The Man Who Turned Into Himself (11 page)

'Even if it sounds palpably ludicrous?'

'What was that line in one of the Sherlock Holmes stories? "Once you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." The truth in an absolute sense is maybe putting it a little high, because we don't deal in absolute truths. We leave that to the theologians and witch doctors. But I can tell you, a lot of very smart people accept the Many Worlds theory as the most likely explanation of why quantum mechanics — which we rely on daily in everything from micro-chips to lasers and the television tube — is the way it is. Even some of the people who build those things don't fully realise that they're building them with materials possessing no more ultimate tangibility than a thought passing through their brain.

'It is, as has often been remarked in other contexts,' he concluded in a serene glow of post-prandial contentment, 'a funny old world.'

When Emma Todd came on the line Richard told her that he had to see her as soon as possible. No, it wasn't exactly an emergency, but he did need to discuss something with her. She said she could make room around six at her private office and gave him the address. He said he'd be there.

He spent the rest of the afternoon at his desk dealing with paperwork. He even took a call from Harold and discussed with complete equanimity a bank loan they were negotiating with two partners for the purchase of a prime site in the financial district. His tone of voice gave away nothing of his emotional state, which bothered me. I was uneasy about this ability to shut his feelings off like a tap, but I said nothing.

Emma's private office was in an ugly building constructed in the fifties but with a fine central location. Richard remembered he had tried to buy it a couple of years ago, but the owners had finally changed their minds and decided to hang on to it for a few years more, by which time its value might well have tripled. He had been furious, but now it seemed a forgotten and unimportant disappointment.

The doorman called Emma's receptionist. Richard took the elevator. On the third floor he followed the arrows towards the rear of the building where the less expensive apartments were to be found because there was no view. At one minute to six he presented himself to Emma's pleasant, sixtyish receptionist, who asked him to wait for a moment while she disappeared through a ripple-glass door.

Richard sat down and surveyed the drab, functional little waiting room with its low central table, well-thumbed magazines and locked filing cabinets. The only splash of colour was provided by a vase of red and white tulips on the end of the receptionist's desk. I wondered whether she or Emma was responsible for them. I also wondered if this office was part of Emma's private apartment. Richard chimed in that it almost certainly was. He knew the size of these apartments. They were surprisingly large for the time at which they had been built. I wondered if Emma lived alone.

The receptionist returned and asked Richard to step through to Emma's office. It was a comfortable size and had an informal atmosphere, but there was something odd about it that Richard couldn't put his finger on. Then I realised what it was: there were no books, just stacks of heavy folders, some open and showing braille pages.

Emma was standing by her desk, listening for her visitor's entry. When she heard the door she held out her hand and gave her composed yet guilelessly welcoming, warm smile. As they exchanged greetings Richard observed a golden labrador with a blind person's harness sleeping in a corner. 'I hope you don't mind dogs,' she said. 'If you do, he's quite happy to go sleep in the apartment. He can sleep anywhere.' Richard said on the contrary he was very fond of dogs, though he didn't have one himself. Emma invited him to take a seat.

'It's very good of you to make time to see me,' Richard began as Emma settled behind her desk. 'I'm not having any problems, but I think you may be able to help me. I find myself still dogged sometimes by this feeling that — '

He broke off as he saw Emma's hand reach out to switch on the cassette recorder on her desk. She had made no effort to conceal the gesture and realised at once why he had stopped.

'You prefer I didn't use this?' she asked.

'I think I would, if that's all right.'

'It's just that it helps me with my case notes. But if I understand what you're saying, we don't have a "case" here.'

'I don't believe so,' he said with a light laugh, 'but I shall defer to your judgment.' I was impressed by the way he was handling this, and told him so. He thanked me and said he was going to let me take over as soon as he'd finished his introductory remarks.

'It may be my imagination,' he went on, 'or some residual post traumatic echo — you'll have to forgive me, I don't know any of the proper terms for all of this.'

'You're doing fine,' Emma reassured him. 'Just tell me in your own words.'

