Diagnosis 3
He grinned at her. "It's _my_ thoughts, not yours, which are going to
be exposed to the public, in this case you," he said. "And while I
develop the film, I suggest you powder up a bit. You look a bit wan and
tired...."
"Before I do," she said, "I want to warn you."
"About what?"
"It wasn't just lines and patterns and lights on the screen. It was
actual pictures."
He gaped at her. "_Pictures!_"
"Yes. And it means at least one of the results of our experiments are
going to be sensational. The pineal gland may be the answer to perfect
psychiatric diagnosis, because it seems that it translates the brain
waves into actual pictures."
"The pineal gland--an eye in reverse!" he gasped.
"Exactly. And now, I'll leave you. And if you don't care to show me
these particular pictures, I'll...."
"Judging from what I was thinking initially, it's going to be a
pleasure!" he said.
She swept furiously from the room.
* * * * *
Two hours later he seated her before the projection screen and went
back to the projector.
"If you're sure this isn't going to embarrass you...." she began.
"It won't," he assured her. "I haven't seen any of it yet, except a few
interesting glimpses I caught in the darkroom. But if you look like
some of the things I saw...."
"Just what do you mean?"
"Wait and see." He switched on the projector and came back to sit down
beside her.
As the first picture appeared on the screen, only an indistinct white
pillar was visible. It swirled, thickened, grew more distinct. A face
appeared. "It's you," he said.
"Yes," she said. "And then I turned up the power to bring the image up
stronger."
The image on the screen clarified. He drew a long breath. "Nice!" he
breathed. "And I gather that's where you socked me?"
"Don't you think I should have? Is that all you've ever got in your
head...."
"Wait a minute," he said in a strained voice. "There's more of what's
in my head, apparently. But I swear I never saw any of _that_ before!"
The two watched in amazement as the dim confines of the weird valley
flashed on the screen. They saw the shadowy bulk of the monster moving
about. Then abruptly the scene changed, and Mary gasped.
"Brannan!" she choked. "But how evil he looks!"
"Oh, I don't know.... That's the way I picture him...."
"In a long cloak?" she asked.
"And with a dagger," he agreed.
Now Mary gasped again. "It's you--carrying me down a cliff!"
"Regular Batman, ain't I?"
She snorted. And snorted again as the film reached the point where she
threw her arms around his neck and received his kiss.
"You don't like that?" he asked.
She tossed her head, but didn't reply. Her eyes were intent on the
screen. Suddenly she snickered. "Look at you!" she exclaimed. "You'd
think you were preparing to protect me from the Devil, or something,
the way you push me behind that rock and get ready with your gun.
What's coming next--Indians?"
"Better than that," he said drily. "If that's an Indian, I'm a pop
bottle cork...."
She screamed involuntarily, then caught herself. "What a foul looking
beast," she said. "So that's what you have in your mind!"
"Looks like I don't intend to keep him there," he remarked. He watched
with interest as his shots took effect on the monster and it crashed to
the valley floor. "Too bad we don't have sound effects."
Now she began to shout with laughter. "Kissing again!" she said, "The
hero has slain the dragon, and even while he stands beside its kicking
corpse, he embraces the fair maiden. Ye Gods, Don, is that the _brain_
I'm working for? You _really_ need a psychiatrist!"
"What do you mean?" he asked angrily.
"Why, it's all so obvious. Here you are, carrying a torch for me,
and taking out your frustration in comic-book daydreams. And the
protagonist in your dream is poor Brannan, of whom you are obviously
jealous. Why, Brannan doesn't mean a thing to me! So, here you are,
rescuing me--or stealing me--from the evil Brannan, and slaying the
dragon he sends out to kill us both, and proceeding on your merry way
toward a happily-ever-after ending. See, there's the Garden of Eden at
the end of the dark valley...."
"And there's Brannan again, to foul up the works," said Jensen. "Looks
like my daydreams aren't exactly logical...."
But he, too, stopped in sudden horror as the film ground on and showed
Mary leaping to her death to save him from the priest's arrow. Neither
of them said a word as the wild battle that followed was enacted
before them, to the final scene. They watched his body topple down and
the screen go blank, then he got up and snapped off the projector and
turned up the lights.
"If you ask me," he said, "those last weren't _my_ thoughts. And if
I remember rightly, when I came to, your hand was still clutching
the wires to the machine. Also, I'm hanged if I'd ever even _dream_
of you being killed. I'd have mopped up on that gang and borne you
triumphantly to a leafy bower and...."
"... and what?" she said faintly.
"We've got a wonderful thing here," he said. "A tremendous method of
psychiatric diagnoses. We can project every desire, every frustration,
every concealed emotion, directly on a screen, and see with our own
eyes exactly what is bothering the subconscious of the patient. We can
see exactly what they _really_ want. What they _really_ feel. Like...."
"... like what?" she asked again.
He bent and kissed her. "How would you like to raise a flock of our
kids, while I make a lot of money plowing up the subconscious corn in
other people?"
"I'd have agreed long ago, if you'd asked me," she said.
"I'd have asked long ago, if you hadn't kept on going out with
Brannan," he retorted.
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