Donald Westlake - Smoke

"Not wonderful, exactly," Peter said. "We did struggle very hard on this, David, you and I, after all."

"You know what I mean, though."

Peter unbent. He smiled at his partner. "I do know what you mean. And you're right, wonderful is the word."

It was not, however, the word for their dinner, when at last they got back to it. They finished it just the same, their attention elsewhere, on the guest in the rose room and the serum even now coursing through his veins. Affecting his pigment? They discussed what they would do if the experiment proved a success. If the subject, Freddie, became even a little translucent, they would photograph him from every angle, they would document the fact as much as possible, they would even bring in one or two trusted staff members during the day tomorrow to see the subject for themselves. Then, armed with that documentation — but not with Freddie; they'd keep their side of the bargain and release him — they could go to the governor of New York or the president of a tobacco company or almost anybody and get permission and funding for much broader experimentation, with volunteers who could be thoroughly documented and checked and observed by all the impartial medical men you want. No problem.

This prospect keyed them up so much they didn't go to bed at all between midnight and 2 A.M., when it was time for the first check on the subject. They unlocked his door to find him in bed sound asleep, but he quickly and amiably awoke, yawning. How could he be so calm under such circumstances?

David and Peter examined him once more, found no changes at all, locked him in the room again, and this time went to bed, setting the radio alarm for 3:50. It went off at that awful hour, with the kind of ungodly modern music the classical stations like to put on when no one's listening, and they got up, brushed their teeth, dressed hurriedly, and went down the hall to find the door of the rose room gone.

Well, no, not gone. It was leaning against the wall inside the room. The subject had removed the pins from the hinges, moved the door, and left. "Oh, Christ!" said Peter.

But that wasn't the worst. The alarm system had been dismantled, not carefully: wires dangled from the box next to the elevator door. "Hell and damn," said Peter.

They went down to the first floor, where they found that Freddie NoName had taken all the rest of their office equipment with him on his way out. "Bastard," said Peter.

Then they went back up one flight and looked around the lab, and it was David who noticed that the LHRX2 was gone. "Oh, Peter, my God," he said, pointing at the empty space where that black after-dinner mint had lately stood.

Peter looked. "Oh, no," he said.

Half-whispering, David said, "He thinks it's the antidote."

"Oh, wow," Peter said.

5

Peg Briscoe dreamed of open mouths, huge open mouths with great red sluglike tongues and teeth that were huge and filthy and alive, writhing like Medusa's snakes. And she was being drawn into them, drawn into the horrible foul-smelling mouths.

This is very scary, she thought, in the dream. This is really very scary. I better quit working for Dr. Lopakne.

The mouths were getting closer, the writhing tongues reaching for her, the snakey teeth glaring at her with their shiny chrome-filling eyes. This is truly scary, Peg told herself in the dream. I think I better wake up now.

So she did, to find a hand on her breast. She opened her eyes in the blackness of the bedroom and whispered, "Freddie?"

"Who else?" Freddie whispered, his breath warm on her ear, his hand roaming over her body.

"You're late," she whispered.

"I had a hell of a thing happen," he whispered, moving her legs apart. "I'll tell you all about it."

"I had such an awful dream," she whispered, as he moved around under the covers, getting closer to her. "I'm going to have to quit at the dentist."

"That's okay," he said. He was on top of her now, supporting weight on his elbows. "I got a bunch of stuff in the van."

"Mmm, nice," she whispered, feeling that gentle pressure, feeling him find his way home. Her left hand reached out in the darkness, toward the bedside table. "Oh, let me see you," she whispered, and her fingers found the pull chain. She pulled, and the light came on, and she SCREAMED.

"Wha?"

Her eyes snapped shut. She thought, Take me back to the dream! Back into the mouths, anywhere, anywhere but here!

Thrashing on top of her. "Whasa matter?"

She opened her eyes; wide, and stared at the ceiling. "There's nobody here!" she screamed, "Oh, my God, I'm going crazy!"

"What? Whadayou — Holy shit !"

The thrashing redoubled. A weight lifted from her, and the covers flung themselves back from her body, down to a heap on her ankles. In the light of the bedside lamp, she stared down at her own naked body, the white sheet all around, the sudden indentation in the sheet beside her and then that indentation just as suddenly gone.

She was alone in the room. Alone! Is this a dream? she asked herself.

Drugs! All at once, she was sure of it. Years ago, she'd experimented, the way everybody experimented, she'd tried some pretty wild chemicals that nobody knew what the side effects were, or how long they could hang around inside the body. Was this a — was this a bad trip, five years late?

Over to the right was the dresser, with the mirror above it. From over there came the voice that sounded so much like Freddie's: "Holy Jesus!"

Peg whimpered; she couldn't help it. She wanted to reach down to the flung covers and pull them up over herself, but she was afraid to move. She whimpered again and said, in a new tiny voice, "Freddie?"

"What the fuck has happened?"

"Freddie, where are you?"

"I'm right here , for Christ's sake!"

"Freddie, what are you doing?"

"I'm looking at myself," said the voice, from over by the dresser and the mirror. "I'm looking for myself."

"Freddie, don't do this!"

"It's those goddamn doctors! That goddamn stuff they shot me with!"

"What? Freddie?"

"The fucking antidote didn't work!"

"Freddie?"

A big indentation came into the sheet beside her, as though someone had sat down on the other side of the bed. She screamed, but not as loudly as before. She kept staring at that indentation.

"Listen, Peg," said a voice from somewhere above the indentation. "What happened to me was — hey!" the voice suddenly interrupted itself, as though surprised and pleased by something.

Fearful, trembling all over, Peg said, "Hey? Hey what?"

"When I close my eyes," said Freddie's voice, "I can still see!"

"Oh, Freddie, I'm gonna have a heart attack, I'm gonna have an accident right here in the bed, Freddie, don't do this, whatever you're doing, don't do it!"

"Listen, Peg, listen," Freddie's voice said, and something horrible touched her arm.

This time she SHRIEKED — she let out a good one — and recoiled half off the bed.

"Jeeziz, Peg! The neighbors are gonna call the cops!"

"What was that? What was it? Something touched me!"

" I touched you, Peg."

"You? Who are you?"

"I'm Freddie, for Christ's sake."

" Where are you?"

"I'm right here, I — listen, let me explain."

"I can't stand this!"

"Peg," the voice said, "Peg, turn off the light."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"Believe me, Peg, it'll be better. Turn off the light."

Afraid to disobey — what if something horrible touched her again? — she reached out and pulled the chain and turned off the light, and in the blessed shield of darkness she sat up, reached forward, grabbed the covers, and pulled them up over herself as she lay back down. All the way over herself, head and everything.