Second Variety and Other Stories (48 page)

"Of Douglas?"

"Of Douglas?"

Ruth was silent. Finally she looked up at her husband, her dark eyes bright. "You have to go
back, Ed."

"Back? Why?"

"To prove something."

"Prove what?"

"Prove it's all right." Ruth's hand pressed against his. "You have to, Ed. You have to go back and
face it. To show yourself there's nothing to be afraid of."

"The hell with it! After what I saw? Listen, Ruth. I saw the fabric of reality split open. I saw -behind.
Underneath. I saw what was really there. And I don't want to go back. I don't want to see dust
people again. Ever."

Ruth's eyes were fixed intently on him. "I'll go back with you," she said.

"For God's sake."

"For your sake. For your sanity. So you'll know." Ruth got abruptly to her feet, pulling her coat
around her. "Come on, Ed. I'll go with you. We'll go up there together. To the office of Douglas and
Blake, Real Estate. I'll even go in with you to see Mr Douglas."

Ed got up slowly, staring hard at his wife. "You think I blacked out. Cold feet. Couldn't face the
boss." His voice was low and strained. "Don't you?"

Ruth was already threading her way toward the cashier. "Come on. You'll see. It'll all be there.
Just like it was."

"Okay," Ed said. He followed her slowly. "We'll go back there -- and see which of us is right."

They crossed the street together, Ruth holding on tight to Ed's arm. Ahead of them was the
building, the towering structure of concrete and metal and glass.

"There it is," Ruth said. "See?"

There it was, all right. The big building rose up, firm and solid, glittering in the early afternoon sun,
its windows sparkling brightly.

Ed and Ruth stepped up onto the curb. Ed tensed himself, his body rigid. He winced as his foot
touched the pavement -

But nothing happened: the street noises continued; cars, people hurrying past; a kid selling
papers. There were sounds, smells, the noise of a city in the middle of the day. And overhead was the
sun and the bright blue sky.

"See?" Ruth said. "I was right."

They walked up the front steps, into the lobby. Behind the cigar stand the seller stood, arms
folded, listening to the ball game. "Hi, Mr Fletcher," he called to Ed. His face lit up good-naturedly.
"Who's the dame? Your wife know about this?"

Ed laughed unsteadily. They passed on toward the elevator. Four or five businessmen stood
waiting. They were middle-aged men, well dressed, waiting impatiently in a bunch. "Hey, Fletcher," one
said. "Where you been all day? Douglas is yelling his head off."

"Hello, Earl," Ed muttered. He gripped Ruth's arm. "Been a little sick."

The elevator came. They got in. The elevator rose. "Hi, Ed," the elevator operator said. "Who's
the good-looking gal? Why don't you introduce her around?"

Ed grinned mechanically. "My wife."

The elevator let them off at the third floor. Ed and Ruth got out, heading toward the glass door of
Douglas and Blake, Real Estate.

Ed halted, breathing shallowly. "Wait." He licked his lips. "I --"

Ruth waited calmly as Ed wiped his forehead and neck with his handkerchief. "All right now?"

"Yeah." Ed moved forward. He pulled open the glass door.

Miss Evans glanced up, ceasing her typing. "Ed Fletcher! Where on earth have you been?"

"I've been sick. Hello, Tom."

Tom glanced up from his work. "Hi, Ed. Say, Douglas is yelling for your scalp. Where have you
been?"

Tom glanced up from his work. "Hi, Ed. Say, Douglas is yelling for your scalp. Where have you
been?"

Ruth .squeezed his arm. "You'll be all right. I know." She smiled, a relieved flash of white teeth
and red lips. "Okay? Call me if you need me."

"Sure." Ed kissed her briefly on the mouth. "Thanks, honey. Thanks a lot. I don't know what the
hell went wrong with me. I guess it's over."

"Forget it. So long." Ruth skipped back out of the office, the door closing after her. Ed listened to
her race down the hall to the elevator.

"Nice little gal," Jackie said appreciatively.

