"Well, Tuesday"--- Chris pondered--- "there was nothing at all. She went straight up to bed and slept right through until late the next morning, then---"

"Oh, no, no, wait," she amended. "No, she didn't. That's right. Willie mentioned that she'd heard her in the kitchen awfully early. I remember feeling glad that she'd gotten her appetite back.

But she went back to bed then, I guess, because she stayed there the rest of the day." "She was sleeping?" Klein asked her.

"No, I think she was reading," Chris answered. "Well, I started feeling a little better about it all. I mean, it looked as if the Librium was just what she needed. She was sort of far away, I noticed, and that bothered me a little, but still it was a pretty big improvement. Well, last night, again, nothing," Chris continued. "Then this morning it started." She inhaled deeply.

"Boy, did it start!" She shook her head.

She'd been sitting in the kitchen, Chris told the doctors, when Regan ran screaming down the stairs and to her mother, cowering defensively behind her chair as she clutched Chris's arms and explained in a terrified voice that Captain Howdy was chasing her; had been pinching her; punching her; shoving her; mouthing obscenities; threatening to kill her. "There he is!" she had shrieked at last, pointing to the kitchen door. Then she'd fallen to the floor, her body jerking in spasms as she gasped and wept that Howdy was kicking her. Then suddenly, Chris recounted, Regan had stood in the middle of the kitchen with arms extended and had begun to spin rapidly

"like a top," continuing the movements for several minutes, until she had fallen to the floor in exhaustion.

"And then all of a sudden," Chris finished distressfully, "I saw there was... hate in her eyes, this hate, and she told me..."

She was choking up.

"She called me a... Oh, Jesus!"

She burst into sobs, and shielded her eyes as she wept convulsively.

Klein moved quietly to the bar; poured a glass of water from the tap. He walked toward Chris.

"Oh, shit, where's a cigarette?" Chris sighed tremulously as she wiped at her eyes with the back of a finger.

Klein gave her the water and a small greea pill. "Try this instead," he advised.

"That a tranquilizer?"

"Yes."

"I'll have a double."

"One's enough."

"Big spender," Chris murmured with a wan smile.

She swallowed the pill and their handed the empty glass to the doctor. "Thanks," she said softly, and rested her brow on quivering fingertips. She shook her head gently. "Yeah, then it started,"

she picked up moodily. "All of that other stuff. It was like she was someone else." "Like Captain Howdy, perhaps?" asked David.

Chris looked up at him in puzzlement. He was staring so intently. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I don't knows." He shrugged. "Just a question."

She turned to the fireplace with absent, haunted eyes. "I don't know," she said dully. "Just somebody else."

There was a moment of silence. Then David stood up and explained he had to leave for another appointment, and after some reassuring statements, said goodbye.

Klein walked him to the door. "You'll check the sugar?" David asked him.

"No, I'm the Rosslyn village idiot."

David smiled thinly. "I'm a little up-tight about this myself," he said. He looked away in thought. "Strange case."

For a moment he stroked his chin and seemed to brood. Then he looked up at Klein. "Let me know what you find."

"You'll be home?"

"Yes, I will. Give a call." He waved a good-bye and left.

**********

A short time later, after the arrival of the equipment, Klein anesthetized Regan's spinal area with Novocain, and as Chris and Sharon watched, extracted the spinal fluid, keeping watch on the manometer. "Pressure's normal," he murmured.

When he'd finished, he went to the window to see if the fluid was clear or hazy.

It was clear.

He carefully stowed the tubes of fluid in his bag.

"I doubt that she will," Klein told the women, "but in case she awakens in the middle of the night and creates a disturbance, you might want a nurse here to give her sedation." "Can't I do it myself?" Chris asked worriedly.

"Why not a nurse?"

She did not want to mention her deep distrust of doctors and nurses. "I'd rather do it myself,"

she said simply. "Couldn't I?"

"Well, injections are tricky," he answered. "An air bubble's very dangerous."

"Oh, I know how to do it," interjected Sharon. "My mother ran a nursing home up in Oregon."

"Gee, would you do that, Shar? Would you stay here tonight?" Chris asked her.

"Well, beyond tonight," interjected Klein. "She may need intravenous feeding, depending on how she comes along."

"Could you teach me how to do it?" Chris asked him anxiously.

He nodded. "Yes, I guess I could."

He wrote a prescription for soluble Thorazine and disposable syringes. He gave it to Chris.

"Have this filled right away."

Chris handed it to Sharon. "Honey, do that for me, would you? Just call and they'll send it. I'd like to go with the doctor while he makes those tests... Do you mind?" she asked him.

He noted the tightness around her eyes; the look of confusion and of helplessness. He nodded.