"Well, I can't stand around here all night," the red-faced man said
belligerently, making the statement a challenge. "I guess you're not
hurt."
"No. I don't think so. The car just missed me."
"Maybe you better get his name, Mr. Cameron," the blond youth
suggested.
"Yeah, you might have internal injuries or something," Mike Boyle put
in.
"What the hell does he need my name for?"
I suddenly wondered if I should so quickly dismiss the stranger from
suspicion. Hadn't his car appeared rather fortuitously? And hadn't he
been racing too fast?
"Yes, I'd better have your name," I said.
"Now, wait a minute, if you think you're going to sue me--"
"I have no intention of sueing, but I'd better have your name. You do
have insurance, I suppose?"
"Yeah, but--"
"Do you want me to get a cop, Mr. Cameron," the blond boy asked
aggressively.
I looked at the red-faced stranger. "I don't think that will be
necessary."
The suggestion of bringing the police into the affair convinced the
man. He fished out his driver's license. Laurie Hendricks found
a pencil in her purse and wrote out the name and address. Albert
Harrison, Trailer G12, 444 San Rafael Road. I got the name of his
insurance company and told him that was all I needed. Then he insisted
on having my name and address. I hesitated, glancing at the four
listening students. Then I realized that it didn't matter. They
could easily find out where I lived through the school. I was even
conveniently listed in the telephone directory.
Harrison finally marched off in a bad temper, obviously afraid that
I would discover some non-existent injuries the following day. I was
reasonably convinced that he was innocent, but it was just as well to
know his name. And to know where to find him.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Mr. Cameron?"
Laurie Hendricks had moved close to me. As she spoke she rested a hand
lightly on my arm and raised those incredible green eyes to meet mine.
I felt the bold collision of our stares. Her fingers burned through
the sleeve of my jacket, and I caught the subtle drift of the flower
fragrance she wore.
"Yes," I said slowly. "Thanks for helping."
"We could drive you home," Mike Boyle offered without enthusiasm. "I've
got my car."
"That won't be necessary."
And suddenly I looked at the slender girl standing beside Boyle,
realizing that she was the only one of the group who had not said a
word. She was watching me with curious interest. Catching my gaze she
smiled.
"Yes, we'd be glad to drive you. Mike wouldn't mind."
She looked up at the big football player and slipped her hand under his
arm with a slight suggestion of possessiveness. Ordinarily the gesture
would have made me smile. Even now it caused my quick suspicion to
evaporate.
And I realized that I couldn't really believe that any of these four
normal young people could be anything but what they seemed. To think
otherwise was absurd--and yet I had heard one of them instructed to
kill me.
Or had I?
And all of the tormenting doubt and fear of the past months returned.
Could I have imagined everything--the voices, the attempt to kill me,
the mysterious beings from outer space? Was all that an elaborate
concoction of a diseased mind?
There was nothing imaginary about the fall in front of the speeding
car. But what if there were no enemies except those in my own mind? The
meaning of this possibility was harrowingly clear. For then I had tried
to kill myself.
I saw the blond boy's feet shifting in evident impatience. I surveyed
the group once more and my eyes lingered on Laurie Hendricks' upturned
face, on the soft shimmer of her bright red hair.
"You kids go on," I said. "I'm all right now."