“Alone? When are you ever alone? When is anybody in the crowded Corridor ever alone?”
She tore herself away from him, snatched up her shift and ran out of the penthouse, sobbing hysterically. She ran back to her own Oasis nearly crazed with terror and despair. In her familiar apartment she recovered a little poise and resolved to put the disaster to the test. Either Shima was right and she was doomed, or else Shima was trying to destroy her. But why? Because he thought she was a Guff flower to be played with and tortured?
She dismissed her entire staff with curt orders to leave and spend the night elsewhere. She stood at the door and counted them out as they left, all bewildered and unhappy. She slammed the door and looked around. She could still see as well as ever.
“The lying son-of-a-bitch,” she muttered and began pacing furiously. She raged through the apartment. Well at least she’d learned one lesson; interpersonal relationships always betray you. She’d made a fool of herself. But why in God’s name did Blaise shaft her like this? Killing her outright would have been kinder. Was he trying to make her kill hersel—
She smashed into something and was thrown back. She recovered her balance and looked to see what she’d blundered against in her fury. It was a gilt harpsichord.
“But… But I don’t own a harpsichord,” she whispered in astonishment. “How did it—?”
She started forward to touch it and assure herself of its reality. She smashed into the something again, reeled and clutched it. It was the back of a couch; her own tufted couch. She looked around in confusion. This was not one of her rooms. The gilt harpsichord? Vivid Brueghels hanging on the walls? Jacobean furniture? Linenfold paneled doors? Crewel drapes?
“But this is the Raxon apartment below me. I know it. I’ve visited. I must be seeing what they’re seeing. I must— Oh my God! Was he telling the truth?”
She closed her eyes and looked. Through a veil she still saw the Raxon apartment. And dimmer and fading out of focus she saw a confusion of apartments, streets, peoples, actions, forms, colors. She had always seen this sort of montage, but had always thought it was the total visual recall which was a major asset in her extraordinary grasp on the psychodynamics of reality. Now she knew the truth.
She began to sob again. She felt her way around to the front of the couch and sat down, despairing. “My God! My God! My God! A freak! I’d rather be dead…”
When at last the convulsion had spent itself, she wiped her eyes courageously, determined to face her own freak reality and cope with it. She was no coward. But when she opened her eyes, she received another shock. She saw her own living room, the familiar remembered room, but now in tones of grey. And she saw Mr. Wish standing in the open door, smiling glassily at her.
“Blaise?” she whispered.
“The name is Wish, my dear. You may call me Mr. Wish.”
“Blaise! For God’s sake! Not me! You couldn’t follow me. I left no death-wish trail for you.”
“We’ve met before, my dear. I remember, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name. More important matters on my mind, you understand. But now, suddenly, you’ve become very important to me.”
“I’m Gretchen. Gretchen Nunn. And I have no death wish.”
“Nice meeting you again, Gretchen,” he said with crystal courtesy. He took two steps toward her. She jumped up and ran behind the couch.
“Blaise, listen to me. You are not Mr. Wish. There is no Mr. Wish. You’re Dr. Blaise Shima, a famous scientist. Aromatic Hydrocarbons and… and… You’re Chief Scent Chemist at CCC and you’ve created many popular perfumes…”
While his frozen smile remained fixed on her, Mr. Wish began drawing objects from his pockets; a rope knotted into a hangman’s noose, a laser burner, a small pressure bulb labeled (CN)2, a glittering scalpel, an antique 8 mm.-caliber palm-pistol. He arranged them neatly on the end table alongside the couch.
“Blaise,” she pleaded. “I’m Gretchen. Your Gretchen from the Guff. We’ve been lovers for two months. You must remember. Try to remember. You told me about my eyes tonight. Being blind. You must remember that.”
“Different people choose different ways of dying,” he said pleasantly. “After all, it’s their final choice, so they have every right to be particular. I try to provide every road. Here they are, my dear. Which would you prefer? Take your time. Don’t be afraid. I’ll help you kill yourself. I’ll make it easy for you.”
