The Reality Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page A

mischievously. One shirttail had escaped his belt, emphasizing what may well have been an ample beer belly. He had a tooth-pocked Bic pen behind his ear, and looked as if he should be wearing a police revolver in his belt.
    "Y-yes, Dr. Gudhausen, thank you for seeing me."
    "For seeing you! Why, the pleasure's all mine. Let me congratulate you on an effectively cryptic letter. My curiosity has been aroused ever since I got it."
    "Oh, I can write a mean letter. It's the interpersonal stuff that slows me down."
    "Nervous about seeing me? Come on now. You're not in school anymore, Doctor. You and I are colleagues, professionals, kith and kin and all that, for heaven's sake. Please, relax, Dr. Bradley, come in and sit down."
    As he led her into what must have been his consulting room, Karen was surprised when she didn't see a desk. Instead, two comfortable-looking leather chairs faced a brick fireplace, two more stood on either side of an antique table. Nearby, beneath a framed mirror, there was a six-foot couch. Cheerful artwork was everywhere.
    "Let's sit by the fire," said Dr. Gudhausen, with a wink and a wave of the hand. "Oh! And may I get you something to drink? Some tea? Or better, some white wine? I can even offer you a beer."
    "Oh, no. No thank you. Nothing." Karen sat down, looking at the dark fireplace. Gudhausen crossed the room and pressed a hidden button on the corner of the mantel. Logs appeared. Sparks jumped up among them. By the time he took his seat next to her, the fireplace was burning merrily.
    Karen discovered she was smiling. "I've never seen anything like that."
    "It's an illusion, my dear. A hologram. No need of a fire this time of year. But it's relaxing. The fire has a calming effect, don't you agree."
    "I'll let you know."
    "What's all this? Nervous around an old man with a boy's taste for gadgets? Honestly, Dr. Bradley."
    "Please call me Karen." Smiling, she took a deep, calming breath—in, one-two-three; out, one-two-three——it was a relaxation technique she had suggested to many of her patients. She hoped it would work for her.
    Karen squared her shoulders. Here goes nothing , she thought. This was the moment of truth. Hoping not to make a fool of herself, she began, "Dr. Gudhausen, last year I attended your lecture on Multiple Personality Disorder at the conference in Toronto. Back then . . . at that time . . . well, I was just starting out, I hadn't had any hands-on experience with that particular disorder, and . . . and . . ."
    "And now you have," he finished the sentence for her.
    She looked him in the eyes. "Yes, now I have."
    He leaned back, lifted a foot off the carpet, took his knee in his hands. "I remember my first time," he said. "There was nothing—I should say not much of anything—in the literature back then. The disorder was still hovering somewhere between witchcraft and scientific respectability. No one knew how to diagnose it. Many thought the whole thing was a sham, didn't believe it existed. And many still don't, I might add, parenthetically. In fact, back then we didn't call it MPD. Different therapists had different names for it. I recall how . . . startled . . . I was. I'd never seen anything quite like it. It was—what would be a good word?—eerie?"
    Karen nodded. "Eerie is a perfect word."
    "But you've come all the way from Burlington, Vermont, to tell me about your patient, haven't you? You didn't come to endure one of my interminable history lessons."
    "Oh, but I did. At the conference you showed us a videotape of"—Karen looked at her notes—"a Mr. Herbert Gold."
    "Yes, of course, Herb Gold. He's an automobile mechanic from Andover, just a few miles north of here. A good man, solid, a salt-of-the-earth type. Before he discontinued therapy we had identified at least six separate and distinct personalities."
    "I remember. Some male, some female. One was just a little kid, as I recall."
    "Right, little Betsy Bottom, she called