Sibs. Part 25

Despite all that doc.u.mentation, Kara still could not accept the existence of a second personality within her. So if she couldn't accept Janine, why was she even considering a psychotic's fantasy about Dr. Gates controlling her body while she slept?

She turned out the light and pulled up the covers. She had to learn to trust. Trust Dr. Gates and his ability to help her straighten this out. You had to trust your therapist.

She smiled in the darkness. Taking over someone else's body while they slept. Now that that was crazy. was crazy.

February 20 12:30 A.M.

On your fourth brush past Kara Wade's mind, you find her deep enough in NREM sleep to permit undetected entry.

At last.

You've been waiting over an hour now, and you are impatient. You slip in quickly and immediately suppress her consciousness. When you're satisfied that she is locked down in stage 3 sleep, you relax and let yourself flow through her nervous system, taking control of her motor cortex, tapping the inputs of her sensory system.

You become aware: of the soft flannel touch of her nightgown against her skin; of the pillow against the back of her head; of the slight burning in her stomach, hyperacidic from the stresses of the day; of the dry, slightly sour taste in her mouth; of the susurrant flow of air through her lips and nose as it fills her lungs; of the sounds of the still active city as they filter into the darkened bedroom.

And now, once again, she is yours.

You've become become Kara Wade. Kara Wade.

Her skin, her muscles, her bones, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and genitalia, her five senses, all yours to do with as you wish.

And you wish to get out of this bed.

You throw back the covers and turn on the light. Then you pull the flannel nightgown over your head and step before the full length mirror on the closet door to look again.

What a wonderful body.

You never tire of looking at Kara Wade's body, of wearing wearing Kara Wade's body. You run your hands over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s- Kara Wade's body. You run your hands over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-your b.r.e.a.s.t.s now-and feel a delicious tingle as the nipples rise under your gentle caress. Kelly's b.r.e.a.s.t.s were slightly higher, slightly firmer, the nipples pinker, but Kelly was a nullip. Kara has borne a child and that causes certain inevitable changes. b.r.e.a.s.t.s now-and feel a delicious tingle as the nipples rise under your gentle caress. Kelly's b.r.e.a.s.t.s were slightly higher, slightly firmer, the nipples pinker, but Kelly was a nullip. Kara has borne a child and that causes certain inevitable changes.

You loved Kelly's body and were shattered when you lost it. You had such good times with it-something about her attracted men like flies. Hardly a one refused your advances when you were wearing Kelly. That was why you were determined to have Kara from the moment you saw her standing in the doorway to your consultation room. You knew it would be just like having your dear sweet Kelly back. And it is. Only better. Much better.

You take a deep breath, thrusting the b.r.e.a.s.t.s outward and drawing in the abdomen. A beautiful shape. Enough body fat to give her that feminine roundness, but not an inch of flab. And that natural blonde thatch between her legs-superb.

You flex the muscles in the arms and legs and b.u.t.tocks feeling their high tone, their excellent conditioning. Kara takes superb care of her body, much better than Kelly ever did. This is a body that can go the distance, that will never tire. You wish you could stay with it permanently.

And to think she was almost warned away. You very nearly cried out when you saw the note. The audacity of it. Meddling in your affairs. Punishment was swift and severe-and continues even now. Yesterday's note was the first-and last.

But you mustn't distract yourself with these matters now. Your time in Kara's body is limited-after all, you have to allow her some some rest-and you wish to make the most of it. You pull on jeans and a sweater, not bothering with underwear, then open the closet. Inside, you drop to your knees and pull out a loose section of molding along the floor. From inside you pluck a pair of keys and a wad of bills, mostly hundreds. You peel off the smaller bills and five hundreds, and return the rest to the cubby hole. rest-and you wish to make the most of it. You pull on jeans and a sweater, not bothering with underwear, then open the closet. Inside, you drop to your knees and pull out a loose section of molding along the floor. From inside you pluck a pair of keys and a wad of bills, mostly hundreds. You peel off the smaller bills and five hundreds, and return the rest to the cubby hole.

So convenient to be able to use the same old hiding place for the keys and money, but Kara ruined your hiding places here for the kinds of clothes you prefer to wear on your evening jaunts. You'll have to find a new place. There's always the house in Chelsea. You could keep the clothes there, but that would run the risk of being seen going in and out night after night. You don't want any link between Kara and her therapist outside the office.

