The Complete Stories, Vol. 1: Final Reckonings

by Robert Bloch

  "JURGEN," Dr. Prager muttered. "And if I'm not mistaken, the other one was from LUKUNDOO. I think it was called The Snout."

  "Let's stick to the point, Doc," Eve Eden said. "Anyway, Wally was crazy about these dreams. He said the professor had a lot more to peddle, and even though the price was high, it was worth it. Because in the dream you felt like somebody else. You felt like the character you were dreaming about. And, of course, no hangover, no trouble with the law. Wally said if he ever tried some of the stuff he dreamed about on real women they'd clap him into pokey, even here in Hollywood. He planned to get out of pictures and buy more. Wanted to dream all the time. I guess the professor told him if he paid enough he could even stay in a dream without coming back."

  "Nonsense!"

  "That's what I told the man. I know how you feel, Doc. I felt that way myself before I met Professor Laroc. But after that it was different."

  "You met this person?"

  "He isn't a person, Doc. He's a real nice guy, a sweet character. You'd like him. I did when Wally brought him around. We had a long talk together. I opened up to him, even more than I have to you, I guess. Told him all my troubles. And he said what was wrong with me was I never had any childhood. That somewhere underneath there was a little girl trying to live her life with a full imagination. So he'd sell me a dream for that. And even though it sounded batty it made sense to me. He really seemed to understand things I didn't understand about myself.

  "So I thought here goes, nothing to lose if I try it once, and I bought the dream." She smiled. "And now that I know what it's like I'm going to buy more. All he can sell me. Because he was right, you know. I don't want the movies. I don't want liquor or sex or H or gambling or anything. I don't want Eve Eden. I want to be a little girl, a little girl like the one in the dream, having adventures and never getting hurt. That's why I made up my mind. I'm quitting, getting out while the getting is good. From now on, me for dreamland."

  Dr. Prager was silent for a long time. He kept staring at Eve Eden's smile. It wasn't her smile — he got the strangest notion that it belonged to somebody else. It was too relaxed, too innocent, too utterly seraphic for Eve. It was, he told himself, the smile of a ten-year-old girl on the face of a thirty-three-year-old woman of the world.

  And he thought hebephrenia and he thought schizophrenia and he thought incipient catatonia and he said, "You say you met this Professor Laroc through Wally Redmond. Do you know how to reach him?"

  "No, he reaches me." Eve Eden giggled. "He sends me, too, Doc."

  She was really pretty far gone, Dr. Prager decided. But he had to persist. "When you bought this dream, as you say, what happened?"

  "Why, nothing. Wally brought the professor here to the house. Right up to this bedroom actually. Then he went away and the professor talked to me and I wrote out the check and he gave me the dream."

  "You keep saying he 'gave' you this dream. What does that mean?" Dr. Prager leaned forward. He had a sudden hunch. "Did he ask you to lie down, the way I do?"

  "Yes. That's right."

  "And did he talk to you?"

  "Sure. How'd you guess?"

  "And did he keep talking until you went to sleep?"

  "I — I think so. Anyway, I did go to sleep, and when I woke up he was gone."

  "Aha."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you were hypnotized, my dear. Hypnotized by a clever charlatan, who sold you a few moments of prepared patter in return for ten thousand dollars."

  "But — but that's not true!" Eve Eden's childish smile became a childish pout. "It was real. The dream, I mean. It happened'

  "Happened?"

  "Of course. Haven't I made that clear yet? The dream happened. It wasn't like other dreams. I mean, I could feel and hear and see and even taste. Only it wasn't me. It was this little girl. Alice. I was Alice. That's what makes it worthwhile, can't you understand? That's what Wally said, too. The dream place is real. You go there, and you are somebody else."

  "Hypnotism," Dr. Prager murmured.

  Eve Eden put down the rabbit. "All right," she said. "I can prove it." She marched over to the big bed — the bed large enough to hold six people, according to some very catty but authenticated reports. "I didn't mean to show you this," she said, "but maybe I'd better."

  She reached under her pillow and pulled out a small object which glittered beneath the light. "I found this in my hand when I woke up," she declared. "Look at it."

