Woman by Richard Matheson Page B

There was
something about her. . . some thing dark. He could not control the thought. What was it though?
     
         He realized that, while
thinking all that, he had told her that, yes, it was Charlie in the hospital.
He felt a compulsion to ask her if she'd had anything to do with what happened
to Charlie. He was afraid to ask though.
     
         "Can you help me
now?" Ganine asked him.
     
         "Well," he started
awkwardly, "As I told you yesterday-"
     
          "Please," she said plaintively. "I need your help."
     
         He was going to tell her
again that it was impossible when it occurred to him that Ganine was someone
far out ofthe ordinary. Maybe he owed it to himself to understand her better.
Owed it to—was that ostentatious?—the medical community.
     
         "Well, I'll try—"
he started, breaking off at her sudden smile of gratitude. He had to keep her
properly informed, not let her believe that he could really help her.
     
         "I'll talk with you for
a little while," he said, realizing that intimidation was as much
motivated in him as a genuine desire to help her. "Then I'll have to send you to the therapist I
mentioned. I just don't practice anymore."
     
         She looked displeased, which
made him feel uncomfortable again. "You do on the radio," she said.
     
         His smile was pained.
"That's different, Ganine," he said. "Very brief analyses for
many people. Nothing in depth."
     
         "I know you can help
me," she insisted.
     
         He hesitated, then drew in a
deep, sighing breath. "All right," he said. "Let's see what we
can do."
     
         Her smile was one of a
childlike joy. Already, he felt that this attempt to help her was, very likely,
going to prove fruitless.
     
         He gestured toward the sofa
and she moved to sit down quickly, an eager look on her face. Oh, God, I hope
this isn't a terrible mistake, David thought. What made him think he could help
her? And was he doing it entirely because of how she'd healed his ankle?
     
         He sat on a chair across
from her suddenly aware that he was still in his pajamas. He knew he should
dress first but he didn't want to delay the—what? Treatment? The notion displeased him.
     
         "Aren't you going to
sit next to me?" Ganine asked. The observation was unavoidable; her tone
and smile were definitely suggestive.
     
         "It isn't done that
way, Ganine," he told her. She gazed at him entreatingly, then—he saw her
facial change—accepted what he'd said.
     
         "All right, what is it
that's bothering you?" he asked.
     
         "There's something. .
."
     
         She didn't finish, looking
uncertain.
     
         "Yes?" he asked.
     
         "Something. . ."
She drew in a shuddering breath— "drawing at me, filling me," she finished.
     
         "Physically?" he
asked. "Or psychologically?"
     
         "I don't know what that
means," she told him.
     
         "How would you describe it then?" he asked.
     
         "It's. . .something. .
.inside me. Way inside
me."
     
         "How does it express
itself?" he asked.
     
         He saw that she didn't
understand that question either. "I mean. . .how does it make you
feel?"
     
         "Not real," she
said immediately. "As if. . .as if. . .I'm not me anymore."
     
         "You feel like someone
else?"
     
         Ganine stared at him in
silence.
     
         "Never mind that
question," he said. "I don't really understand what you've said. What
exactly do you mean, you're not you anymore." Possession? he thought. Multiple personality?
     
         "I just don't feel like me anymore," she said. "There's
something inside me.
Something strong. Something I
don'tlike."
     
         "Do you. . .feel that
this something is what gives you a kind of —power!" David asked.
     
         "I don't know."
she murmured. She looked on the verge of tears.
     
         "Okay,