A locker. That's it. You'll find a locker somewhere to store the clothes, somewhere between the apartment and the hotel district. And you can change in the hotel room you'll be renting for the night. That will work.

Or why not simply throw the clothing away each night after you use her? You certainly don't have to worry about economizing.

You'll decide later. Right now you have to get down to that all night boutique in SoHo that carries the things you like, and then you'll have to find a hotel.

You unlock the apartment door with your key. The other is for the Chelsea House because every so often you have to visit home with the borrowed body, usually to pick up a fresh supply of cash. You peek down the hall. Empty. Good. You don't want to be seen by any of the neighbors.

You smile with Kara's lips. You don't have to worry about that meddlesome detective lover of Kara's spotting you as you leave, either. You caught him following you in his car tonight during the walk from your house to the office. Let him sit outside the office all night if he wishes. He'll learn nothing.

That detective-he's the only fly in this otherwise perfect ointment. He could ruin everything if Kara becomes too involved with him. Should that come to pa.s.s, you'll have to think of a way to scare him off. That might be fun. You could have terrorized the fellow on Tuesday night, but instead you settled for a quick f.u.c.k-and not a bad one, actually-and then left Kara to sleep away the rest of the night. The detective wasn't bad in bed, but night after night the same lover would bore you. No variety there.

And, cliche though it might be, variety is indeed the spice of life.

Twirling the key ring on your finger, you hurry down the hall to the stairs and try to decide on which of the big hotels to use tonight. You've always been fond of the Waldorf with its international clientele. That Hindu fellow last night had practically memorized the Kama Sutra Kama Sutra. Between his agile tongue and rock hard p.e.n.i.s, he bought you and Kara's body to o.r.g.a.s.m five times! He was worth three ordinary fellows. Too bad he left for India this morning. A repeat performance would be something to look forward to.

But no. Even if the Hindu was available tonight you would find someone else. That is your new rule. Never twice with the same man. Never a New Yorker or a New Jersey or Connecticut native. The further away the home, the better. One night stands, only.

Of course, that increases the risk of VD or even AIDS, but that is a risk you'll have to take. Not that you're at risk for contracting the disease yourself, but something like AIDS will wreck a beautiful body like Kara's, and then you'll be forced to go out and find a new one.

Kara isn't the only body you have available to you, but it's certainly the best. You'll still use the others now and then to maintain contact and to give Kara a rest. But Kara is going to be your new Number One, slipping perfectly into the slot vacated by her sister. Too bad Kelly is dead. It would have been nice to alternate between them. Too bad you can only control one body at a time. Putting Kelly and Kara in bed together is a magnificent fantasy.

The thought of the late great Kelly brings to mind something you've been meaning to do. You'll have to get over to Wheatley's office and change your will again.

Out on the street you have no trouble finding a cab. Three of them practically have a fight trying to pick you up when Kara stands on the corner and raises her hand.

You love being beautiful.

You give the lucky driver of the first cab an address on Greene Street and settle back in the seat, savoring the sensations bubbling through you. Even after all these years, it's still a thrill to switch bodies, especially to a newer one. Still a thrill to sway it through a hotel lobby or bar and draw hungry stares from all the men- all the straight ones-and even a few women. You won't balk at matching Kara up with another woman if the opportunity presents itself, but it's more difficult to arrange. Men are so much easier to acquire, even in pairs.

You prefer to wear a woman. Their bodies are so much more versatile, and they are capable of so much more pleasure than a male. In your vast experience playing either s.e.x you've concluded that there is really no comparison. A woman's body is a vastly superior s.e.xual instrument. The problem is, as always, finding a sufficiently accomplished musician.

You've been borrowing bodies for, what?, nearly forty-five years now. Ever since you were about six years old. Not with your present degree of expertise and subtlety, of course. You had to learn by trial and error. There were no teachers in this art.

You remember how it started. It was just about the time the family was preparing to flee the old country. Everything was in turmoil, emotions running high, conflicting, confused. That was when you began experiencing flashes of those emotions. Not from within, but from without. Others' Others' emotions. You would follow those emotions and find yourself looking through the eyes of your sister, Marta, or one of your brothers, seeing what they saw, feeling what they felt, actually emotions. You would follow those emotions and find yourself looking through the eyes of your sister, Marta, or one of your brothers, seeing what they saw, feeling what they felt, actually inside inside them. them.