  Dr. Prager looked at it. It was a small bottle bearing a white label. He shook it and discovered that the bottle was half-filled with a colorless transparent liquid. He studied the label and deciphered the hand-lettered inscription which read simply, "Drink Me."

  "Proof, eh?" he mused. "Found in your hand when you woke up?"

  "Of course. I brought it from the dream."

  Dr. Prager smiled. "You were hypnotized. And before Professor Laroc stole away — and stole is singularly appropriate, considering that he had your check for ten thousand dollars — he simply planted this bottle in your hand as you slept. That's my interpretation of your proof." He slipped the little glass container into his pocket. "With your permission, I'd like to take this along," he said. "I'm going to ask you now to bear with me for the next twenty-four hours. Don't make any announcements about leaving the studio until I return. I think I can clear everything up to your satisfaction."

  "But I am satisfied," Eve told him. "There's nothing to clear up. I don't want to — "

  "Please." Dr. Prager brushed his brush with authority. "All I ask is that you be patient for twenty-four hours. I shall return tomorrow at this same time. And meanwhile, try to forget about all this. Say nothing to anyone."

  "Now wait a minute, Doc — "

  But Dr. Prager was gone. Eve Eden frowned for a moment, then sank back on the chaise longue. The rabbit scampered out from behind a chair and she picked it up again. She stroked its long ears gently until the creature fell asleep. Presently Eve's eyes closed and she drifted off to slumber herself. And the child's smile returned to her face.

  5

  There was no smile, childish or adult, on Dr. Prager's face when he presented himself again to the gatekeeper on the following day.

  His face was stern and set as he drove up to the front door, accepted the butler's greeting, and went down the hall to where Mickey Dennis waited.

  "What's up?" the little agent demanded, tossing his copy of Hollywood Reporter to the floor.

  "I've been doing a bit of investigating," Dr. Prager told him. "And I'm afraid I have bad news for you."

  "What is it, Doc? I tried to get something out of her after you left yesterday, but she wasn't talking. And today — "

  "I know." Dr. Prager sighed. "She wouldn't be likely to tell you, under the circumstances. Apparently she realizes the truth herself but won't admit it. I have good reason to believe Miss Eden is disturbed. Seriously disturbed."

  Mickey Dennis twirled his forefinger next to his ear. "You mean she's flipping?"

  "I disapprove of that term on general principles," Dr. Prager replied primly. "And in this particular case the tense is wrong. Flipped would be much more correct."

  "But I figgered she was all right lately. Outside of this business about quitting, she's been extra happy — happier'n I ever seen her."

  "Euphoria," Dr. Prager answered. "Cycloid manifestation."

  "You don't say so."

  "I just did," the psychiatrist reminded him.

  "Level with me," Dennis pleaded. "What's this all about?"

  "I can't until after I've talked to her," Dr. Prager told him. "I need more facts. I was hoping to get some essential information from this Wally Redmond, but I can't locate him. Neither his studio nor his home seems to have information as to his whereabouts for the past several days."

  "Off on a binge," the agent suggested. "It figgers. Only just what did you want from him?"

  "Information concerning Professor Laroc," Dr. Prager answered. "He's a pretty el
usive character. His name isn't listed on any academic roster I've consulted, and I couldn't find it in the City Directory of this or other local communities. Nor could the police department aid me with their files. I'm almost afraid my initial theory was wrong and that Professor Laroc himself is only another figment of Eve Eden's imagination."

  "Maybe I can help you out there, Doc."

  "You mean you met this man, saw him when he came here with Wally Redmond that evening?"

  Mickey Dennis shook his head. "No. I wasn't around then. But I been around all afternoon. And just about a half hour ago a character named Professor Laroc showed up at the door. He's with Eve in her room right now."

  Dr. Prager opened his mouth and expelled a gulp. Then he turned and ran for the stairs.

  The agent sought out his overstuffed chair and riffled the pages of his magazine.

  More waiting. Well, he just hoped there wouldn't be any explosions this afternoon.

  6

  There was no explosion when Dr. Prager opened the bedroom door. Eve Eden was sitting quietly on the chaise longue, and the elderly gentleman occupied an armchair.