“For Jesussake, Blaise! You’re suffering from blackout. Fugue. Split personality…”
“If it’s the rope, we’ll find a firm support for it, something that can hold… a hundred and twenty pounds, yes? That’s my estimate. If you want to snap your neck, I’ll fetch a chair and you can jump. If you’d like a slow strangle, I’ll tie your wrists for you. I’ll grant any wish.”
“Blaise, you’re inside a crazy creature driven by a pheromone, but I left no suicide trail. I couldn’t!”
“If you prefer gas, here’s cyanogen. Just press the button and take a breath. Some prefer to drink poison. We can bubble the gas into a glass of water and, Hey! Presto! Hydrocyanic acid that kills like a thunderbolt. One sip and your wish is granted. Clever of me, eh? Two deaths in one package.”
“My God, Blaise, I’ve never wanted to die.”
“Yes you do, my dear. Delighted to grant your wish. How about a nice warm bath and this?” The scalpel flashed a cut through the air. “Your wrist, or the carotid in your neck. Just think, your last bath. You’ll never have to worry about water again. And see? Two guns. Bullet or burn. Now really, you couldn’t ask for anything more, could you? Mr. Wish is here to help.”
“No!”
“You called.”
“No!”
“And I came to you.”
She backed away from his hypnotic smile. Mr. Wish made no move. He stood quite still, and his assurance was terrifying. It was an inexorable statement. He knew she wanted to die. He knew she would not be able to resist one of the instruments of suicide. He knew that if he waited patiently, he would help and watch her die. He stood quite still, with the massive assurance of death itself.
“Christ!” she cried. She took a step, hesitated, then dashed past him to the door with a clear chance of escaping him, only to slam into two grinning goons standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorway. Suddenly she was aware of brilliant color in the room. They grabbed and held her while she squealed and struggled helplessly.
They addressed Mr. Wish over her head in the Guff Blurt, “Hi ole buddy boy buddy man.”
“Blaise! Help me!”
Mr. Wish ignored her. “Oh. It’s you again,” he sniffed.
“Hey ole buddy boy buddy man got youself a real type bije this time huh buddy man.”
“And upass loaded with goody goodies huh man we dig buddy.”
“Make up for last three nowhere numbers you got our thanks buddy man Guff thanks buddy boy go home now man bye bye buddy.”
“Why don’t I ever get to watch one die?” Mr. Wish exclaimed petulantly. “They call me. I come. I bring everything and anything they could need. I do all the work, and you always send me away. It’s not fair!” He seemed on the verge of tears.
“Now man no beef man we got to protect our good buddy bird dog who lead us to bije goodies.”
“It’s not fair!”
“And if anything bustass you man like take the rapsville you our setup ole buddy.”
“I still say it’s not fair.”
“Home now buddy man rest of rip belong us so no fight buddy boy because we edge-up on you.”
“We know who you but you don’t know who us see man we blow whistle on you but you nowhere blow whistle on us.”
“I know who I am,” Mr. Wish said stiffly. “I am Mr. Wish, the donor of death, and I think I have the right to watch them kill themselves.” He was now genuinely indignant.
“Sure man sure buddy boy sure next time belong you strictly you.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“As
shole bond this time no guff this time now split buddy boy go home safe you.”
“I don’t like you, not one little bit,” Mr. Wish said resentfully and headed for the door, ignoring the spasming Gretchen who was trying to scream through an iron hand over her mouth. The goons ripped her naked and let out a yell of delight when they saw the diamond in her navel. Mr. Wish turned at the door and saw the jewel, too.
“But… But that’s mine,” he said in a small bewildered voice. “That’s only for my eyes. I— Gretchen promised she—” Abruptly the confusion vanished and Dr. Blaise Shima spoke in a voice accustomed to command. “Gretchen? Gretchen! What the hell are you doing here? What’s this place? Who are these— Get your hands off her!”
