosely, since he definitely wasn’t there to keep the peace. During my weeklong drunken bender, I had never once seen a guard step in to stop a single brawl or crime, even when somebody was getting their head curb-stomped for sport. Basically the guards were just there to answer players’ questions – like mine.

  “Where’s the Warlock trainer?”

  The orc gruffly gave me directions, and we continued on down the street until we found a dingy hellhole of a shop on the uppermost level of the Underneath.

  I had seen it before during my week of carousing, but I’d never paid it any mind because I had no idea what was inside. There was no sign or lettering, just a cracked wooden door in a slimy brick wall.

  When I opened the door, the first thing I noticed was the light tinkle tinkle of a bell announcing our presence to the shop owner. It sounded so normal, so everyday, so much like the bell on any mom and pop store back in the real world, that I was lulled into a false sense of normalcy.

  However, everything on the other side of the threshold was the opposite of normal.

  It was a cramped, windowless space, with every available inch of wall covered by wooden shelves that stretched to the brick ceiling. That wasn’t the abnormal part; it was what was on the shelves that was abnormal.

  Taxidermied demon heads. Withered, clawed hands. Jars of finger bones and teeth. Necklaces made of tiny skulls no bigger than grapes. Jars of formaldehyde filled with what looked like the intestinal tracks of small animals. A birdcage hanging from the ceiling that contained a foot-long centipede creeping endlessly across the metal bars.

  Over on the right side of the shop was a countertop made of glass and gnarled wood. Inside the display case were various amulets, charms, wands, and scepters. On top of the counter stood a foot-tall creature that looked like a cross between a praying mantis and a grey alien. Its fleshy head swiveled slightly above its hooked arms, and it watched us with black, soulless eyes.

  “Jesus,” I said in astonished horror.

  “Is he in here?” Meera asked.

  “I don’t think so…”

  “Noooo, he issss definitely not,” a ghastly voice lisped.

  I stepped back in alarm as a figure rose up from behind the counter.

  It was a dead guy.

  Not a regular human who had died, mind you. No, it was a Revenant, one of the various races you could play in OtherWorld. Basically one of the undead, but without a vampire’s taste for blood or a zombie’s lust for brains.

  He had human features, but his skin had withered into something resembling a grey prune. He had no nose or ears; they must have rotted off at some point. His blank eyes glowed yellow, and his wrinkled upper and lower lips looked a lot like Thanos’ chin in Avengers: Infinity War.

  He was wearing a black robe that covered everything but his hands, which looked like they had turned into grey beef jerky. He also wore a medieval black cap on his head with two straps hanging down on either side of his face. He looked like a monk from the Dark Ages had gotten locked away in a crypt, died, and then come back to life 700 years later.

  Before I could say anything, the dead guy pointed one bony finger at Meera and sneered, “We don’t sssserve her kind! What in the Abysssss isss she doing here?”

  “She’s with me,” Stig announced proudly, then turned and barked at Meera. “CHILL, BITCH!”

  “Would you tell him to stop saying that?” Meera snapped at me.

  I ignored her and instead focused on Undead Mr. Burns. “Are you the Warlock trainer?”

  “Yessss I am, assss well assss a purveyor of all thingssss sssssupernatural.”

  “Do you have any sort of collars that can bind an angel to me, like it would a demon?”

  The undead guy smiled unpleasantly at Meera. “Why yessss, I do.”

  He held up both hands in the air above his head. I was expecting lightning and fire and demonic voices – maybe recitations from some arcane ritual –

  But instead he turned, reached up to one of the shelves behind him, and slapped an object down on the glass counter.

  “There you go,” the dead guy said.

  It was a collar – and a very simple one, at that. Basically just a black leather strap with a metal button clasp on one end.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Five hundred.”

  “Five hundred GOLD?!” I choked.

  “Well, if you don’t want it – ” he said snootily, and started to sweep it off the counter.

  “Hold on, hold on,” I snapped. “What does it do?”

  “The Collar of Gorbolik issss reusssable, and can bind any sssssentient humanoid to you – angel, human, demon, orc, elf, it doesssss not matter. It can be removed and replaced at will on unlimited ssssubjectssss for an unlimited number of timesssss.”

  “If the person wearing it dies, c
an I summon them back to life?”

  “Of courssse.”

  “Will they still be alive after I take it off?”

