Chapter 21
After managing to speak his message into a camera, and hoping it would find its way to Ziggy some day, Sam fell through time again, and found himself back in the observation room surrounded by inkblots strewn across the table in front of him. The only clue to the time period now was the melody of ‘Tallahassee Lassie’ drifting out of the radio.
“What do you see in this image?” asked Doctor Masters, holding up what looked to Sam like nothing but a bit of spilled ink.
Sam crossed his arms. “I don’t know. A puddle? What do these actually tell you, anyway?”
“Sometimes it provides valuable insight into the subconscious, Mister Beiderman.” He put down the blot and held up another. “How about this?”
Sam gazed at it, his chin in his hands. “A cut. With… blood… gushing out.”
He looked away from the paper and unconsciously rubbed at his wrists. Doctor Masters seemed to notice this, and set about flipping through the pages fastened to his clipboard, though he gave no indication of why. After a moment, he held up another inkblot.
Sam sighed, staring at the scattering of blobs on the paper. “Uh—the Ursa Major constellation.”
Doctor Masters raised his eyebrows and looked at the blot himself. “Huh. It kind of does resemble it, doesn’t it?” He moved his eyes back to Sam. “You know constellations?”
Sam shrugged. “My Dad taught them to me when I was a kid.”
Doctor Masters frowned. “Hmm, according to my notes, your father died when you were two years old.” He leaned forward, scanning Sam’s face. “It’s been over a year since I’ve observed a personality change,” he said. “I thought the issue may have resolved. But that action you made—rubbing your wrists. I’ve seen it before. Are you Sam Beckett?”
“Well deduced,” Sam conceded, his shoulders dropping as he let go of his facade. “Listen, can we skip the Rorschach tests and Freudian psychoanalysis? I don’t think it’s going to help.”
“What makes you say that, Mist—Doctor Beckett?”
“Time traveller, remember?” Sam said, hands spread out. “What Sam Beiderman needs is people who care about him. People who are willing to listen and who’ll boost his self-esteem and confidence. He needs a support network, not endless tests and observation.”
Doctor Masters rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Sam clasped his hands. “And he needs to know that I’m only trying to help—can you tell him that when he comes back? Tell him I’m sorry for what happened, and if I could have stopped it, I would.”
“Stop what?”
“The electroshock, and everything that happened back then.” Sam shook his head. “He blames me for bringing all those other personalities into his head. But he needs to know that I didn’t choose this. I was a victim too. Please, Doctor. Tell him I’m trying to make things right.”
Doctor Masters was taking extensive notes now, only lifting his head to study Sam’s eyes.
“Why does he blame you, Doctor Beckett?”
“Because if I’d never shown up, you wouldn’t have started treating him like a guinea pig. He might have been able to go home long before now.”
“But you didn’t show up until months after he initially began presenting symptoms of multiple personalities.”
Sam shook his head. “You don’t understand—it was because of me. All those personalities came out of me, not him.” At Doctor Masters’ puzzled look, he added, “Forget it. I can’t explain any more, not while you’re taking notes on me. The information is too sensitive.”
Doctor Masters placed his pen down on the table. “Alright. I promise that whatever you tell me today will be strictly off-the-record.”
Sam gestured to the two-way mirror in the wall. “And what about that? Are people watching us right now?”
Doctor Masters laughed. “Not today. We don’t have the resources for that.”
Sam searched his face for signs he might be lying. He’d become pretty good at feeling these things out, but he wasn’t detecting anything untoward now. He wasn’t sure how much to divulge, but he finally decided to try letting the man in on some of it—something had to change, he figured.
“Look, Doctor,” he said, “I know that the only way you can make sense of me is to write me off as a fabrication created by a sick mind. And that’s fine, I really don’t care what you think I am. But I have the strong belief that if you can get Beiderman the help he needs, you won’t be seeing me any longer.”
He closed his eyes, trying to put together his next words. “Think of me like a… a doctor, who does house calls, so to speak. I do what I can to fix problems, and then I move on to the next ‘patient.’ That’s who all those other people you met were. People I’d helped before. I guess I took a piece of each of them with me when I left. And the electroshock damaged my psyche enough for a few of them to… kind of shuffle into the front.”
Doctor Masters was looking at him with a deep ridge in his brow, trying to understand. “Are you saying you’re some kind of—entity? That possesses people?”
Sam chuckled. “Entity? Uh—no. I’m just a man who got stuck with an, um, unusual vocation. But Sam Beiderman… he’s been a unique case, because of what happened. My presence made things worse for him. And I think that’s why I ended up back here. Because he blames me. And maybe because I need to set things right.”
“I see. So you want me to believe that Sam Beiderman doesn’t have alternate personalities, and that his alter egos are because you’re… dropped into his body intermittently?”
“Uh—well, yes. Kinda. Don’t get me wrong, he’s unwell. His depression is real, I’m sure. But he’s not as sick as you think, and he just needs the right kind of support.”
Doctor Masters adjusted his glasses. “Well, that’s an interesting story, Doctor Beckett.”
Sam frowned. “You don’t believe a word I just told you, do you?”
“Well,” Doctor Masters said, shifting in his chair, “It is a little far-fetched, I’ll be honest. But what you’ve told me has been fascinating.”
“Well, if you believe nothing else,” Sam said, “believe what I’ve told you about Sam Beiderman. He needs support. Depression can be hard to treat, but I can say for sure that being isolated and cooped up… it just makes things worse for him. Unless something changes, he’s going to end it sooner or later… and he’s going to make sure I’m there when he does it.” He winced as a surge of pain went through his wrists.
Doctor Masters pursed his lips. “I’ll try to accommodate your requests. I promise.” He flipped to a page in his clipboard. “‘Support network,’ you said?”
“Yes. You could start with Missus Beiderman, maybe?”
“I’m afraid she divorced you—uh, Mister Beiderman—some time ago.”
“Damn.” Sam had been hoping Ben had managed to do something about that, but maybe that had been too big an expectation. After all, from what he’d seen of her, she seemed entirely fed up with him.
“However,” continued Doctor Masters, “Perhaps I’ll give his brother a call.”
“Beiderman has a brother?”
“Uh—yes. Matthew Beiderman. We didn’t even know how to contact him for a while, until you gave us his number out of the blue.”
“I did? When?”
“Wait—no, it wasn’t you; I believe it was when the Ben Song personality was presenting.”
Sam let out a breath. “Okay. Uh, well then—yes. Please do call him. I’d appreciate that.”
“Is Ben another one of these… doctors?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “And if I survive this, it’ll be because of him.”