Salem Burne’s karate guess had been correct. Shima shot into action like a battering ram, but the goons were Guff-fighters of vicious experience, and it was a dangerous scene for Shima until the two suddenly exploded air and collapsed, one after the other. He stood, panting and shaking, and looked down at them. They were dead. He looked at Gretchen Nunn. She stood, nearly naked in her ripped shift, the silent laser burner in her hand.
He tried to speak. “I—”
“Thank you, Blaise. Hello, Blaise.”
“Hello, Gret— Darl— I—” He tried to catch his breath. “I d-don’t know where I’m at. I… I’m not used to this.”
“Come sit down.”
“They’re dead, aren’t they?”
“Burned through the back. Sit here with me.”
“This is one hell of a time to relax.”
“Sit!”
“Yes’m. I… Thank you. I… You know, I’ve never seen a Lethal before. It… It isn’t as bad as I imagined.”
“Yes it is. Turn so we can’t see them. We have to be quick, Blaise. You’ve got to be protected.”
“Protected? Am I in trouble?”
“Bad trouble. I’m going to give it to you fast. Can you listen?”
He nodded.
“Then just listen. No questions.” She gave it to him fast, and his bewilderment gave way to shock and dismay. “Now you understand,” she finished. “There can’t be any connection between Mr. Wish and Dr. Shima.”
“But… But there has to be a connection. If I killed any of—”
“No!” she broke in sharply. “I don’t think so. I really don’t think so, Blaise, But I must admit that I really don’t know for sure. I believe it was those two who did the Lethals; you were just the Judas-goat. God knows how they ever started following you. We’ll never know that either, but the Guff is full of unknowables. Now get out of here and go home. I’ve got to call the precinct.”
“Gretchen…”
“No. Go.”
“Why this for me?”
“Because I love you, you dumb son-of-a-bitch, and it was one hell of a way to find out.”
“But you’ll be alone. Blind.”
“Yes, we both have our crosses. You carry yours; I’ll carry mine. Go. I’ll have sight again as soon as Homicide arrives.”
“I—”
“Blaise, if you don’t get out of here, I swear I’ll scream. Take that suicide junk with you. Leave me the burner; I’ll need it for my story to Homicide. Right now I need a few minutes to write the story, so I beg you, go!”
“Tomorrow?”
“If you want to.”
“I want to.”
“Then tomorrow, if I can get us out of this bind.”
“Someday,” he said slowly, “someday I’ll figure out how to thank you. Right now I’m feeling outclassed, and it’s a new sensation. I— You’re wasting your time on me. Be sure to safe the door after me.”
He left, and his immediate grey sight dwindled away from her, but she was able to secure the door and call the precinct. Then she felt her way back to the tufted coach, sat quietly and composed herself, preparing her story. The background noises of the Oasis and the Guff were comforting. The kaleidoscope of extrasensory sight no longer frightened her; it had become interesting. Understanding is half the battle.
“Blaise is right,” she thought. “I’ve never noticed it before because we’re rarely alone in the Guff… There are always enough eyes around for me to see through… But when I’m isolated in a room with one person, then what? They can’t see themselves, so I couldn’t see them. Why didn’t I realize?”
She thought hard. Then: “Reflections, probably. They must have seen themselves and given me flashes… There are mirrors everywhere to multiply light in this energy-starved age. And I think I must have been soundtracking without realizing it… I know when I’ve been in bed with Blaise it’s been that and touchtracking… Fascinating, how we can conjure ourselves into rejecting reality…
“That consultation with Mills Copeland… Yes, I saw him when staff was in the room, through their eyes, but when we were alone together? Remember hard, Gretchen! Hmmm. No, I didn’t really see him… Only flashes when he happened to see a reflection of himself… He was mostly just a voice… I wasn’t aware, I’ve never been aware, because I thought I was concentrating on the problem… This must have happened hundreds of times before, and I never realized… It’s one hell of a handicap, but now that I understand I can handle it and make it work for me…”
The fact that she had left a pheromone trail of self-destruction for Mr. Wish to follow was also something she no longer denied. It was simply another fact. She’d been shattered, and the child in her had tried to escape the child’s way. Run away and end it all. Death is the simplistic solution; the final way out.
