"No," he said, gripping my elbow again and starting me toward the door.
"It's been hot and you just need some rest."
"Thompson," I said, dragging myself to a halt, "I know it sounds nuts,
but this Ashe character really exists. Help me find him and you can cut
yourself a slice. It'll be big time!"
The grip on my elbow increased. "Go home, Mr. Potter, and get a good
night's sleep."
"But it's on the level, Thompson. Jones and I busted up. I'm playing on
your team now!"
His face got all flushed. "My job isn't a game and I don't belong to any
team. Get wise, will you? Stay in your own back yard for once. It could
stand a lot of weeding!" He pushed me out the door then--so hard, I
almost fell.
* * * * *
Standing there, feeling the heat press in on me, I tried to dope out the
next move. My car was still at Jones' place, so I'd need a cab. I turned
toward the drugstore at the end of the block where I could phone.
Walking along, I recalled Ashe had taken a cab earlier in the evening.
If I could talk to the driver, I might get a lead on his whereabouts. I
walked faster.
I thought of Thompson and his remark about the back yard ... and the
weeds. Again, for the third time, a chill traveled the length of my
spine. I began to run. I ran past the drugstore and all the way home.
They were both in the bedroom. Nan stood in the far corner with her back
against the wall. Her shoulders were scratched and her lip cut. She held
a heavy bookend poised to strike at Ashe, who was in front of her,
moving stealthily forward.
The moment I spun him around, I froze in amazement. I couldn't recognize
him. Then, all at once, I realized I was looking at the spitting image
of myself.
He broke from my grasp and darted to the window. Before I could follow,
Nan had dropped the bookend and flung herself into my arms. "Oh, Ted,"
she sobbed, "I _knew_ it wasn't you!"
I kissed her and gently disengaged her arms. "I've got to get Ashe," I
said.
When I vaulted through the window and circled the house, I spotted him
rushing down the street. I caught him around the corner at the same spot
where I'd first seen him.
I slugged him. Yet I knew it was useless the instant the blow landed. He
felt just like sponge rubber. But I kept hitting him. I didn't bother
listening to his cries and I didn't give a damn that he'd changed
himself back to an old man.
The blow on the back of my neck was so sudden, I didn't feel it. The
only sensation was unbalance, as if I were walking uphill. Then I was
slapped with the sidewalk.
Looking up, I could see he was young, clean-cut and well built. His
long, horsy face was furious. "You crazy?" he yelled. "Beating up an old
man!"
I searched desperately for an explanation--something to say. Then,
abruptly, without having uttered a sound, I reeled away and shambled
hurriedly down the street ... home, to Nan.
--RICHARD MAPLES
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1956. Extensive
research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this
publication was renewed.