The Doomsters Read Online Free PDF

my patients tell me that shock treatment satisfies their need for punishment. Maybe it does. We don’t know for certain how it works.”
    “How crazy is he, can you tell me that?”
    “He was manic-depressive, manic phase, when he came in. He isn’t now, unless he’s starting to go into a windup. Which I doubt.”
    “Is he likely to?”
    “It depends on what happens to him.” Brockley stood up, and came around the desk. He added, in a casual voice, but glancing sharply down at me: “You needn’t feel that it’s any responsibility of yours.”
    “I get your message. Lay off.”
    “For a while, anyway. Leave your telephone number with Miss Parish down the hall. If your car turns up, I’ll get in touch with you.”
    Brockley let me out, and walked rapidly away. A few steps down the hall, I found a door lettered with Miss Parish’s name and her title, Psychiatric Social Worker. She opened it when I knocked.
    “I’ve been hoping you’d come by, Mr. Archer, is it? Please sit down.”
    Miss Parish indicated a straight chair by her desk. Apart from the filing cabinets the chair and desk were about all the furniture the small office contained. It was barer than a nun’s cell.
    “Thanks, I won’t take the time to sit down. The doctor asked me to leave my telephone number with you, in case our friend changes his mind and comes back.”
    I recited the number. She sat down at her desk andwrote it on a memo pad. Then she gave me a bright and piercing look which made me self-conscious. Tall women behind desks had always bothered me, anyway. It probably went back to the vice-principal of Wilson Junior High, who disapproved of the live bait I used to carry in the thermos bottle in my lunch pail, and other ingenious devices. Vice-Principal Trauma with Archer’s Syndrome. The hospital atmosphere had me thinking that way.
    “You’re not a member of Mr. Hallman’s immediate family, or a close friend.” The statement lifted at the end into a question.
    “I never saw him until today. I’m mainly interested in getting my car back.”
    “I don’t understand. You mean he has your car?”
    “He took it away from me.” Since she seemed interested, I outlined the circumstances.
    Her eyes darkened like thunderclouds. “I can’t believe it.”
    “Brockley did.”
    “I’m sorry, I don’t mean I doubt your word. It’s simply—this eruption doesn’t fit in with Carl’s development. He’s been making such wonderful strides with us—helping us look after the less competent ones—But of course you’re not interested. You’re naturally resentful about the loss of your car.”
    “Not so very. He’s had a good deal of trouble. I can afford a little, if he had to pass it on.”
    She looked more friendly. “You sound as though you talked to him.”
    “He talked to me, quite a lot. I almost got him back here.”
    “Did he seem disturbed? Apart from the outburst of violence, I mean?”
    “I’ve seen worse, but I’m no judge. He was pretty bitter about his family.”
    “Yes, I know. It was his father’s death that set him off in the first place. The first few weeks he talked of nothing else. But the trouble had died down, at least I thought it had. Of course I’m not a psychiatrist. On the other hand, I’ve had a lot more to do with Carl than any of the psychiatrists.” She added softly: “He’s a sweet person, you know.”
    Under the circumstances, the sentiment seemed slightly sticky. I said: “He picked a funny way to show it.”
    Miss Parish had emotional equipment to match her splendid physical equipment. The thunderclouds came into her eyes again, with lightning. “He’s not responsible!” she cried. “Can’t you see that? You mustn’t judge him.”
    “All right. I’ll go along with that.”
    This seemed to calm her, though her brow stayed dark. “I can’t imagine what happened to stir him up. Considering the distance he’d had to come back, he was the most promising patient on the ward. He