'Well, it's just that I get this feeling, nothing more than that, that I haven't shaken quite as free of this other life, this imaginary "Rick" persona, as I'd like to. It's not that I'm hearing voices or anything, nothing that's interfering with my normal life, but I just need . . . well, I suppose I need to be sure.'

'And what exactly is it you want me to do, Richard?' I noticed the careful use of 'Richard'. She was alert, this woman. Alert and remarkably perceptive.

'Those hypnosis sessions that we had — I can't forget how much good they seemed to do me, how well I felt afterwards. I wondered . . . well, I wondered if you might consider seeing me privately and . . . trying it again.'

Emma was silent a moment, thinking the proposition over.

'Is Rick with you now?' she asked suddenly. The question was gently put, its tone not remotely threatening, but it made me jump. She
knew.
Just as surely as I was aware of her, she was aware of me.

'Let me handle this,' I said to Richard. He was glad to.

'I don't know if he is or isn't with me,' I said, through Richard. 'That's what I want to find out.'

'Under hypnosis?'

'Well, it worked last time.'

She was silent again. Did she realise, I wondered, that she was talking to me directly now? Would she give me any sign? 'Don't worry,' I said quickly to Richard as I felt his concern mount, 'I'm not going to come out into the open except under hypnosis.'

'Richard,' she said eventually, 'you have to realise that putting you under hypnosis won't necessarily exorcise this fear. You may unconsciously be looking for a way only to keep these two parts of yourself, if that's what you feel they are, separate and therefore manageable. There may be better ways of approaching the problem at this stage — analysis, for example. I'm not myself a qualified psychoanalyst, but there are some excellent people I'd be happy to recommend you to. Roger Killanin, for example. You got on quite well with him, didn't you?'

'Don't panic,' I said as Richard's heartbeat quickened. 'She's just probing. You're perfectly safe, you've done and you're going to do nothing to suggest that you're "nuts".'

'I don't think I want to get into something like that,' Richard's words came out relaxed and self-assured under my direction. 'I'm sorry, Emma — Dr Todd — I'm probably wasting your time.'

Get up, I told him, show her you're ready to leave. He did so.

'Don't go, Richard,' she said, not rising herself. 'And you were right first time, it's Emma.'

'But you're probably right and I'm just being oversensitive,' I said. 'After all, hypnosis isn't something to be played around with casually.'

'There's a couch behind you, by the wall,' she said. 'If you really want me to, I'll put you under, and we'll carry on this conversation then.'

'Bingo!' I said to him in secret triumph. 'What did I tell you?'

***

'Can I talk to Rick?'

Richard was in deep trance. He had slipped into it with an ease which had surprised me. After all, willing though he was to be rid of me, he was also still acutely aware of the risks to his own reputation and future ambitions if it became known that he had volunteered for further psychiatric treatment. I had expected at least some unconscious resistance to the familiar ritual of candle flame and soothing words, but there had been none. He had slipped as easily into trance as a baby into well-fed sleep.

'I'm here, Emma,' I said, experiencing the same overwhelming sense of relief at being able to speak with her directly that I always did. To an outsider the difference would have been imperceptible: the same voice, pretty much the same use of words and the same vocal mannerisms. Only Emma would have known, truly known, that Richard had gone, and this was Rick.

'Were you there all along?'

'Yes, I was here.'

'So you heard my conversation with Richard.'

'Yes.'

'What do you think about him coming here to get rid of you?'

'As a matter of fact it was my idea.'

'Ah,' she said, as though she had known all along. 'Did you discuss it with Richard?'

'At some length. You have to understand something, Emma . . . by the way, is that recorder still off?'

'Yes.'

'And there's nobody else listening?'

'Absolutely nobody.'

'Do I have your word on that?'

'You can trust me.'

'I know I can, Emma, otherwise I wouldn't be here. I sensed right from the start that there was something special about you. And I think you knew all along that I was real, didn't you?' I realised that was putting her on the spot, but I didn't have time to waste.

'I've always accepted you on your own terms, Rick,' was the reply she came up with. Circumspect. A little more on the fence than I'd have liked. But acceptable. She had her professional objectivity to maintain. It raised no barriers between us.

