“But why are we here?”
“Just think about it,” he said. “How can they possibly get to us here?”
She thought about it, and Peter read the uncertainty in her face. The car reached the end of the narrow road, and he looked out at a broad expanse of asphalt surrounded by a rolling lawn. At the far end of the parking lot were the buildings, uniform piles of darkened red brick. He tried to keep from noticing the iron grillwork on all of the windows.
“I don’t like this place,” Gretchen said.
“Of course not,” Warren said. “I knew you would sense it.”
“Sense what?”
“The feeling of the place. It’s just right, isn’t it?” He swung the car into a parking spot reserved for physicians and hospital personnel. “Just come with me,” he said. “They’re expecting us.”
“Warren, I don’t want to go. Petey, tell him I don’t want to go.”
“You can do it, Gretch. You just have to concentrate.”
“But this is crazy, Petey! I don’t want to get out of the car. I’m afraid.”
He said, “Warren, would it be all right if we stayed in the car while you made the arrangements?” He put his arm around her, drew her close. Over her shoulder he saw Warren give him a quick nod, then get out of the car.
She burrowed in his arms for a moment. Then she said, “That was fast thinking, Petey. I knew we should never trust that man. Now we can—” Her jaw fell. “Petey! He took the keys!”
“So?”
She spun around to face him. “Don’t you see? This was Warren’s plan, wasn’t it? He dreamed it up. And he’s managed to fool you. Oh, I should have known this. Oh, my God!”
“Wait, Gretchen. Hang on.”
“Maybe we can run.”
“That would be the worst thing we could do. Don’t you see?”
“I suppose so. But—”
“You’re wrong about Warren. You’ll see.”
He held onto her, trying to calm her. “Just stay perfectly still,” he said. “If it is a trap, all we have to do is be absolutely quiet.”
He saw the doors open. Warren came through them, flanked by a stoop-shouldered doctor and a nurse with a clipboard. Behind them were two middle-aged women in white, both with prominent jaws. Warren held a pipe in one hand and was gesturing with the other as he spoke. Even his walk was different, Peter noticed.
“They’re coming,” he told Gretchen. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t ever be afraid.”
“This is Mrs. Vann,” Warren said now. “Mrs. Vann, there are some people here who want to meet you. They’re going to help you.”
“Warren, I want to go home.”
“Just come out for a moment. Then we can go.”
She looked at Peter. “Go ahead,” he said softly. “We’ll be able to handle this.”
And she trusted him. She got out of the car, crawling past the steering wheel, while Peter let himself out the other side. He walked around the car to stand beside her.
“Mrs. Gretchen Vann,” Warren was saying. “Mrs. Vann, this is Dr. Moeloth. He’s going to—”
“Why are you talking like that, Warren?”
“Try to concentrate, Mrs. Vann. I am Dr. Loewenstein. We went for a ride in the country, you and I and Robin, and now we are—”
“Dr. Moeloth?” She smiled perfectly, the panic and confusion gone from her voice now. “There’s been a rather horrible mistake and I’m sure you’ll straighten it out for us in no time at all.” The doctor was nodding with interest. “This man is not a doctor,” she went on calmly. “He’s an actor named Warren Ormont. He managed to win the confidence of Peter and myself and now he’s trying to dupe you.” A sudden intake of breath, and she spun to face Warren.
“What did you say about Robin? Peter, we trusted this man. What has he done with Robin?”
Dr. Moeloth said, “Tell me about Robin, Mrs. Vann. Just be calm now.”
“I’m perfectly calm. Robin is my little girl.”
“Your little girl.”
“My daughter. He’s kidnapped her. First he posed as my friend and now he’s posing as a doctor. I think this is a matter for the police, Dr. Moeloth.”
Moeloth nodded encouragement. “Very interesting,” he said. “And this young man with you, Mrs. Vann. Could you tell me who this young man is?”
“This is the only person on my side.”
“I see. And his name?”
“Peter Nicholas.”
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Vann. And his relationship with you?”
She hesitated. “Well, it’s no secret. We live together.”
“You live together.”
“We are lovers. I’m not ashamed of it. We are lovers and the whole world is against us.”
Warren took a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it to Moeloth. The doctor unfolded it and studied. He read aloud, “Robin Vann, parents Harold and Gretchen, born November 17, 19—”
“That’s my daughter’s birth certificate, Dr. Moeloth. Petey, why did you give it to Warren? That’s my daughter’s certificate, Doctor.”
“Yes, of course. And your daughter is how old, Mrs. Vann?”
“She’ll be four years old in November. That’s what it says November 17th.”
“Yes, of course. November 17, 1949. What year is it now, Mrs. Vann?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sex — male. This is the birth certificate of your son, Mrs. Vann.”
“I don’t have a son.”
“I see.”
“Only God has sons. Daughters belong to the Devil. Everyone knows that.” She fought the panic in her voice. “He’s an actor, Dr. Moeloth. He doesn’t even have a beard. He looks like Benjamin Franklin. Look!”
She pulled Warren’s beard. He drew back after one fierce tug, and the two heavyset women in white moved easily to take hold of her arms.
“Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, my God.”
He walked to her, saying that it was all right, that it would be all right. She said, “Oh, Petey, tell them. For God’s sake tell them!”
He reached her and took her hand. “Don’t worry.”
“Petey—”
“I’m Robin. It’s all right, Mom. Everything’s going to be all right.”
And he did not turn his eyes from hers. He let her hold his gaze, and his own expression did not change. That was the hardest part of all.
Warren was chatting easily with Moeloth. “An interesting personal mythology,” he was saying. “I only wish it would have been possible to persuade her to undergo therapy. But her refusal was consistent with her particular paranoia.” There were terms Peter did not understand; then Warren said, “There are names that will recur. Warren and Peter seem to have been former lovers of Mrs. Vann’s, but it’s unclear whether they existed other than in fantasy. They constitute a dualism for her, innocence, youth and age, good and evil — the poles seem to vary...”
Peter looked at Gretchen. She was standing a few yards away. The matrons were holding her arms but she was offering no resistance. She had fought them for a moment, fury dancing madly in her eyes, and then had suddenly gone completely acquiescent.
The nurse presented Peter with the clipboard. He signed the involuntary commitment papers, signing his name as Robin Vann and his relationship as son. The nurse moved off. Warren was still talking with Moeloth but Peter did not pay any attention. He let his eyes play around the area. Sunday was visitors’ day, and groups of people moved around the lawn. It was impossible to tell the patients from their relatives.
“Little firsthand experience with psychotics,” he heard Warren saying. “Occasional menopause psychosis and the usual run of neurotics.”
“I envy you,” Moeloth said.
“Oh? And I thought it was I who ought to envy you. It’s a rare day when I feel I’ve accomplished a thing. My patients improve or don’t and I can’t always convince myself that I’ve had any effect either way. I could as well have been a dermatologist.”