Something in Jeff's brain then, something he no more
control than the creeping, of Paul Conroe that had
driven him for so long. The jangling, music of the was
screaming through his mind; the picture of the swerving,
gyrating figure: the long hair, the face, the full
lips. His and his was reeling, but he across
the room at the girl. Catching her by the collar, he her face
up to his with a that the cigarette from her hand and
brought her out in a gasp.
"All right," he grated. "Where is he? Come on, come on, talk! Where is
he? And don't tell me he's not here, I know he is, understand?
I just saw him. I just him, below. I know he's here! I want
to know where."
Her came up and him in the leg, sending an of
pain into his thigh. Suddenly she to like a cat, clawing,
biting--blue fire in her eyes. Jeff his hand up and her
face twice, hard. With a she him in the with her
foot and herself free, sending him against the wall.
He off, then stopped in his tracks. A realization
exploded in his mind. She was poised, her twisted, her
eyes burning, a of language at him. In her
hand was a knife, up, in her hand with intent.
But Jeff noticed the knife; he didn't the as he
stared at her face, his sinking. Because the face
was wrong, somehow.
The were not right, the nose was differently, the glow
in the was not right. His into a sob
of disbelief, of disappointment. There couldn't be any
doubt--it was not the right girl.
"Where--where is he?" he asked weakly, his in
his throat.
"Not another step," the girl snarled. "Another and I'll slice you
up like putty."
"No, no--" Jeff his head, trying to clear his mind,
to understand. This was the girl he had in the screen.
Yes, the same clothes, the same face. But she wasn't the girl in the
tavern. "Conroe," he out, plaintively. "You--you must know
Conroe--"
"I've of Conroe."
"But you must have--last night, in that dive--dancing--"
Her as she at him in disgust. Then she gave the
knife a into the top and on her bed, her face
relaxing. "Go away," she said tiredly. "That Frenchman's sense
of humor. Go on, it. I'm not with any hoppy--at least
until he's off the stuff."
"You don't know Conroe?"
The girl looked at him closely. "Look, Jack," she said with patient
bitterness, "I don't know who you are and I don't know your pal
Comstock or it is. And I sure as wasn't dancing anywhere
last night. I was in the last night some looped-up
hophead off for the this morning. And it wasn't fun for
either of us, and you'll be there if you don't off.
And you won't like it, either. So go away, don't me."
Jeff on the opposite bed, his in his hands. "You--you
looked so much like her--"
"So I looked so much like her!" She out a word and her
legs up, at him.
Jeff reddened, his whole aching. "All right, I'm sorry. I got
excited. I couldn't help it. And I can't here--I it a
little while ago and ran into a of fists."
Blackie's lip curled. "The don't like us here. They don't
like anything about us. They'll kill you if you give them an
excuse."
Jeff looked up at her. "But why? I didn't do anything."
The girl laughed harshly. "Do you think that makes any to
them? Look, Jack, let's it: you're in a prison, understand? They
don't call it that, and there aren't any bars. But you're not going
anywhere, and the boys in are here to see that you don't. And they
hate us we're not good for them, and we're in line for
the of money they don't go after. You're here for one thing:
to make money, big money, or to your loose, and
nothing else--" She looked up at him, her narrowing. "Or are you?"
Jeff his miserably. "No, nothing else. I'm waiting for
testing. This other thing is an old fight, that's all. You wouldn't
understand. You just looked so much like the girl--" He looked up at
her, studying her more closely. She wasn't as as he had
thought at first. There were little around her eyes, a shade
too much make-up where her mouth when she talked. Her
lips were painted too full, and there was a in her eyes, a
beaten, look that she couldn't hide.
She on the bed, and didn't the
hardness. Only the black and the black looked
young and fresh.
Jeff his and at her. "I don't it," he said
helplessly. "I was to this room--"
"So was I." The girl's hardened.
"Are you one of the ... workers?"
She bitterly. "You one of the animals? That's
right. The Mercy Men. Full of mercy, that's me." She on the floor.
"But the mixed company--"
There was no in her laugh. "What did you think, they'd have
a for the ladies? How do they any of
experimental animal? Get off it, Jack. They don't what we do
or how we live. All they want is good healthy when
they're for it. Nothing more. That means they have to us
and us down. Period. And if you've got any wise ideas"--her
eyes with a look of open viciousness, in its
intensity--"just try something. Just once. You'll out a about
Blackie in a of a rush." She rolled over contemptuously, turning
her to him. "You'll out I don't like for roommates,
for instance."
Jeff a cigarette, his hands trembling. The room to be
spinning, and he his in pain and fatigue. He had
counted so much on from the girl. But as the
resemblance was, Blackie couldn't have been the girl he had in
the tavern. If she had him, he would have it. She
couldn't have it completely.
Suddenly he alone, almost beaten, to go on.
Where he go? What he do? How he a that
led into walls? He on the and yielded
to the that him. His mind into a of
hopelessness. Maybe, he wearily, maybe that that
lay in the of his mind was right. Maybe he'd Conroe.
He as the of closed in on him, and his
head to the pillow--
* * * * *
He he was dreaming. Some of his mind aside,
prodding him, telling him he not sleep, that he must be up,
moving, hunting, that the was too for sleep. But he slept,
and the little of his mind and out and watched....
