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Show Moon -126 That night, Mark brought over stack of Rorschachs to score, as he often did. He sat with his cards and papers spread across her old wooden table, chewed on his pencil, added up columns of figures that were supposed to make the results scientific. He talked as he went along, his enormous fingers splayed across the inkblot cards like a boy playing his favorite game. Joy thought the idea of diagnosing someone this way was rather silly. It would be harmless fun, except that the entire future of those young women hung in the balance. They'd be freed or kept prisoner depending on whether they saw butterflies or blood in the inkblots. She was brushing a pale blue wash on a new canvas, which was the only sort of work she could do when he was there, for he had a way of filling her home with the contents of his mind. After a while, he looked up and said, "This woman sees worms on card number ten. It's a sign. She looks good on the surface, but oh boy is she ever schizophrenic!" Then he paused, raised his blue eyes to Joy and smiled. "She's just like you." Her hand in midair to the canvas froze for a moment, for he'd just made something entirely clear: he wanted her to be one of his patients. This truth was as difficult to grasp as a rolling pebble in the surf, but there it was. She forced herself to complete the arc of her hand, to press the brush to the canvas in a measured way and to keep her expression calm. Show the sudden rush of fear, her heart flailing like feet splashing, and he would circle round her like a shark, attracted in a new way. He'd pull her under for good. Finally, Mark packed his work into his briefcase. He stood behind her, and put out his hand on her shoulder as if to lead her to bed. To sleep with him |
