Part 4 Hermann Rorschach
The return train ride was uneventful, other than a drunk wandering into Hermann’s cabin and yelling at him for not being a beautiful woman. His mind was still reeling from the hallucination at the table with Freud.
“Did I really see those things?! Was I just lost inside Sigmund’s mind?! There is something powerful behind these blots… I absolutely must figure this out.”
He arrived home just after eight o’clock and found no rest in being back at his house, yes he was glad to see his wife, but his mind could not let the strangeness of the recent events go. With some hesitation, he decided to go to his office and study the “ink” further. He kissed Olga goodbye and headed out into the cold night, traveling slowly toward his office… he began to wonder how he could have just stumbled onto something of this magnitude.
“Is this how every scientist feels when they ‘accidentally’ discover something groundbreaking? I wonder how I will come up with an explanation for the scientific community about this new discovery?” These and many more questions plagued him as he instinctively made his way to his office. He opened the door to his office and was greeted with the familiar “RING” of the bell in his office, hung his coat neatly on the coat rack and made his way to his desk. He didn’t even realize it was dark in his office for the first few minutes, the light from the full moon streaming in through his window had pushed the need for him to light a candle to the back of his mind. He came out of his own thoughts long enough to light the half burnt candle on his desk and when he did, he noticed the “ink” in the well writhe and churn for a moment, as if it were a cockroach trying to escape the light. “Interesting!”, he thought to himself.
He opened the ink well and dipped a small paintbrush in the “ink” and then splattered it on a fresh piece of paper and watched, intently, as the ink began to take shape and form into some new and wonderful design. Patiently, Hermann watched and waited, until the last wet bit of “ink” was now soaked into the paper and he held it up to the light to see what it had made. What was it? He stared at it for a long moment and it still made no sense to him. “Had I been hallucinating when I thought the ink made some beautiful living design earlier?” His confusion began to tear at him as he dipped the paintbrush again into the “ink” and splattered once more onto another piece of paper. Waiting, watching, he held his breath as the design finally came into focus in his mind’s eye.
He knew that the “ink” was definitively black in nature, but this image was in full color and looked to be getting more vibrant with each passing moment. “How can this be?!” He then looked at the previous blot and it came into focus in his mind as well…
“A lady looking at herself in the mirror, while holding her handbag! There it is plain as day!” He was shocked that it took him so long to focus and realize what these blots had become. They seemed to grow and change over time, never fully settling into just an ink stain on paper, but always moving, always changing. Hermann began to feel dizzy at all this excitement, he tried to stand and walk over to his couch, but the sudden rush of blood made him faint, just as he thought he heard the bell to his office ring…
He woke from his sleep in a sort of haze, “I never knew that splattering ink on paper could take so much out of a person.” A certain amount of confusion surrounded him, “Why do my arms feel so heavy? My legs feel that same way, what’s going on?!” Upon further examination of his person he noticed that he could no longer even make a fist. It seemed as though it took an exaggerated amount of effort just to look around and his vision seemed very hindered, almost like looking through a window that the sunrise or sunset was shining directly on. “Why can’t I focus? And why are my limbs not responding?” He tried to roll over and noticed a slight grating sound, similar to marbles rolling across a wood floor. Upon hearing this noise, he stopped… still as a statue.
He was certain some type of peg legged assassin had kidnapped him and had been sitting in the shadows of his office waiting on him to wake up, but the noise never repeated. “My imagination is just playing tricks on me. Huh.” He slightly chuckled to himself, but the chuckle continued and then he heard it grow. The chuckle was now a cackle and there were loud reverberating footsteps that seemed to be moving closer. “It wasn’t my mind, there really is a peg-legged assassin in here with me, but the cackle stopped, rather abruptly and with it’s stop came the looming shadow of a figure standing over him. He felt so small under this shadow, which was something he took note of since he was six feet two inches when standing upright. “Comfortable in there?” The voice tickled his senses almost as if it were bouncing around inside his head looking for an escape route. “Wh-Who are you?”, he asked. “I’m very, very hurt that you don’t remember me Dr. Rorschach. I was your first! I know I remember my first… *a slight shiver runs down her pencil thin body*… Heh, hee hee, He was tall and handsome, but I digress. First, is not always sexual, but the mind does tend to wander!”, The words and laughter seemed to fall from her mouth and bounce off of Rorschach causing a slight headache, “why does my head feel as though it’s swimming?” Questions and that foul laughter rung through his mind and would permit him no logical explainations… it became too much and he fainted from the spinning feeling that had been rising inside him.