“Yes, for children,” she murmured. “Blaise jokes about getting rid of his education. I want to get rid of the child in me, but it’s no joke.” A fresh fear struck. “Will knowing who and what I really am make any difference to him? That ‘outclassed’ remark he made…” Then, after a moment, “But who am I, really? Yes, it has to be love when you stop knowing who you are. At least that question’s answered.”
A clammy chill swept over her. “My God! It’s cold in here, all of a sudden. I should put something on. No, the hommies have got to find me like this if my story’s to stand up.”
The hommies found her like this ten minutes later, in the tatters of her shift, her skin raked, the burner in her hand. She was grateful for the full illumination their eyes gave her. She was grateful for the gentle courtesy of the reputedly formidable precinct Subadar. She wondered whether Mr. Ind’dni’s soft chivalry inspired the awe of the rogues and vagabonds of the Guff. She did know that Ind’dni was short for his full name, which ran to seven impossible syllables.
Physically, Ind’dni was indeed awesome to the rogues and vagabonds of the Guff; tall, spare, ascetic, obviously incorruptible—skin the color of antique amber—trimmed jet-black beard—straight black hair going grey in curious streaks—eyes like lanterns—a voice with the timbre of an oboe. Gretchen was delighted to converse with this remarkable man, even though she knew it would be an ordeal.
“May I sit here, Subadar?”
“Anywhere you so please, madame.”
“I don’t want to look at them.”
“I quite understand.”
“Thank you, Subadar.”
“Only too happy to accommodate most distinguished colleague, madame.” The homicide squad was muttering and exclaiming behind them. Gretchen was too concentrated on the lie she was going to tell to notice that the element of surprise was missing from their exclamations.
“What did happen, madame?”
“Those two goons. They broke in.”
“Please, so careful, madame. It is well known how cautious you are. Broke in? Broke and entered in legal sense? With force and arms? Vi et armis, as Legal would say. How?”
“You’re right, Captain Ind’dni. I must be professional and precise. Not broke and entered in the legal sense. I’m afraid the door had been left unsafed.”
“Most unusual for you, madame. Yes? In your profession. It is permitted to ask how transpired?”
“I’d sent my staff out for
the night.”
“Entire staff? Most unusual.”
“And in the excitement the door was forgotten.”
“Which is to say, the lock was forgotten?”
“Yes.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“It is permitted to inquire cause of unusual excitement?”
“It was a step I’d never taken before.”
“Yes. Why taken, please?”
“I’m working on a difficult and complicated contract, Captain Ind’dni. I needed time alone to think it through.”
“Precise nature of said contract?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”
“To be sure. Professional ethics. Understood. And then the two entered? Through unsafed door?”
“Yes.”
“Time of said entry?”
“About thirty or forty minutes ago.”
“So much for method. Sorry to learn that entry security of this Oasis is not what it should be. Now, motive?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Captain Ind’dni? Rape and robbery.”
“In that order? How very curious.”
“No, I’m wrong. Forgive me, Captain. I’m still upset.”
“To be understood.”
“I assume it was for the rip first. When they found me here, the rape was added.”
“Much more reasonable assumption, madame. And then?”
“There was a struggle.”
“Evidence of same most explicit.”
“Yes, I was lucky. I managed to survive.”
“One against two?”
“Yes.”
“And they armed?”
“With this. Take it, please.”
“Thank you, madame. You seized it from them?”
“I was lucky, or they were careless.”
“And killed your assailants?”
“In self-defense.”
“Lethal-Just, to be sure. Describe them, please.”
“Is that necessary, Captain Ind’dni? You have only to look at them.”
“But surely you are humorous, madame. You know there is nothing to see.”
“What!”
“You are so surprised? How very odd.”
Gretchen leaped up and turned. The squad broke its cluster and permitted her to look.
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