"Where Jane is," Jimmy told him, "you're in the hospital."
Haynes swore in unreasonable irritation. There wasn't any way for Jimmy
to know about that near-accident. He hadn't mentioned it, because he'd
no idea who'd been in the other car.
"I don't believe it!" But he said pleadingly, "Jimmy, it isn't so, is
it? How in hell could you account for it?"
Jimmy shrugged. "Jane and I--we're rather fond of each other." The
understatement was so patent that he smiled faintly. "Chance separated
us. The feeling we have for each other draws us together. There's a
saying about two people becoming one flesh. If such a thing could
happen, it would be Jane and me. After all, maybe only a tiny pebble
or a single extra drop of water made my car swerve enough to get her
killed--where I am, that is. That's a very little thing. So with such a
trifle separating us, and so much pulling us together--why, sometimes
the barrier wears thin. She leaves a door closed in the house where she
is. I open that same door where I am. Sometimes I have to open the door
she left closed, too. That's all."
* * * * *
Haynes didn't say a word, but the question he wouldn't ask was so
self-evident that Jimmy answered it.
"We're hoping," he said. "It's pretty bad being separated, but
the--phenomena keep up. So we hope. Her diary is sometimes in the now
where she is, and sometimes in this now of mine. Cigaret butts, too.
Maybe--" That was the only time he showed any sign of emotion. He
spoke as if his mouth were dry. "If ever I'm in her now or she's in
mine, even for an instant, all the devils in hell couldn't separate us
again!--We hope."
Which was insanity. In fact, it was the third week of insanity. He'd
told Haynes quite calmly that Jane's diary was on her desk every night,
and there was a letter to him in it, and he wrote one to her. He
said quite calmly that the barrier between them seemed to be growing
thinner. That at least once, when he went to bed, he was sure that
there was one more cigaret stub in the ashtray than had been there
earlier in the evening.
They were very near indeed. They were separated only by the difference
between what was and what might have been. In one sense the difference
was a pebble or a drop of water. In another, the difference was that
between life and death. But they hoped. They convinced themselves
that the barrier grew thinner. Once, it seemed to Jimmy that they
touched hands. But he was not sure. He was still sane enough not to be
sure. And he told all this to Haynes in a matter-of-fact fashion, and
speculated mildly on what had started it all....
Then, one night, Haynes called Jimmy on the telephone. Jimmy answered.
He sounded impatient.
"Jimmy!" said Haynes. He was almost hysterical. "I think I'm insane!
You know you said Tony Shields was in the car that hit me?"
"Yes," said Jimmy politely. "What's the matter?"
"It's been driving me crazy," wailed Haynes feverishly. "You said he
was killed--there. But I hadn't told a soul about the incident. So--so
just now I broke down and phoned him. And it _was_ Tony Shields! That
near-crash scared him to death, and I gave him hell and--he's paying
for my fender! I didn't tell him he was killed."
Jimmy didn't answer. It didn't seem to matter to him.
"I'm coming over!" said Haynes feverishly. "I've got to talk!"
"No," said Jimmy. "Jane and I are pretty close to each other. We've
touched each other again. We're hoping. The barrier's wearing through.
We hope it's going to break."
"But it can't!" protested Haynes, shocked at the idea of
improbabilities in the preposterous. "It--it can't! What'd happen if
you turned up where she is, or--or if she turned up here?"
"I don't know," said Jimmy, "but we'd be together."
"You're crazy! You mustn't--"
"Goodbye," said Jimmy politely. "I'm hoping, Haynes. Something has to
happen. It has to!"
His voice stopped. There was a noise in the room behind him; Haynes
heard it. Only two words, and those faintly, and over a telephone, but
he swore to himself that it was Jane's voice, throbbing with happiness.
The two words Haynes thought he heard were, "_Jimmy! Darling!_"
Then the telephone crashed to the floor and Haynes heard no more. Even
though he called back frantically again, Jimmy didn't answer.
* * * * *
Haynes sat up all that night, practically gibbering, and he tried to
call Jimmy again next morning, and then tried his office, and at last
went to the police. He explained to them that Jimmy had been in a
highly nervous state since the death of his wife.
So finally the police broke into the house. They had to break in
because every door and window was carefully fastened from the inside,
as if Jimmy had been very careful to make sure nobody could interrupt
what he and Jane hoped would occur. But Jimmy wasn't in the house.
There was no trace of him. It was exactly as if he had vanished into
the air.
Ultimately the police dragged ponds and such things for his body,
but they never found any clues. Nobody ever saw Jimmy again. It was
recorded that Jimmy simply left town, and everybody accepted that
obvious explanation.
* * * * *
The thing that really bothered Haynes was the fact that Jimmy had
told him who'd almost crashed into him on the Saw Mill Road, and it
was true. That was, to understate, hard to take. And there was the
double-exposure picture of Jimmy's front door, which was much more
convincing than any other trick picture Haynes had ever seen. But on
the other hand, if it did happen, why did it happen only to Jimmy and
Jane? What set it off? What started it? Why, in effect, did those
oddities start at that particular time, to those particular people, in
that particular fashion? In fact, did anything happen at all?
Now, after Jimmy's disappearance, Haynes wished he could talk with him
once more--talk sensibly, quietly, without fear and hysteria and this
naggingly demanding wonderment.
For he had sketched to Jimmy, and Jimmy had accepted (hadn't he?) the
possibility of the _other now_--but with that acceptance came still
others. In one, Jane was dead. In one, Jimmy was dead. It was between
these two that the barrier had grown so thin....
If he could talk to Jimmy about it!
There was also a now in which _both_ had died, and another in which
_neither_ had died! And if it was togetherness that each wanted so
desperately ... _which was it_?
These were things that Haynes would have liked very much to know, but
he kept his mouth shut, or calm men in white coats would have come and
taken him away for treatment. As they would have taken Jimmy.
The only thing really sure was that it was all impossible. But to
someone who liked Jimmy and Jane--and doubtless to Jimmy and to Jane
themselves--no matter which barrier had been broken, it was a rather
satisfying impossibility.
Haynes' car had been repaired. He could easily have driven out to the
cemetery. For some reason, he never did.