The Tower

"Not exactly. He can differentiate between the two, he just has nothing holding him back from acting on his wishes. His shadow is no longer held in check by his persona, or superego. So it roams free."

"A runaway libido with no brakes," Jade mused.

The doctor looked surprised. "Yes, Mr. Marlow. Something like that. I'm afraid I can't be more helpful, but Allander was quite guarded, particularly when he spoke to me. I'm sure you've found that in the tapes."

Jade leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. "Let's get into specifics, Doctor. Atlasia has made a number of Freudian references that I'd like some input about. He seems really proud of the fact that he's in touch with his unconscious, that he can see all the parts he's made of. And he's not afraid to act on his desires-the real way, not through sublimation. He's very aware of the difference, which I think is bad news. And he also said he's seen 'what there is in every little boy,' but if he's talking about the Oedipal complex, I'm not really sure why."

Travers helped Jade fill in the blanks as he presented the entire case, beginning to end. They showed the doctor photos of the crime scene at the house, and Jade played him the segment from the tape of Allander's interview that he thought was significant.

For a long time, the doctor didn't say anything. He picked up the photographs and examined them closely. "You said that the girl claimed that Allander spoke of parents, educators, and the law, correct?"

Travers nodded.

"Well, none of them stepped in and protected him when he was a child, when he was in need. So this is his payback. On the tape, he references Freud, discusses probing his unconscious and coming up with the truth-the truth that everyone should see, but doesn't. Allander has made his own diagnosis of society. Like Freud in Civilization and Its Discontents. And he's made a diagnosis of himself."

"What is that diagnosis?" Travers asked.

"That he can see man's true nature and act upon it. He feels that others cannot. They can't see their true needs, just as they could not see that he was in need as a child. He's gouged out their eyes to illustrate that. He's written it on the bodies.

"And the pattern starts with the family. This may be a stretch, but maybe he arranged the bodies to mimic his parents. They have a healthy relationship, you've said. Maybe he's mocking that by posing the bodies in an embrace. He's portraying them as being happy in their ignorance."

"Ignorance is bliss," Travers said.

"Yes. Very appropriate cliche."

Jade was quiet. Something was not fitting all the way. Something was missing.

"So it all comes down to Mom," Travers said. "Seems like it always does. Remember Kemper in Santa Cruz?"

Jade nodded. "Fed his mother's larynx down the garbage disposal. Also Rivers, the Tower survivor. He got his mother."

"With Atlasia, it's not just his mother," the doctor said. "Atlasia's anger was directed toward both parents. He included the father in the posing."

"And the gouging," Jade said. "Well, we have full surveillance on the Atlasias."

"I don't know if that's a concern." The doctor shook his head. "I agree with you that he references the Oedipal complex-'what there is in every little boy'-but serial killers almost always displace. They rarely kill the people they're really furious at. They pick others and vent their anger on them. It's easier."

"Warden Banks told me that you hold on to drawings the prisoners make when they have Sketch Duty. I'd like to see some of Allander's."

"Sure, sure," the doctor said. "Though I don't know how useful they'll be to you."

He excused himself and returned a few minutes later with three drawings under his arm. He unfurled them on his desk. "We have only three of Atlasia's," he said.

The first drawing showed an enormous clown holding an uprooted tower under its face. A woman flopped carelessly out of a small window beneath the clown's curling fingernails.

The next picture was a sketch portraying hands. The first set of hands faced one another horizontally, fingers closed, fingertips a few inches apart. The hands were expertly drawn, right down to the lines in the palms. Beside them were two hands that seemed to be pointing at each other. The last image on the sheet was a solitary hand, its fingers together and thumb apart, pointed upward at a forty-five-degree angle.

The final drawing was an intricately detailed picture of a mountain range shaped subtly like the curves of a woman. Although it was at first difficult to notice the corporeal suggestion, there was something immediately erotic about the work. The drawings were made with crayons, but their clarity was exceptional. They were clearly the work of a skilled hand.

"The clown, of course, recalls the clown masks of his childhood captor," Dr. Yung said.

Travers nodded. "How about the others?"

"Well, this really isn't my forte," the doctor said. "But I find the mountain range interesting in how it incorporates female sexuality into the earth."