"Yeah." Ed nodded, straightening his necktie. He moved unhappily toward the inner office,
steeling himself. Well, he had to face it. Ruth was right. But he was going to have a hell of a time
explaining it to the boss. He could see Douglas now, thick red wattles, big bull roar, face distorted with
rage -

Ed stopped abruptly at the entrance to the inner office. He froze rigid. The inner office -- it was

changed.

The hackles of his neck rose. Cold fear gripped him, clutching at his windpipe. The inner office
was different. He turned his head slowly, taking in the sight: the desks, chairs, fixtures, file cabinets,
pictures.

Changes. Little changes. Subtle. Ed closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He was alert,
breathing rapidly, his pulse racing. It was changed, all right. No doubt about it.

"What's the matter, Ed?" Tom asked. The staff watched him curiously, pausing in their work.

Ed said nothing. He advanced slowly into the inner office. The office had been gone over. He
could tell. Things had been altered. Rearranged. Nothing obvious -- nothing he could put his finger on.
But he could tell.

Joe Kent greeted him uneasily. "What's the matter, Ed? You look like a wild dog. Is something -?"

Ed studied Joe. He was different. Not the same. What was it?

Joe's face. It was a little fuller. His shirt was blue-striped. Joe never wore blue stripes. Ed
examined Joe's desk. He saw papers and accounts. The desk -- it was too far to the right. And it was
bigger. It wasn't the same desk.

The picture on the wall. It wasn't the same. It was a different picture entirely. And the things on
top of the file cabinet -- some were new, others were gone.

He looked back through the door. Now that he thought about it, Miss Evans' hair was different,
done a different way. And it was lighter.

In here, Mary, filing her nails, over by the window -- she was taller, fuller. Her purse, lying on the
desk in front of her -- a red purse, red knit.

"You always... have that purse?" Ed demanded.

Mary glanced up. "What?"

"That purse. You always have that?"

Mary laughed. She smoothed her skirt coyly around her shapely thighs, her long lashes blinking
modestly. "Why, Mr Fletcher. What do you mean?"

Ed turned away. He knew. Even if she didn't. She had been redone -- changed: her purse, her
clothes, her figure, everything about her. None of them knew -- but him. His mind spun dizzily. They
were all changed. All of them were different. They had all been remolded, recast. Subtly -- but it was
there.

The wastebasket. It was smaller, not the same. The window shades -- white, not ivory. The
wallpaper was not the same pattern. The lighting fixtures ...

Endless, subtle changes.

Ed made his way back to the inner office. He lifted his hand and knocked on Douglas's door.

"Come in."

Ed pushed the door open. Nathan Douglas looked up impatiently. "Mr Douglas --" Ed began.
He came into the room unsteadily -- and stopped.

Ed pushed the door open. Nathan Douglas looked up impatiently. "Mr Douglas --" Ed began.
He came into the room unsteadily -- and stopped.

Douglas was younger, thinner. His hair, brown. His skin not so red. His face smoother. No
wrinkles. Chin reshaped. Eyes green, not black. He was a different man. But still Douglas -- a different
Douglas. A different version!

"What is it?" Douglas demanded impatiently. "Oh, it's you, Fletcher. Where were you this
morning?"

Ed backed out. Fast.

He slammed the door and hurried through the inner office. Tom and Miss Evans glanced up,
startled. Ed passed them by, grabbing the hall door open.

"Hey!" Tom called. "What -- ?"

Ed hurried down the hall. Terror leaped through him. He had to hurry. He had seen. There
wasn't much time. He came to the elevator and stabbed the button.

No time.

He ran to the stairs and started down. He reached the second floor. His terror grew. It was a
matter of seconds.

Seconds!

The public phone. Ed ran into the phone booth. He dragged the door shut after him. Wildly, he
dropped a dime in the slot and dialed. He had to call the police. He held the receiver to his ear, his heart
pounding.

Warn them. Changes. Somebody tampering with reality. Altering it. He had been right. The
white-clad men ... their equipment... going through the building.

"Hello!" Ed shouted hoarsely. There was no answer. No hum. Nothing.

Ed peered frantically out the door.

And he sagged, defeated. Slowly he hung up the telephone receiver.

He was no longer on the second floor. The phone booth was rising, leaving the second floor
behind, carrying him up, faster and faster. It rose floor by floor, moving silently, swiftly.