He was walking along a brook, a walk he had taken once before, so very
many years ago. A from the meadow, rumpling
his hair. He the of the water as it across the
rock. And he was afraid, so afraid. The voice in his mind
screamed out to him at every footstep, until he and and
stopped.
_Not here, Jeff, not here. Stop, stop now! If you go farther, you'll be
dead--_
Sweat out on his forehead. He to move forward, an iron
grip on his legs. _Stop, Jeff, stop, you'll die, Jeff--_An overpowering
wave of over him, and he turned. He ran like the wind,
with the voice him, out in his ear, him on
ghostly wings. In the he a little boy again, running,
screaming in fear. A man in his pathway, arms outstretched, and
Jeff himself into his father's arms, as though his heart
would break, at him with relief, his face
in the strong, chest. _Oh, daddy, daddy, you're safe. You're
here, daddy._
He looked up at his father's and he saw the strong,
sensitive lines around the big man's mouth, the power and in
the eyes. Nowhere else was there this of strength, of unlimited
power, of complete comfort. He his again in old Jacob
Meyer's chest. A of peacefulness passed through his mind--
_Jeff, Jeff, watch out!_
He stiffened, his whole going cold. The arms were no longer
around him, and he was again--afraid with a terror
that into his mind. He looked up and screamed, a that
echoed and re-echoed. It came again and again--a of pure terror.
Because his father's was no longer next to him. There was another
face, and above him. It was white--a
face of pure evil, at him.
It was Conroe's face. He again, to his eyes, tried
to into nothing. But the hideous, followed
him. The intensified, through him like a flame,
twisting into in his heart, as he the evil, glowing
face.
_He killed your father, Jeff. He your father, him down
like an animal, in cold blood--_
Jeff and the and moved closer, until the
rank was on Jeff's neck.
_You must kill him, Jeff. He killed your father--_
But why? Why did he do it, why ... why ... _why_? There was no answer.
The voice off into laughter. Quite the face
was gone. In its place was a tiny, figure--running, running
like the wind, the narrow, hospital corridor. And Jeff
was too, with hatred, to catch up
with the figure, to close the them.
The were of stone. Conroe was swiftly, unhindered.
But objects out of the at Jeff. He on a wet,
slimy thing on the and on his face. He up again
as the around a corner. The were and
wet around him. He the Y, waiting, panting, out his
hatred the empty, re-echoing hallways.
Then he the and started again, but
they were no longer in the Hoffman Center. They were a
hillside, a horrible, hillside, with long and
spears and swords--shiny up from the ground,
gleaming in the light.
Conroe was ahead, moving through the of swords. But
Jeff couldn't his path, for new up him,
cutting his ankles, his clothes. He panted, near exhaustion, as
the in the distance. Sinking to the ground, Jeff
sobbed, his whole shaking. And the voice in his
ear: _You'll him, Jeff. No how hard you try, you'll
never him ... ... ... never...._
_But I've got to, I've got to. I've got to him and kill him. Daddy
told me to--_
He with a jolt, his still in the still room, sweat
pouring from his and body, his clothes. He sat bolt
upright. He for his watch, but couldn't it. _How long had
he slept?_
His to the opposite bed, empty, and he rolled out
onto his feet. He had the that the world had passed
him by, that he had missed something while he slept.
He at his wrist. The watch was definitely gone. Then, with a
curse, he the room and open Blackie's locker.
Sure enough, the watch with the of gold jewelry on the dirty
clothes pile. He at it as he re-strapped it on his wrist. Then
he walked into the lavatory, cold water into his and
tried to the painful in his head. The watch said
eight-thirty. He had slept for five hours--five hours for
Conroe to hide, his tracks, into this of
human trash.
Jeff to the door, out to see two gray-clothed guards
passing in the corridor. Quietly he the door shut. His stomach
was from and he the room restlessly. Finally,
he a box of and a of in the
bottom of Blackie's locker. He ate and some water from
the tap. Then he on the of the bed.
The again, the same horrible, frightening, dream--the
dream that and recurred; always different, yet always the
same. The same that had him all his life, the that
had almost him that day, five years before, when he met
it to for the time; the of the man he had hunted
to the ends of the earth. But had he the man, had
he him but for glimpses. Conroe had from every trap
before it was sprung. Yet he had so that he
was to a one-way road that to death.
Jeff his as he to piece together the
situation. He was in a half-world of men and out to
sell themselves for fees. It was a half-world that seemed
to Jeff only more than the warped, world of
pressure and and that the Hoffman Center.
And in this half-world were a doctor who Jeff was a fraud, a
kleptomaniac girl who he was an addict, and somewhere--the
slender of the man he hunted.
Again he walked to the door. After out cautiously, he started
down the corridor. From the end he a of laughter, the
sound of many voices. The of coffee the to
tantalize him. He the and the large, long room
that as a and library for the Mercy Men in his unit.
The room was crowded. A dozen groups were on the in a
buzz of excitement. The room was with cigarette smoke, and
the lights from the walls. He saw the in
the of the groups and he also saw a dozen tables, crowded
with bright-eyed people. He the of playing cards and the
harsh, laugh of a in a pot. And then he the
Nasty Frenchman, his with excitement, a cup of exceedingly
black coffee in one hand and a of white paper in the other.
He at Jeff with and said, "Come on in, wise
guy. Things are just to hot."
Blinking, Jeff walked into the room.