'You have to understand, Emma, that the story I originally told you in our first session was the literal truth. I do come from another universe, a parallel universe almost identical to this — but not quite. I did have a wife who died in an accident, and I do have a small son who needs me — and God knows I need him! That last "cure" was all a pretence. I thought maybe you'd guessed that at the time. I pretended to be "cured", but really I only went into hiding.'

'Why did you do that?'

'For Richard's sake, of course. He wasn't able to handle it then. But he's much stronger now.'

She paused a moment, thinking about her next question. 'Tell me,' she said eventually, 'just how much does Richard really know about you? Does he know everything that you've told me, or does he just have this sort of vague feeling that he was talking about when he came in here?'

'He knows everything. The trouble is, he doesn't feel comfortable about coming into the open about it. I'm sure you can understand that.'

'But surely he knew that as soon as he went into trance you were going to tell me everything.'

'Absolutely. But he'd rather I did it than him. He doesn't feel as comfortable with you as I do. After all, he was never privy to our relationship, yours and mine, when he was in trance before. He never heard how we talked, how each of us was able to read between the lines of what the other said. So I made an agreement with him, which was that he would come here — after all I couldn't come without him — and I would ask you for your help to leave him. But it's very important before we go any further that you understand that Richard is no more crazy than I am an hallucination. I'm depending on you to do everything you can to protect his reputation as a sane, normal — and by the way very decent — human being.'

'Richard will be totally protected under the doctor-patient 
relationship. You have nothing to worry about on that score.'

'That's good to know. Thank you, Emma. Because I feel considerable responsibility for him. He's already been hospitalised because of me. And other things have happened.'

'What kind of other things?'

'Personal things — I'd rather not talk about them.'

'Do they concern his personal relationships?'

'Well, yes, as a matter of fact. So you understand I really have no right to discuss them.'

She understood, of course, and told me so. 'But how is it,' she went on, 'that you think I can help you to leave Richard and get back to your own life in this other universe?'

'By hypnosis.'

'And how will that work?'

'I've been thinking about it, Emma. Let me tell you how I see it, then you tell me if I'm right or not. I'm sure it must at least be worth a serious try.'

'Go on.'

'So far you've only ever hypnotised Richard. You've never hypnotised me. Right?'

'That's right. I've always hypnotised Richard.'

'Well, this time I want you to try to hypnotise me.'

'I see. Tell me, Rick, do you remember me saying one time that some people can't be hypnotised? That for some reason or another they're just immune?'

'I remember.'

'What makes you think you might not be one of those? After all, you were the one I tried to hypnotise in the first place, but it only worked on Richard.'

'But if you think about it, the person you were really trying to hypnotise was the one who was physically in the room with you — and that was Richard, even though you were calling him Rick at that time.'

'I suppose that's true.'

'Anyway, we won't know if I'm immune or not until you give it a try.'

She seemed to hesitate. I didn't know if it was from reluctance or because she was thinking. 'You will try, won't you?' I asked, letting a note of anxiety creep into my use of Richard's voice.

'I'm just wondering about how I can do it. There are no prescribed techniques for hypnotising a person in your position.'

This didn't worry me. Her willingness was all that mattered. Once this was established, I knew she'd find a way. 'I'm just a layman,' I said, 'you're the expert. I'll bet you can do it.'

'Some people would say that you're already hypnotised. That when I hypnotised Richard I hypnotised you, too.'

'Anybody who believed that,' I said, a touch defensively, 'would have to believe that I was only part of Richard, and not who I say I am.'

I was relieved that she didn't pursue this line of argument. For an unnerving moment I had found myself suspecting the unthinkable: that she was only humouring me. Could I have been so wrong about her? But no. A moment later the conversation was back on course.

'All right,' she said, her soft voice once more firm with resolve, 'supposing I can find a way to hypnotise you, what do we do after that?'

'I want you to take me backwards in time, back through everything that's happened since I got here, then beyond that and into memories of my own life. I believe that if you can do that, if you can conjure up a sufficiently intense recollection of my own life, then I may have a chance of getting back to it.'