Warren Murphy: The Wrong Stuff

"I am absolutely not living in Stewart McQueen's house of horrors," Remo said firmly.

"No, you are not," echoed Smith. "While his involvement in this is bothersome, we have decided to leave him alone."

"We?" Remo asked. He turned a dull eye on Howard.

For the first time the young man didn't squirm under Remo's glare. A calm certainty seemed to have descended on the assistant CURE director. He was looking beyond Remo, past the kitchenette to the two bedroom doors.

"It would be too high profile," Smith insisted. "Especially so soon after Barrabas Anson."

"Plus Stewart McQueen's become his old prolific self again," Mark Howard interjected. "I read this morning he's got three books coming out in the next three weeks. As a hot property again, it's too risky to connect him to CURE."

Remo only shook his head. "Whatever," he sighed.

"You should rest," Smith said. "I will be in my office. Remo, Master Chiun."

"I'll catch up, Dr. Smith," Mark said as the older man stepped out into the hallway.

Howard waited on the sofa as Remo climbed to his feet. Remo said not a word to the assistant CURE director as he walked over to his bedroom door.

Given all that had happened these past few days, Remo had forgotten all about the articles he had stuck to his wall. He remembered the instant he switched on the light.

Every last newspaper and magazine article was gone. The wallboard was riddled with tiny pinholes. The multicolored thumbtacks had been left in a big glass jar on his bureau.

"What the hell did you do in here?" Remo demanded.

Howard's face was flushed as he screwed up his courage. Rising to his feet, he crossed over to Remo's door. He glanced around the empty bedroom walls.

"I burned everything in the furnace," Howard said. He still seemed somewhat intimidated by Remo, yet he held his ground. "I know what you were trying to do," he quickly added. "You wanted to spook me into thinking you're some kind of serial killer. But I'm not stupid, Remo, no matter what you think. You said it yourself. You're an assassin, not a killer. I know now there's a difference. And I'd really appreciate it if in the future you'd refrain from pulling this kind of childish crap again."

There was relief on his face for having spoken the rehearsed words. With a tight nod to the Master of Sinanju, the red-faced young man left the room.

"Well, what do you know," Remo said after the door clicked shut. "I actually hate him even more." He went into the bedroom. Kicking off his shoes, he sank to his sleeping mat. He was reaching up for the light on the nightstand when he noted a silent presence across the room. When he glanced over, he found the Master of Sinanju framed in the doorway. The old man wore a somber expression.

"I have been meaning to ask you something," Chiun said quietly. "After I dealt with the machineman's surrogate, you said something before you lost consciousness."

"Oh, yeah," Remo said. "That." He fell silent.

Chiun waited for his pupil to fill the pause. When Remo didn't, the old man persisted.

"You said that it was time."

Remo felt his shoulders slump. It had to be said. And yet it would change everything.

"It is," he began. "It's just that ...well ...it's hard, that's all." He closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn't look at Chiun it would be easier. "It's time ...for me to be more than just Apprentice Reigning Master." The words were too important to blurt out. Yet speaking them quickly would make it so much easier. "You are the Master who trained me and made me more than anything I deserve to be, and you're also my father and I love you more than anything else on the planet, but the feeling is there and I know that it's right. It hit me back in Florida and I've been afraid to say it these past three days, and it doesn't mean that I don't respect you or want you around anymore, because I think I'll need you more than ever before, but it's time that I take the last step-" he took a deep breath "-and assumed the title of Reigning Master." His eyes still squeezed tightly shut, he winced, waiting for the shoe to drop.

There was a moment of silence during which he expected something to happen. He figured it would mostly involve yelling. But there was no yelling. Just a thoughtful exhale of air. When Chiun spoke, his voice was calm.

"Well, it is about time," the Master of Sinanju said.

Stunned, Remo opened one careful eye.

Chiun still stood in the doorway. There was a knowing look on the old man's face. His hazel eyes twinkled.

Remo thought he'd been ready for any reaction. But this one came as a surprise. "Huh?" he said.

"I did not know how long you were going to take to utter those words," Chiun said, padding into the room. "Honestly, Remo, I had visions of my spirit being forced to forego the Void in order to lead you around by the hand in the Old Assassins' Home, never having made the final step to full Masterhood."

"I don't understand," Remo said. "I figured you'd be upset."

"Upset?" Chiun asked. "Upset that you have achieved what no white ever has? Upset that you have surpassed most Masters who have come before? Upset that you have made every moment of your existence a hymn glorifying the House of Sinanju? How could I be upset with you, Remo Williams?"

"I don't know." Remo shrugged. "Years of practice?"

"When the time finally comes to ascend, a Master knows it. Therefore, if you say you are ready, you are." His narrow chest puffed out with pride. "What's more, I, the Master who trained you, say you are."

"That's it?" Remo asked. "I just have to say I'm the Master of Sinanju and I become the Master of Sinanju? Zip, bang, boom, end of story?"

At this the old man cackled. Shaking his head, he turned from Remo's bedside. There were tears of mirth in his eyes.

"End of story," the tiny Korean said, laughing. He was still laughing when he left the room. Finally alone, Remo sank back into his reed mat. "I don't like the sounds of that," he muttered to himself.

"Believe me, you shouldn't," came the disembodied reply.

Epilogue

He Keeps Going and Going

By Richard L. Hertz

MAINE-It's not easy to keep up with Stewart McQueen these days. After a near fatal accident two years ago, it was rumored that the famed horror novelist had been haunted by the real-life specter of writer's block.

"That was never true, obviously," says Shirley Ederman, a spokesperson for Scrimshaw Publishing. "Stewart had simply taken some time off to recuperate and reflect."

He has obviously emerged from his seclusion well-rested. The novelist-long famous for his tireless work ethic and prolific output-has been burning up the bestseller lists with no less than three number-one books in as many weeks. The release of a fourth is planned for next week.

Retailers are already swamped with preorders for The Devil Dolphins of the Town in Which I Live.

McQueen surprised many in the press when he showed up at the book party for Dolphins without the limp that has plagued him since his accident. In a statement after the event, the author said, "I was damaged, but I have initiated repairs."