Andrew Neiderman - Deficiency

"Why didn't you or someone from your office accompany the madman?" Terri asked.

"I was hoping not to have to reveal to anyone, even you, what I was told, what I knew, and it was obvious no one else on the outside would be permitted to know anything, be part of any of this. It's very tightly contained.

"And," he added, looking penitent, "I had no idea how far Garret Stanley would go. He became somewhat of a desperate man after Paula Gilbert's death. I should have realized that. I'm sorry.

"The bottom line is he has taken care of the situation. It's over."

"Is it? He'll continue his work, won't he?"

"That's beyond us, Terri. Believe me, that's beyond our control and if either you or I went public with this, nothing would change except we would both be destroyed professionally. There are forces at work here, very powerful forces. I'm here to apologize to you for what you've been through and to assure you it's over for us. We'll have no more victims in our community. You should go back to your practice. I'll find a way to compensate Darlene Stone, get her a better job, perhaps. In time she'll put it behind her, too."

"What about the Thorndykes, the Martin relatives, the Gilberts, and who knows how many others?" Terri asked him.

"It's not in our power to do anything for them, Terri. If I could, I would. Believe me."

"People are still going to want to know how these women died of gross vitamin deficiencies, Will. You can't cover up what has already been revealed. You can't unring a bell."

He shrugged.

"It will be a mystery and as long as it is over, it will be one of those mysteries that drift off in time and is eventually forgotten."

"And you're satisfied with that?"

"I have no choice," he said. "And neither do you. If you go public with anything, I won't support you. What are you going to say, Terri, that a secret research organization created a vitamin vampire? Just imagine what you would do to your own and Hyman's reputations. Who would want to go to either of you for medical concerns? They have ways of coloring you in the media. You'll come off being some sort of a kook, like someone who believes extraterrestrials kidnapped her to study her body and then let her free.

"No," he said shaking his head. "Let it go. Take Curt home. Help him recuperate. Get married and have a wonderful life."

"Is that what you're going to do, Will? Have a wonderful life?"

"I'm going to try," he said smiling.

"You should reread the Tragedy of Dr. Faustus," she said, "unless you never read it. Then read it. You've made a similar deal with the devil, Will. There is no wonderful life after that."

He stopped smiling.

"I've given you my best advice. Do what you think you should," he said. He nodded, turned, and left her sitting there staring after him. As long as there are political animals like that left in charge of the public welfare, we'll never be safe, she concluded, but she also concluded that he was right: there was little she could do about it now.

She rose slowly. Her head was throbbing and not just from the wound. One thing was for sure, she thought. She and Curt both needed time off. He was awake when she returned to his room.

"What happened to you?" he asked as soon as he saw the bandage on her head.

"I'm going to tell you," she said, "but you won't believe me." She sat and took his hand into hers.

"I'm all ears," he said sitting up.

"Once upon a time," she began, "mankind decided it had to improve on God's work."

He didn't drive that far. Refurbished and re-energized, he was now like an overly charged battery. All the immediate events played back as vividly as they had when they occurred. He relived every action and again heard every word spoken. It overwhelmed him and he had to pull off the road. It was too difficult to keep driving.

He found another motel, much more upscale, and took a room. There was a restaurant attached, one of the chain restaurants he had seen during his travels. He went right to it and ate like someone who had been on a deserted island for weeks. The waitress, a flaming redhead with an ample bosom but hips that reminded him of Mrs. Samuels, was amused by his appetite.

"How do you stay so slim eating like that?" she asked him.

"Exercise. I'm a jogger. I'm always in motion," he added, giving her his best smile and turning his shoulders.

She laughed and went off. He followed the sway of her hips, and thought how wonderful it was to still be alive and in the game, still be meeting challenges, having thirsts and hungers and wanting pleasure.

What a work of art am I, the quintessential man, the paragon of all things, the perfection of life and the ultimate goal of evolution.

When he was finished eating, he returned to his room and lay on the bed, gazing dumbly at television. Pictures and words to stave off loneliness, he thought. How pathetic it must be for some, those inferior. It was as though they were truly in God's Waiting Room, and instead of thumbing through magazines, they were watching television. A door would open and they would be beckoned. But not him. God didn't know he existed. He came from another place. As more time passed, it occurred to him that he was waiting to be beckoned. But not by Death. He was waiting for some signal, some urge. He felt good, strong, vibrant, but he had no sense of direction, no urging, no mysterious calling. Based upon past experience, he concluded that if it didn't come soon, he wasn't meant to go anywhere else.

Perhaps that was also part of this nagging and annoying feeling that returned. Something yet remained that threatened his very existence. Of course, he understood that once they realized that the body he left behind was not his, some sort of pursuit would begin again. He had renewed confidence concerning that hunt. The predator was no longer as capable. He was in far less danger. But something else threatened him. As the immediate past replayed itself again, he centered in on words and narrowed it down to what that tall man had told him. It was about this doctor. He was going to have a bit of time with her. He needed more help.

He had no confidence in the tall man. He certainly didn't want to leave his fate in that man's hands. Maybe that was why he had no calling, maybe that was why he had to stay.

"I have unfinished work here," he thought. "In fact," he decided, "I actually have to go back."

That was something he had never done yet -- retrace his steps, return to anything. It was always a forward motion, always new discoveries. Going back made him nervous, but it had to be done. What he had to do of course was be sure he was in tip-top shape for all this. He had to pay more attention to himself. At the first sign of any weakness, memory lapse, whatever, he had to go out and refuel.

He closed his eyes. A little rest is good, he thought, and drifted into a deep sleep much faster than he had anticipated. He had a strange dream, not a nightmare as such at the start, but troubling enough to make him uncomfortable. He moaned and turned on the bed. In his dream he saw himself liquefy and flow along until he poured into a river and was carried into a great pool in which there were others like him, streams of people, faces, bodies meandering about, locked in by the shoreline and a dam at the very south end of it all. As he drew closer to that, he saw a very tiny opening through which some flowed before the opening was closed down again.

It was when it opened once more and it was his turn to go that the dream turned into a nightmare. He started out and then fell forever until he hit a bed of sand into which he gradually seeped and disappeared. This was his grave. He woke with a start, pounding on the bed to keep himself from sinking. He was screaming, too. Finally, he realized it and stopped. His face was coated with sweat. He looked around and realized he had slept through the day. When he sat up, he didn't like the dizzy feeling. It took a moment to settle. Then he went into the shower. As he was drying himself, he gazed into the mirror. There was something different. What was it? He drew closer to the mirror and studied himself. Those were very distinct gray hairs, he realized. And there were lines around his eyes he had never seen before.