  As Dr. Prager entered, the older man rose with a smile and extended his hand. Dr. Prager felt it wise to ignore the gesture. "Professor Laroc?" he murmured.

  "That is correct." The smile was a bland blend of twinkling blue eyes behind old-fashioned steel-rimmed spectacles, wrinkled creases in white cheeks, and a rictus of a prim, thin-lipped mouth. Whatever else he might be, Professor Laroc aptly fitted Mickey Dennis's description of a "character." He appeared to be about sixty-five, and his clothing seemed of the same vintage, as though fashioned in anticipation at the time of his birth.

  Eve Eden stood up now. "I'm glad you two are getting together," she said. "I asked the professor to come this afternoon so we could straighten everything out."

  Dr. Prager preened his goatee. "I'm very happy that you did so," he answered. "And I'm sure that matters can be set straight in very short order now that I'm here."

  "The professor has just been telling me a couple of things," Eve informed him. "I gave him your pitch about me losing my buttons and he says you're all wet."

  "A slight misquotation," Professor Laroc interposed. "I merely observed that an understanding of the true facts might dampen your enthusiasm."

  "I think I have the facts," Dr. Prager snapped. "And they're dry enough. Dry, but fascinating."

  "Do go on."

  "I intend to." Dr. Prager wheeled to confront Eve Eden and spoke directly to the girl. "First of all," he said, "I must tell you that your friend here is masquerading under a pseudonym. I have been unable to discover a single bit of evidence substantiating the identity of anyone named Professor Laroc."

  "Granted," the elderly man murmured.

  "Secondly," Dr. Prager continued, "I must warn you that I have been unable to ascertain the whereabouts of your friend Wally Redmond. His wife doesn't know where he is, or his producer. Mickey Dennis thinks he's off on an alcoholic fugue. I have my own theory. But one fact is certain — he seems to have completely disappeared."

  "Granted," said Professor Laroc.

  "Third and last," Dr. Prager went on. "It is my considered belief that the man calling himself Professor Laroc did indeed subject you to hypnosis and that, once he had managed to place you in a deep trance, he deliberately read to you from a copy of ALICE IN WONDERLAND and suggested to you that you were experiencing the adventures of the principal character. Whereupon he placed the vial of liquid labeled 'Drink Me' in your hand and departed."

  "Granted in part." Professor Laroc nodded. "It is true that I placed Miss Eden in a receptive state with the aid of what you choose to call hypnosis. And it is true that I suggested to her that she enter into the world of Alice, as Alice. But that is all. It was not necessary to read anything to her, nor did I stoop to deception by supplying a vial of liquid, as you call it. Believe me, I was as astonished as you were to learn that she had brought back such an interesting souvenir of her little experience."

  "Prepare to be astonished again then," Dr. Prager said grimly. He pulled the small bottle from his pocket and with it a piece of paper.

  "What's that, Doc?" Eve Eden asked.

  "A certificate from Haddon and Haddon, industrial chemists," the psychiatrist told her. "I took this interesting souvenir, as your friend calls it, down to their laboratories for analysis." He handed her the report. "Here, read for yourself. If your knowledge of chemistry is insufficient, I can tell you that H20 means water." He smiled. "Yes, that's right. This bottle contains nothing but half an ounce of water."

  Dr. Prager turned and stared at Professor Laroc. "What have you to say now?" he demanded.

  "Very little." The old man smiled. "It does not surprise me that you were unable to find my name listed in any registry or directory of activities, legal or illegal. As Miss Eden already knows, I chose to cross over many years ago. Nor was 'Laroc' my actual surname. A moment's reflection will enable you to realize that 'Laroc' is an obvious enough anagram for 'Carroll,' give or take a few letters."

  "You don't mean to tell me — "

  "That I am Lewis Carroll, or rather, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson? Certainly not. I hold the honor of being a fellow alumnus of his at Oxford, and we did indeed share an acquaintance — "

  "But Lewis Carroll died in 1898," Dr. Prager objected.

  "Ah, you were interested enough to look up the date." The old man smiled. "I see you're not as skeptical as you pretend to be."

  Dr. Prager felt that he was giving ground and remembered that attack is the best defense. "Where is Wally Redmond?" he countered.