But you couldn't maintain the contact. Not in those days. And the other minds would rebel, push you away. They wouldn't know it was you, that it was anybody anybody. They just knew that something was wrong and subconsciously reacted against you. But you kept on trying, probing. You had to. And by trial and error you discovered that you achieved your best results during the night when they were asleep. You could enter them then without resistance. And as long as they stayed asleep, you could make their arms and legs move. Eventually you learned to keep them asleep and unaware. That done, you could get them up and walk around in their bodies.

But instinctively you knew right from the start that yours was an ability that had to be kept secret. You could do something that other people could not- although you suspected your sister Marta had some undiscovered capability like yours. So maybe it was genetic. You'd caught hints in the family history that there may have been others with a power like yours, but nothing definite. And those records are long gone now.

But what does it matter, really? It is a fool's game to root about for causes. The why and how is irrelevant. You power exists, you know how to use it, you love love using it. Where it comes from using it. Where it comes from simply doesn't matter simply doesn't matter.

Whatever the cause-accident or heredity-you knew your ability would cause fear in other people, so you kept it a secret for much of your childhood.

With adolescence, you became bolder and perfected your technique.

On Green Street, you pay the cabby and go into the Nite Owl Boutique to pick out some s.e.xy clothes. The owner's eyes light up at the sight of Kara's familiar face-she thinks she's still dealing with Kelly. Dollar signs flash in her eyes and she comes over immediately to help.

As you browse through the racks of low-cut tops and high-cut skirts, and undergarments with unconventional but strategic openings, you think about how far you've come. From listening in on emotions to taking absolute control over-all but owing owing-this fabulous body.

Life is good.

And going into psychiatry proved to be a stroke of genius, even if you do say so yourself. It gives you access to people with emotional problems, a majority of whom are women, since women as a rule are far more apt to admit to emotional problems and seek help for them. A certain percentage of those women, purely as a result of the law of averages, are young and attractive. You've skewed the curve in your favor by letting it get around that you treat nurses on a courtesy basis. When you find a young attractive woman who fits your criteria of suggestibility, you edge her down a circuitous path that will convince her that she might have a multiple personality disorder. When she allows you to hypnotize her, you establish contact, entering her mind and making a little nest for yourself there. It's akin to leaving a marker. After that, you can find her whenever she's in range-like reaching out in the dark and finding a familiar object-and take her over whenever she's sleeping. You make her body do a few rude things during the night, thus confirming the multiple personality diagnosis beyond all doubt. After that she's yours whenever you want her, as soon as she goes to sleep.

The sleep part is important. Once you've worn a body a few times in sleep, you're capable of taking over whenever you wish. But if you do so while the individual is alert and conscious, the victim knows she's been taken over. She might even recognize you. That would never do. So you only take over patients who have been convinced they have a multiple personality disorder, and only when they are asleep.

It's a delicate juggling act, really. You must keep them frightened and off-balance enough so they stay in therapy, but not so frightened and distraught that they become discouraged or disillusioned with you and go somewhere else. With the right amount of hope and a sufficient number of setbacks, you can keep them dangling indefinitely.

And when you tire of them... you cure cure them. them.

Some of them cure themselves by moving away. Your range is limited. You can reach as far as Hartford and the Catskills and a ways west of Philadelphia. And even when they are that far, there is no sensation of transit-one instant you're in your own body, the next instant you're in another's. But at the extremes of your range the bond is so tenuous, the strain of maintaining contact so enormous, that there is nothing to be gained by the effort. Except in Kara's case. During the weekend after she returned to her farm it exhausted you to make her body do a few simple things, such as writing on the mirror and the like, but it was worth the effort. It brought her back to New York.

You've never failed. Your arrangement has worked perfectly for years and there is no reason it cannot go on for as long as you live. No matter how old your brain and your own body become, you can always have a young body to occupy.

You carry your packages from the Nite Owl and find a cab to take you to the Helmsley Palace on Madison and 50th. You rent a room there-registering as Janine Wade-paying in advance in cash. Then you stop at the pharmacy to pick up some make-up and essentials. Half an hour later you walk Kara's provocatively dressed body down to the bar. In no time you have a Stetson-hatted Texan in tow. He's big, he's h.o.r.n.y, and this is his last night in town. He's perfect.

