Probably she would kill him later. Grafferty still had a chance to get his corpse, so necessary to headlines and to my plans for finally wrecking the Countess Krak.
Still, even if Grafferty came early, there was quite enough to cook her goose: a leading psychiatrist of the city standing like a catatonic statue in the middle of the living room and a very pathetic victim hypnotized in the back bedroom. Whichever way the cards fell, the Countess Krak was for it! New York City would give her Hells, to mention nothing of Voltar penalties for Code breaks.
She made sure that Doctor Kutzbrain was remaining statuized. Then she went back into the bedroom to finish off Simmons, all unaware that the police were howling on their way. I knew that she could never get out of there in time.
The Countess Krak closed the bedroom door behind her. Miss Simmons was sprawled on the bed-breasts, belly and thighs bare. The Countess reached over and pulled the bathrobe closed: I could not figure why she was doing that; I myself thought Simmons' nakedness pretty stimulating.
Krak sat down in the chair and again took up the microphone. "It is just after the first Nature Appreciation class last fall. You have left the UN and are now entering Van Cortlandt Park. Where are you?"
"Just entering Van Cortlandt Park," said Simmons, very muffled under the helmet. Her body started to stiffen.
"You see that Wister is following you. You know you are not good enough for him. You plead with him to go away."
From under the helmet, "Please go away, Wister."
"Good. Now he has gone away. You walk further into the park. You see eight men following you. Look back at them. What do you see?"
Miss Simmons' body went more rigid and began to twitch.
"I see eight men following me."
Krak said, "You are looking for a secluded place. You find one. What does it look like?"
Miss Simmons went more tense. She said, "A hollow with a high bank all around. The path comes down from the hill into it. The grass is green, there is a brook."
"Good," said the Countess Krak. "One of the men is closer than the rest. What would you really want him to do."
"Like it says in Krafft-Ebing."
"What is Krafft-Ebing?" asked Krak in a puzzled voice.
"The books like Psychopathia Sexualis. Like Have-lock Ellis' books or Sigmund Freud's. My father used to read them to me every night at bedtime. As a psychologist he said that all those nasty fairy tales were full of phallic symbols. Like putting thumbs in pies. And he said his daughter must read the same things they teach in kindergarten today because psychology is the best arousal-depressant for children as it pounds into them all the horrible things they must not do. He did it to help my natural frigidity so I could be normal like the other children in my class."
The Countess Krak lowered the microphone into her shoulder. "Good Heavens!" she muttered in Voltarian. Then she raised the mike and said in English,
"So what did you want the first man to do?"
"Like Krafft-Ebing. To knock me down in the mud and... mumble... mumble... mumble... just like it says in Kra... mmmmmmmm! Oh, yes. Oh, my, YES!" Her words had been more and more choked and her breathing was short and heavy. "Come on... mumble, mumble... Put... mumble... mumble. AH!"
The Countess Krak was staring at her. She covered the microphone. In Voltarian, she muttered, "Well, there's no stopping her now." In English she said into the mike, "That's exactly what is happening. You can see it, feel it, you are right there. Go ahead."
Miss Simmons got more rigid. Then she threw her arms and legs wide. She arched her back. Her hands impatiently ripped the robe even further away so she was totally uncovered. "Ah, ah... the mud... so beautiful... so dirty... ah... MORE!... MORE!" Her back was arched like a bow.
Some clothing on a hanger began to dance. "Mumble... mumble," panted Miss Simmons.
"My word," said the startled Countess Krak.
The clothes blew off the hanger with the violence of Miss Simmons' scream.
The Countess Krak stared at her, stunned.
Miss Simmons was now lying there, spent, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth.
The Countess Krak raised the microphone up. But she didn't get a chance to say anything. "Now YOU!" cried Miss Simmons.
Both Miss Simmons' feet rose into the air and began to kick jerkily. "Mumble... mumble... mumble."
The items on the makeup bureau began to jump and quiver.
"Good Lords," said the Countess Krak.
"NOW!" screamed Miss Simmons. "NOW! NOW! NOW!"
The makeup bureau implements cascaded to the floor, battered by Miss Simmons' piercing screech.
Then Miss Simmons was lying there, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, panting.
The Countess Krak raised the microphone to speak. She didn't get a chance. "Two, two, two!" cried Miss Simmons. "Both... mumble... mumble... GOT TO!"
Miss Simmons was sitting up. She began to bounce up and down on the bed.
The Countess Krak was watching her, very puzzled.
A piece of plaster in the ceiling began to shake and splinter.
"Yowee!" cried Miss Simmons.
A piercing scream hit the plaster and it came crashing down.
Miss Simmons was lying back again, tongue lolling.
The Countess Krak raised her microphone once more. "Miss Simmons," she said, "I think..."
Miss Simmons was now on her hands and knees. "Oh, no!" she shouted, "Don't do that! AHHHH!"
A floor lamp beside the chair of the Countess Krak began to dance. She put out an alarmed hand to steady it. The lamp just jiggled worse.
"MORE! MORE! MORE!" cried Miss Simmons.
The closet door slammed shut as she let out a piercing scream.
Miss Simmons was lying there again with her tongue lolling out, panting.
The Countess Krak looked relieved. She composed herself and, in a business-like way, once more raised the microphone to speak. But the voice of Miss Simmons interrupted her, "Now three!"
Miss Simmons had a pillow. She was tearing at it. She got it under her, then turned over and seized it. "Mumble... mumble... mumble!" she said.
The floor lamp again began to rock.
Miss Simmons' hand tore a wad of feathers from the pillow.
The Countess Krak stared. She couldn't make it out.
Miss Simmons' housecoat flew up into the air. "Mmm! Mmm! Mmm! Yippeee!" she cried.
Then Miss Simmons was lying there again, panting.
The Countess Krak retrieved the housecoat and then stood staring. In a perfectly natural voice, Miss Simmons was saying, "We will now take up page 92 of Krafft-Ebing. I am certain that your psychology teacher called it to your attention. Six of you form a ring. The other two..."
The lamp had begun to rock. The Countess Krak grabbed it to keep it from falling down.
"Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!" crooned Miss Simmons.
Suddenly the spilled makeup implements on the floor bounced as a shuddering shriek came from Miss Simmons.
The whole pillow-load of feathers shot into the air.
The Countess Krak tried to bat the flying feathers off her face.
The floor lamp came down with a splintering crash.
Miss Simmons lay back, relaxed, smiling under the helmet. She was drenched with sweat and so was the bed around her. She looked totally exhausted. She stretched lazily.