  "With the Duchess of Towers, I would presume," Professor Laroc answered. "He chose to cross over permanently, and I selected PETER IBBETSON for him. You see, I'm restricted to literature which was directly inspired by the author's dream, and there's a rather small field available. I still have Cabell's SMIRT to sell, and The Brushwood Boy of Kipling, but I don't imagine I shall ever manage to dispose of any Lovecraft — too gruesome, you know." He glanced at Eve Eden. "Fortunately, as I told you, I've reserved something very special for you. And I'm glad you decided to take the step. The moment I saw you my heart went out to you. I sensed the little girl buried away beneath all the veneer, just as I sensed the small boy in Mr. Redmond. So many of you Hollywood people are frustrated children. You make dreams for others but have none of your own. I am glad to offer my modest philanthropy— "

  "At ten thousand dollars a session!" Dr. Prager exploded.

  "Now, now," Professor Laroc chided. "That sounds like professional jealousy, sir! And I may as well remind you that a permanent crossover requires a fee of fifty thousand. Not that I need the money, you understand. It's merely that such a fee helps to establish me as an authority. It brings about the necessary transference relationship between my clients and myself, to borrow from your own terminology. The effect is purely psychological."

  Dr. Prager had heard enough. This, he decided, was definitely the time to call a halt. Even Eve Eden in her present disturbed state should be able to comprehend the utter idiocy of this man's preposterous claims.

  He faced the elderly charlatan with a disarming smile. "Let me get this straight," he began quietly. "Am I to understand that you are actually selling dreams?"

  "Let us say, rather, that I sell experiences. And the experiences are every bit as real as anything you know."

  "Don't quibble over words." Dr. Prager was annoyed. "You come in and hypnotize patients. During their sleep you suggest they enter a dream world. And then—"

  "If you don't mind, let us quibble a bit over words, please," Professor Laroc said. "You're a psychiatrist. Very well, as a psychiatrist, please tell me one thing. Just what is a dream?"

  "Why, that's very simple," Dr. Prager answered. "According to Freud, the dream phenomenon can be described as — "

  "I didn't ask for a description, Doctor. Nor for Freud's opinion. I asked for an exact definition of the dream state, as you call it. I
want to know the etiology and epistemology of dreams. And while you're at it, how about a definition of 'the hypnotic state' and of 'sleep'? And what is 'suggestion'? After you've given me precise scientific definitions of these phenomena, as you love to call them, perhaps you can go on and explain to me the nature of 'reality' and the exact meaning of the term 'imagination.' "

  "But these are only figures of speech," Dr. Prager objected. "I'll be honest with you. Perhaps we can't accurately describe a dream. But we can observe it. It's like electricity: nobody knows what it is, but it's a measurable force which can be directed and controlled, subject to certain natural laws."

  "Exactly," Professor Laroc said. 'That's just what I would have said myself. And dreams are indeed like electrical force. Indeed, the human brain gives off electrical charges, and all life — matter — energy — enters into an electrical relationship. But this relationship has never been studied. Only the physical manifestations of electricity have been studied and harnessed, not the psychic. At least, not until Dodgson stumbled on certain basic mathematical principles, which he imparted to me. I developed them, found a practical use. The dream, my dear doctor, is merely an electrically charged dimension given a reality of its own beyond our own space-time continuum. The individual dream is weak. Set it down on paper, as some dreams have been set down, share it with others, and watch the charge build up. The combined electrical properties tend to create a permanent plane — a dream dimension, if you please."

  "I don't please," answered Dr. Prager.

  "That's because you're not receptive," Professor Laroc observed smugly. "Yours is a negative charge rather than a positive one. Dodgson — Lewis Carroll — was positive. So was Lovecraft and Poe and Edward Lucas White and a handful of others. Their dreams live. Other positive charges can live in them, granted the proper method of entry. It's not magic. There's nothing supernatural about it at all, unless you consider mathematics as magic. Dodgson did. He was a professor of mathematics, remember. And so was I. I took his principles and extended them, created a practical methodology. Now I can enter dream worlds at will, cause others to enter. It's not hypnosis as you understand it. A few words of non-Euclidean formula will be sufficient — "