2:45 A.M.

You lay alone on the bed in Kara's body, vaguely frustrated. The Texan was all right, but after the Hindu last night he was something of a letdown. You can see that you're going to have to go back to picking up doubles again. You've shied away from that sort of thing since the fiasco at the Plaza two weeks ago, but you don't see that you have much choice if you're going to make these little jaunts worthwhile.

You get up, wash off the make-up, use the Ma.s.sengill vinegar douche you picked Hp earlier, and put the new clothing back in the Nite Owl bags. You've decided to store them in a locker at Grand Central. That way they'll be convenient to midtown and you won't have to waste so much valuable time going down to SoHo.

Dressed again in the jeans and sweater and coat, you head for the lobby. The exhilaration of a few hours ago has worn off, and because the evening has not turned out as well as you hoped, you're feeling somewhat low. It's at times like these that questions of morality arise and circle you like whispering shades from unkempt graves.

What right have I to do this?

The question doesn't arise nearly so often as it did during the early days. But tonight it creeps back. You face it squarely.

No right at all.

Then why? Why do you do it?

You know the litany. You do not flinch from the response.

Because I can! Because I must! Because I love it! Because I cannot stop! But most of all because without it I might as well be dead!

Besides. You are one of a kind, a law unto yourself. That is your justification. Isn't that enough?

3:30 A.M.

Movement at the front of the Kramer building caught Rob's attention through his half closed eyes. He straightened up and squinted through the foggy windshield.

Gates. Leaving his office.

Christ! What had he been doing in there all this time?

Gates began to walk uptown. Since Seventh Avenue ran downtown only, Rob couldn't follow. He took a gamble. He started the car and took the next even numbered street east up to Sixth Avenue, raced uptown to Twenty-first and came down the street with his lights out. He pulled in by a fire hydrant at mid-block and waited.

Gates showed a few minutes later. He went up the steps to his front door and disappeared inside. Five minutes later all the lights went out.

Rob debated extending the watch, then decided against it. He had a feeling Gates wouldn't be going anywhere until his office opened in five and a half hours.

A wasted night. Or maybe not. At least he knew Gates hadn't been out snooping around Kelly's apartment playing mind games on Kara. But he was puzzled as to what it was in Gates' office that would keep him occupied until this hour.

Sooner or later he'd find out. Rob had no doubt about that. Patience and vigilance-sooner or later they paid off.

He turned on the headlights and headed home.

9:32 A.M.

Ed had tried to age the coveralls quickly by bunching them up on the floor and stomping all over them. It had added wrinkles, but still they looked too clean. The same was true of the tool box he carried, even though he had taken a hammer to it.

Nothing I can do about it now, he thought as he entered the Kramer Medical Arts Building.

But he'd skipped shaving and showering this morning and was pleased with the slightly grubby effect.

He walked up to the directory, found Dr. Gates listed on the third floor, and took the elevator up. That was when he began to sweat.

This is crazy! I could get disbarred for this!

The best thing to do was turn around now, go back to the apartment, and go to work late. He had called in sick this morning but he could always tell them the virus had pa.s.sed as suddenly as it came and he felt fine now.

No! You're going to do this. You're going to go through with it. No backing down.

When the elevator door opened, he marched out and found Dr. Gates' office. The door was flush steel. He took a deep breath, readied his best grin and Bronx accent, and pushed it open.

"Mornin'!" he said to the receptionist behind the desk. "How's it goin' t'day, sweetheart?"

"Can I help you?" she said, fixing him with a frosty stare.

"Yeah. Y'havin' any trouble witcher locks?"

She shook her head. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Complaints. Loadsa complaints. Mostly on da fourth floor, but de owners want me t' check ev'ybody out as long as dey got me here."

"I can't allow you to disturb Dr. Gates' patients-"

"Nah, don' werry. Jus de outta door here. Lemme see yer key set."

She reached for her bag and then stopped.

"I don't know..."

Ed had been afraid of something like this, but he had a plan of action prepared: Bull your way throush Bull your way throush.

"I should look atcher rest room keys, too."

Still she hesitated.