The phone booth passed through the ceiling of the building and out into the bright sunlight. It
gained speed. The ground fell away below. Buildings and streets were getting smaller each moment. Tiny
specks hurried along, far below, cars and people, dwindling rapidly.

Clouds drifted between him and the earth. Ed shut his eyes, dizzy with fright. He held on
desperately to the door handles of the phone booth.

Faster and faster the phone booth climbed. The earth was rapidly being left behind, far below.

Ed peered up wildly. Where? Where was he going? Where was it taking him?

He stood gripping the door handles, waiting.

The Clerk nodded curtly. "That's him, all right. The element in question."

Ed Fletcher looked around him. He was in a huge chamber. The edges fell away into indistinct
shadows. In front of him stood a man with notes and ledgers under his arm, peering at him through
steel-rimmed glasses. He was a nervous little man, sharp-eyed, with celluloid collar, blue serge suit, vest,
watch chain. He wore black shiny shoes.

And beyond him -

An old man sat quietly, in an immense modern chair. He watched Fletcher calmly, his blue eyes
mild and tired. A strange thrill shot through Fletcher. It was not fear. Rather it was a vibration, rattling his
bones -- a deep sense of awe, tinged with fascination.

"Where -- what is this place?" he asked faintly. He was still dazed from his quick ascent.

"Don't ask questions!" The nervous little man snapped angrily, tapping his pencil against his
ledgers. "You're here to answer, not ask."

The Old Man moved a little. He raised his hand. "I will speak to the element alone," he
murmured. His voice was low. It vibrated and rumbled through the chamber. Again the wave of
fascinated awe swept Ed.

murmured. His voice was low. It vibrated and rumbled through the chamber. Again the wave of
fascinated awe swept Ed.

He disappeared through a door. The door closed softly behind him. Ed and the Old Man were
alone.

"Please sit down," the Old Man said.

Ed found a seat. He sat down awkwardly, nervously. He got out his cigarettes and then put them
away again.

"What's wrong?" the Old Man asked.

"I'm just beginning to understand."

"Understand what?"

"That I'm dead."

The Old Man smiled briefly. "Dead? No, you're not dead. You're... visiting. An unusual event,
but necessitated by circumstances." He leaned toward Ed. "Mr Fletcher, you have got yourself involved
with something."

"Yeah," Ed agreed. "I wish I knew what it was. Or how it happened."

"It was not your fault. You were a victim of a clerical error. A mistake was made -- not by you.
But involving you."

"What mistake?" Ed rubbed his forehead wearily. "I -- I got in on something. I saw through. I
saw something I wasn't supposed to see."

The Old Man nodded. "That's right. You saw something you were not supposed to see -something
few elements have been aware of, let alone witnessed."

"Elements?"

"An official term. Let it pass. A mistake was made, but we hope to rectify it. It is my hope that
--"

"Those people," Ed interrupted. "Heaps of dry ash. And gray. Like they were dead. Only it was
everything: the stairs and walls and floor. No color or life."

"That Sector had been temporarily de-energized. So the adjustment team could enter and effect
changes."

"Changes." Ed nodded. "That's right. When I went back later, everything was alive again. But not
the same. It was all different."

"The adjustment was complete by noon. The team finished its work and re-energized the Sector."

"I see," Ed muttered.

"You were supposed to have been in the Sector when the adjustment began. Because of an error
you were not. You came into the Sector late -- during the adjustment itself. You fled, and when you
returned it was over. You saw, and you should not have seen. Instead of a witness you should have been
part of the adjustment. Like the others, you should have undergone changes."

Sweat came out on Ed Fletcher's head. He wiped it away. His stomach turned over. Weakly, he
cleared his throat. "I get the picture." His voice was almost inaudible. A chilling premonition moved
through him. "I was supposed to be changed like the others. But I guess something went wrong."

"Something went wrong. An error occurred. And now a serious problem exists. You have seen
these things. You know a great deal. And you are not coordinated with the new configuration."

"Gosh," Ed muttered. "Well, I won't tell anybody." Cold sweat poured off him. "You can count
on that. I'm as good as changed."