In the end, Batman pushed the door open. Schiller followed him inside. Beyond the entrance was a partially partitioned foyer. Schiller went to the wall first, found the light switch, and pressed it.
With a click, the lights came on. Batman stood in the doorway, staring at Schiller's hand. As Schiller walked farther inside and surveyed the surroundings, he said, "You must be wondering how I determined where you had set traps and where you hadn't."
"I have doubts about the professional ethics of a psychologist who can't cure his own psychological allergic reactions. I have no interest in hearing you explain how miraculous psychology is." Batman cut in at just the right moment, blocking everything Schiller had been about to say.
He walked into the room as well and looked around.
It was a somewhat messy house. The decor was not luxurious, but the style was distinctive. More importantly, all kinds of collectibles occupied every corner. Their styles were mismatched, and they had been placed haphazardly. It was chaotic and complicated, the sort of place that made one imagine what a headache cleaning it would be.
Schiller casually picked up a modern sculpture from the table. Put simply, it was a lump of plastic twisted into a shape most people would find impossible to appreciate. Schiller gently blew the dust off it, turned it over in his hands, and set it back where it had been.
The ceiling over the living room was not a ceiling at all, but the atrium at the center of the second floor, somewhat similar in shape to Schiller's High Tower of Thought. Anyone standing in the center of the atrium could see the upper floor. Schiller stood in the middle of the living room, seemingly lost in thought.
"Are you planning to open