  “Absssssolutely.”

  “And I can perform Self-Sacrifice to replenish their Health?”

  “Yessss. While they wear the collar, all normal Warlock powersss apply.”

  “Can an enemy remove the collar and enslave the person?”

  “No, that isssss one benefit the Collar of Gorbolik hassss over regular collarssss – it can only be removed by the warlock who bindssss it in the firsssst place.”

  Meera leaned forward and asked a bit too enthusiastically, “And the person wearing it has to do everything the Warlock says, no matter how naughty?”

  The dead guy leaned back as though he were slightly alarmed. “Um… yessss. But you know, if you want to do that sssssort of thing, you can jussssst… do it.”

  “Oh, no. No, that’s no good.” She prodded the collar with one finger. “Do you have it in a prettier color? Maybe pink?”

  The dead guy looked at me like Is she serious?

  I shrugged.

  “No, I do not have it in a ‘prettier color,’” the dead guy said snidely.

  “Could you please check?” Meera said, and looked around the shop disdainfully. “Maybe you misplaced one – ”

  “CHILL, BITCH!” Stig shouted from the floor.

  Meera glared at him, then cast her eyes down at the floor when I frowned at her.

  The dead guy watched the whole interaction with a look of bewilderment. I guess he’d never seen an imp boss around an angel and a warlock, either.

  “I can assure you, thissss is the only one I have, and issss the only one of itssss kind in Exardussss.”

  I turned to Meera. “Can you buy the collar for me and I’ll pay you back?”

  “Of course,” she said as she fished out five 100-gold pieces from her purse and clinked them down on the counter. “But you don’t have to pay me back.”

  “No, I will.”

  She gave me a huge smile and whispered loudly, “Pay me back tonight.”

  “Ew,” the dead guy said, which was ironic coming from somebody who looked as gruesome as he did.

  “Alright… so how do I use it?” I asked as I looked at the collar. “Do I have to use my Warlock spell book? Is there an incantation?”

  “It’ssss very complicated,” the dead guy warned as he pocketed his money. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah…” I said with a little trepidation.

  “Pick it up.”

  I picked it up.

  “Put it around her neck.”

  I put it around her neck

  “Fasssssten it.”

  I put the metal button over the clasp and pushed. Click!

  The collar magically shrunk down to Meera’s neck – a perfect fit.

  “There you go,” the dead guy said.

  I stared at him. “That’s it?”

  “That’ssssss it,” he smirked.

  Smartass.

  I quickly checked my menu bar.

  Holy shit, there she was – a little icon of Meera on my action bar.

  Right next to Alaria and Dorp.

  My heart ached, and I quickly dismissed the menu.

  “If this doesn’t work, and she dies, I’m coming back here and gutting you like a fish,” I warned.

  The dead guy pulled his robes apart like the curtains on a puppet theater, revealing a grey, boney chest – and nothing below the ribcage but his spine. I had no idea what the lower parts of him looked like because the rest was hidden by the counter.

  “Ew,” Stig said, which was basically Meera and my reaction, too.

  “I have no gutsssss,” the trainer said, “but I sssstand by everything I sssssell. You’re free to decapitate me if it doessss not work asssss promissssed.”

  I had to admit, that was a pretty damn good guarantee.

  “Issss there anything elsssse I can help you with?” the dead guy asked.

  “Yeah, actually there is… I want some information. Warlock-type information.”

  “Alright, I’ll throw it in for free with the collar.”

  “How generous of you,” I said sardonically. For 500 gold, he should have been giving me the Meaning of Life. “Anyway, I’ve noticed a lot of demons in the Underneath.”

  “How perssssseptive of you,” the dead guy said drily.

  Asshole.

  Although I guess he was just throwing my own ‘How generous of you’ snarkiness back in my face.

  I glowered at him and asked, “They seem a lot nastier than the demons I’ve run across before.”

  “Well, if the other demonsss were onesss you enssslaved, then that makessss sssenssse.”

  “Not just ones I ensss… uh, enslaved. They were other demons that I freed but who didn’t belong to me.”

  “Typically, demonssss who have been ensssslaved and then freed tend to be more empathetic. They know what it isssss like to sssssuffer, and do not go out of their way to harm otherssss. Generally, that isssss. Ssssome become even more enraged and vindictive.”

