The Reality Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

herself."
    "One of the things I remember, Dr. Gudhausen, is that you had tested several—maybe all—of the personalities. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you say that the IQ tests you administered showed one personality to be a dull-normal, and another to test around 160? That's genius!"
    "Yes, exactly. That particular pattern, though not unusual among multiples, continues to fascinate me. Whatever the test score, high or low, they all come from the same brain."
    "Dr. Gudhausen, I still have the photos of Mr. Gold that you handed out. It's—I hope this doesn't sound unprofessional—but it's just plain weird the way his face, the actual features of his face, seems to change so very much."
    "Weird? Yes it is." He chuckled, sat back in his chair, and smiled at her. "I used to call that phenomenon 'personation,' meaning to temporarily take on another person's physical characteristics, habits, symptoms of illness, whatever. It's a term, I'm embarrassed to admit, I borrowed from turn-of-the-century spiritualists. A decision I soon regretted. It should be my job to demystify this vastly misunderstood illness. I should be the last one to drive it further in the direction of demon possession, returns from the dead, and all the other claptrap and high-weirdness."
    Karen passed the photocopied page to Dr. Gudhausen. It showed five full-face photographs of Herbert Gold, each very different from the one beside it. They were labeled Homely Herbert, Betsy Bottom, Sasha, Thornton, and—
    "This is the one that interests me, Dr. Gudhausen." She pointed at a scowling face that looked darker and far more ugly than the rest.
    "Ah yes, that's Mr. Splitfoot. He was always a bit of a mystery. Very bright. Very cagey. Totally sociopathic, as far as I could tell. When he was 'onstage'— that was the term used by all Gold's personalities. The displayed personality was 'onstage,' the rest were 'backstage.' I recall how difficult it was to get Mr. Splitfoot onstage. He liked to hide in the wings, I suppose you could say. But when he was out he was evasive, insulting, and downright mean, just as you saw him on the videotape."
    "Yes. I remember. He was horrible, abusive. A hard one to forget."
    "I suspect Mr. Splitfoot was Herbert Gold's raw libido, his carnal self, the sociopathic side that Gold himself couldn't tolerate, wouldn't even admit to." Gudhausen stared at the photograph and chuckled. "An ugly brute, isn't he?"
    "Yes, ugly," Karen said absently. She looked—perhaps for the hundredth time—at the photograph of smiling, gap-toothed, crew-cut Herbert Gold. His good-natured face reminded her of Uncle Benny, who used to drive a milk truck and who would come to the farm almost every Sunday for dinner.
    Below Gold's grinning portrait, she saw the same face, twisted into the sneering countenance known as Mr. Splitfoot. It was the "Hyde" part of Gold's "Dr. Jekyll." Here the normally cherubic eyes were narrowed so much they appeared as black horizontal slits beneath his furrowed forehead. The muscle tension of Mr. Splitfoot's jaw stretched Gold's fleshy cheeks far too tightly over his cheekbones. The jutting jaw made his chin oddly shaped, almost pointed. The mouth stretched too widely, exposing long teeth and a grossly protruding tongue.
    At this point Karen knew she had tiptoed to the end of the diving board and was about to take the plunge. She cleared her throat. Here goes , she thought, determined not to apologize for anything she was about to say, no matter how far out it might sound. "Dr. Gudhausen, if I may, I'd like to talk about my patient now."
    "Of course, Doctor. Yes. Please, take your time."
    He assumed a practiced listening posture, professional attending behavior that on Gudhausen looked perfectly natural, totally sincere.
    Karen reached into her briefcase and removed a videotape. "Do you have a player, Doctor?"
    "It just so happens . . ." said Dr. Gudhausen, pushing against the arms of the chair to