The man was visibly concerned, and Don warmed to him as he had not before. He brought him fully up to date.
Then he heard from Cunningham how on the night of the party Sarah had pressed him to spend the night with her, until finally he had told her about his relationship with Greg Laz. “It broke her up,” Cunningham said in a troubled voice.
Don had listened in amazement. “I can understand. She had a tremendous crush on you.”
“I knew all about that. I tried everything I knew to deflect it, but this time it had to be faced. She demanded to know why I wasn’t prepared to sleep with her. I knew the truth would shock her initially, but I figured that when she had time to reflect, she would understand the rejection wasn’t personal.”
“It’s not easy to be so objective.”
“You’re telling me.”
“I guess she was attracted to you as a father figure.”
“Probably. Her own father is a nebulous character — no support at all. As a therapist I can deal with transference problems between patient and doctor, but my relationship with Sarah wasn’t like that. She wouldn’t let it be that way. So it was never within my control. I handled it ineptly.”
“In what way?”
“I should have been tougher with her. She wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted back-door analysis. Some bad experiences as a kid had turned her off to psychiatry, only she was desperate to see if it could help her, without facing anything so formal as analysis. She interested me, so I played along on the basis of friendship. I should never have done it.”
“You think she needed formal psychotherapy?”
“She does now. She’s the prisoner of her fantasies.”
“Spider Girl?”
Cunningham nodded. “It’s become a more potent self than her real one. Everyone has fantasies, needs them, uses them, but most of us recognize them for what they are. Sarah appears to have lost that capacity. Her Spider Girl identity cuts her off from reality. I’ve watched it develop without being in a position to check it. This latest development is very bad news.”
“Why did she do it?”
“She must have been so shattered at learning I was a homosexual that she refused to come to terms with it. She switched to her spider self and turned her aggression onto Pelé.”
“She destroyed you, in effect?”
“Right. Then I guess she took off her clothes to climb on the web. What happened after that — how Saville got to be there and was killed — I don’t care to speculate.”
Don said gravely, “It scares me.”
“Fantasy divorced from reality is a terrifying thing, Don. It feeds on itself. It is destructive and dangerous, because the checks and balances of the real world don’t apply. There is no sense of guilt, no reference to morality. While she is Spider Girl, she is omnipotent.”
“Is there any way she can snap out of this?”
“It’s not a permanent condition, yet, so far as I can judge. But if she was somehow responsible for Saville’s death, as we both fear, she is unlikely to come to terms with it. She’ll interpret it through her fantasy. In spider terms killing is natural and explicable; in human terms it’s unthinkable, so she shuts off the human part of her personality.”
“Can’t anything be done to save her?”
“It’s the other girl’s safety we must think of first,” said Cunningham.
“Meg? Do you think Sarah would—”
“Meg is a threat, so Sarah will deal with her as a spider does.”
“Christ. By killing her?”
Cunningham shrugged. “You’re the authority on spiders.”
It was as much as Don could do to relate the behavior of a spider to Sarah. “She would trap her, bite her, bind her up, and, when she is ready, kill her. I can’t believe this. It’s pure—”
“—fantasy?” said Cunningham in a flat voice.
Don said, “You’ve got to help me find them. Where would they go?”
“Somewhere that fits the fantasy. Have you checked the webs around the university?”
“She wouldn’t use them — too many people around.”
“We must check them anyway.”
“There’s Lake Pinecliff,” said Don, “where she goes hang-gliding. That’s really remote. Listen, if I drive out there, could you check the webs on campus? Jerry will help. Should we tell the police, get a message out?”
“No. That could panic her. This has to be handled by people she knows.”
She could not tell how long she had lain there because she could not read her watch. She was bound from ankles to chest with nylon rope, wound around her body many times. Trussed and left like some mummified body in its tomb. The first hours had been the worst. After Sarah had finished tying her and left her lying with her head on a pile of coal, Meg had waited in horror for the first touch of a spider on her skin. A strip of adhesive tape prevented her from screaming. But in time she began to feel numb, physically and mentally. She may even have slept for a while. Now she no longer cared about anything, except the problem she had in breathing. She had tried dragging her face against the coal to lift the edges of the tape, but succeeded only in filling her ears and nostrils with dust.
She managed to squirm a yard or so across the floor, but it was impossible to loosen the rope. She would remain here till someone came or she no longer knew anything about it.
She definitely slept, because she was awakened by the bolt on the door being drawn. She tried to make noises. The door opened, admitting blinding light, and Sarah Jordan.
“Hi, Butterfly. How we doing?” She switched on a flashlight and came down the steps. “Didn’t expect to see me again, huh? Surprise. I brought you a can of Seven-Up and some bagels for brunch. Let’s look at you. Ugh — dirty.”
Meg could not see her distinctly, because the light was shining in her face.
“Before I take off your gag, get this, Butterfly. You’ll take your food and drink nicely, okay? If your table manners please me, I might let you go to the bathroom afterward. So keep it civilized, huh?”
She ripped off the plaster and it felt as if Meg’s skin came with it, but that didn’t matter. She could breathe. She gulped air.
“I’ll loosen some of this rope,” said Sarah.
“Why have you come back?”
“No questions.”
The rope was loosened enough for her to sit up. Her wrists were untied. She moaned with pain as the blood coursed through her veins.
“I guess you want a drink first,” said Sarah, popping the tab on the soda can. “Can you hold it?”
Her fingers didn’t function yet, but she was able to hold the can between her palms and drink from it.
“Thanks,” said Meg. “I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
“Drink up. There’s your food.” She dropped a bag on Meg’s lap.
“If you’re not going to leave me to die, what do you intend to do with me?”
Sarah took one of the bagels from the bag, bit into it, and tossed it out of reach over the coal. From her look it was meant as a reprimand. She was not prepared to answer questions.
Meg was hungry. She ate the rest of what she was allowed in silence. Then her wrists were tied again and her legs freed. The “bathroom” was the deepest end of the cellar. She had to manage her clothes with her hands shackled. With no more privileges to lose, she asked, “Where are you taking me now?”
Sarah laughed. “Come here.”
When Meg was close enough, Sarah pushed her in the chest, so that she fell back on the coal. “You’re staying here, Butterfly, till I’m ready for you.”
“You wouldn’t kill me. You brought me food, so you want to keep me alive.”
Sarah bound Meg’s ankles with the rope and started winding it around her legs again.
“Why get yourself in trouble with the police?” Meg persisted. “If you let me out of here, we could see them together and explain what happened on the night of the party. They must know it was an accident, that guy falling off the web. There was nothing criminal in what you did. Can’t you see—?”