  The dead guy looked down at Stig, who was poking around in a wicker basket full of odds and ends – voodoo dolls and glass vials full of eyeballs.

  “He is yoursssss? Or wassss formerly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You freed him, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Curioussssss… why a collar for the angel, but none for the imp?” The dead guy grimaced. “Other than your nocturnal activitiessssss.”

  I glared at him. “We’re going to go run the dungeon, and I need to be able to make sure I can bring her back to life if she dies.”

  “Ah. Clever.” The dead guy looked down at Stig again. “He mussssst truly like you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’ssssss sssstill walking around with you.”

  Stig looked up and shrugged. “He’s alright.”

  “I’m sure,” the dead guy chuckled, then turned to me. “Issss there anything elsssse?”

  “Do you have anything else you can train me in?”

  “Do you have any more gold?”

  Meera was about to answer him, but I cut her off. “No.”

  “Then no, I don’t.”

  Asssssssshole.

  “But come back any time you have more gold to sssspend,” the dead guy said, then leered. “And enjoy the Collar of Gorbolik tonight.”

  I protested, “It’s not for toni– ”

  “OH, we WILL,” Meera beamed.

  I sighed and just pushed her out of the shop as the dead guy snickered behind us.

  “Sssss, ssss, sssssss…”

  Once we got outside the Underneath, we found an isolated alleyway away from everyone. It was funny – even the alleys in Exardus were white and gleaming and squeaky clean.

  “Are you ready?” I asked Meera. “This isn’t going to be pleasant, but we need to test it.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  As Stig stood by and watched, I hit Meera with Soul Suck twice and drained about a fourth of her Health. Throughout it all she tried to keep a straight face, though I could tell by her wincing that it hurt.

  Then I used Self-Sacrifice and poured Health back into her.

  “It works!” she cried out happily as the blue light from my hand engulfed her and her hit points crept back up to full.

  “The basics do, anyway,” I said, although I was actually impressed. It seemed our 500 gold had been well-spent.

  “What about resurrecting me?”

  “Let’s not try that until it’s absolutely necessary. So do your best to stay alive in the dungeon, okay?”

  She nodded, then said eagerly, “Shall we go there now?”

  “I need to make a stop on the way.”

  “To do what?”

  “Get something to drink.”

  Meera nodded. “Water is a good idea.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m going to get.”

  She looked scandal
ized. “Alcohol?! Is that a good idea?”

  “It’s a very good idea. I need something to take the edge off.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think that you should – ”

  “I don’t want to hear another word about it,” I snapped.

  The collar around her neck glowed faintly, and Meera’s mouth snapped shut. She looked damned shocked as it happened.

  “Oh ho,” I said, pleasantly surprised. “I forgot there were side benefits.”

  “I don’t think – ” she started.

  “In fact, don’t say anything until we get to the dungeon,” I ordered. “Just lead us there, and we’ll stop someplace on the way for the booze.”

  The collar glowed again, and Meera stopped talking. She looked furious, but turned and walked out of the alley.

  “Not nice, boss,” Stig muttered as we followed her.

  “Would you rather listen to her complain for the next 30 minutes? ‘Cause I can make that happen if you like.”

  Stig reconsidered.

  “Never mind,” he finally agreed.

  “Best damn purchase I’ve ever made,” I grinned as I walked behind Meera.

  Even if it was with someone else’s money.

  19

  We stopped at a small inn and I got a bottle of expensive spiced rum. The first sip was like nectar of the gods.

  Best of all, Meera paid for it. She didn’t want to, but I ordered her.

  For the first time, I was enjoying having a slave.

  “See? Not so much fun having a collar on, is it?” I asked. She started to complain and I added, “Don’t answer that.”

  The collar glowed and she just glared at me in silence.

  “Don’t worry,” I teased her, “we can take it off after the dungeon so you don’t have to wear it tonight.”

  Her eyes opened wide. She shook her head vigorously and waved her hands like, No, no, it’s fine!

  Oddly enough, Stig didn’t want anything to drink.

  “You sure?” I asked him in surprise.

  “Yes,” he said, though he shook his head ‘no.’

  Ah, Stig’s lie detector. He really wanted the bottle, but he was trying to be good and babysit me.

  “Get Stig a bottle, too,” I ordered Meera. “In fact, get several. I can always use a couple of spares.”