Part 8 (1/2)

”Do I act as though I were in a trance, sir?”

”Oh no. No, of course not. This sort of thing doesn't result in such a manifestation. This is something much more subtle than mere, gross hypnotism.” Rayson smiled.

”However, you've had all night to partially recover. And these things seldom are fully effective for more than a few hours--unless the operator can get to his victim again, to fully fix the impression he has created.”

Rayson placed the palms of his hands together. ”No, by this time, one would expect your memories to be somewhat confused. So we can apply therapeutic methods.” He nodded.

”Now go ahead. Try running through the whole story. Perhaps we can get a clue as to his methods. And if you have any ill effects remaining, I think they can be quite easily eliminated. Now, suppose you start with the time immediately after young Waern's attack on the Kelton boy.”

Don shook his head wearily. ”There was no such attack,” he said. ”It was the other way around. A large sized chap who later gave his name to me as Gerry Kelton, slapped a smaller fellow named Waern. At the time, two other fellows were holding Waern's arms. Rather tightly, too.”

Masterson interrupted, shaking his head disgustedly. ”We've got plenty of statements from witnesses. That isn't the way they read. Now how about it?”

”You mean the two Keltons and VanSickle?”

”No.” Masterson was definite. ”No. I don't mean them. There were several students around the doorway into that locker room during that entire show. We got stories from most of them.” He waved a hand decisively.

”Now suppose you start using your head. Get busy and give us the thing the way it really happened. Then, we'll see what to do about you.”

Don shook his head. ”The locker room and the hall were empty for at least a full minute before those three came in,” he said. ”If you go over the people that signed those statements, you'll probably find that they were somewhere else at the time.” He grinned.

”And from what I hear, this might give you an idea as to the members.h.i.+p of the Hunters, too.”

”Hunters!” Masterson looked completely disgusted. ”We've checked out a hundred crazy rumors about that alleged gang. Nothing there.”

”Maybe so.” Don looked at him critically. ”But Jack Bordelle certainly sounded convinced last night. And how about Pete Waern? Didn't he tell you his side of this thing?”

”Ah yes, Waern.” Dr. Rayson chuckled. ”I believe these 'Hunters' are an invention of his uncle's. No, that young man didn't come in. His father is too smart for that. We won't see that young man again, unless we can have him brought in for this bit of work he did on you.”

Don turned his head to stare across the desk.

Rayson smiled knowingly. ”Oh, yes. Jasu Waern called early this morning. He said he was withdrawing Petoen from school. Said he planned to send him to a private school where he wouldn't be subject to indignities.” He chuckled again.

”Jasu Waern is altogether too smart a man to let us question that youngster of his if he can prevent it.” He looked searchingly at Don.

”You know,” he added musingly, ”I'm beginning to wonder about you, though. This might be serious. Possibly this Waern boy was more thorough than we thought possible. Possibly permanent damage could have been done.” He got to his feet.

”Suppose you go over to that couch there and lie down. We'll try a little therapy, and see what we can do for you.”

Michaels looked at him indignantly.

”I'm getting a little tired of all these tales about mental influence by the Khlorisanu. They're pure myth and I know it. I've lived all my life among these people. Believe me, if there were any such thing, my father or I would have come across it before now. And we'd know about it.”

”You are then, ah, presenting yourself as an authority on parapsychology, perhaps?” Rayson pursed his lips. ”This is a great accomplishment for one so young.”

”I'm not an authority on anything.” Don shook his head. ”All I know is that I'd find it out right away if anyone tried anything like that on me. No one has--at least no Khlorisana has.”

Rayson shook his head reprovingly. ”Now, you say you have lived all your life among these people? Perhaps, then, you have been under----”

”Just a minute!” Masterson broke in sharply. ”What's this about Jack Bordelle? He's your relief, isn't he, Michaels?”