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dropped the extra set of car keys and his bank card into the pocket of a
sports jacket. He had to endure another ride in the cab to his bank's
automatic teller and one last one to the lot where he had parked the ZX.
It was with relief that he paid off the cabbie, adding some extra money
along with the orderly clothes. "See that these reach an orderly named
Pechanec at General will you?"
Then he was free, on his own. He started the car. But he hesitated before
backing out of the parking slot. Where did he go now? "On his own," it
occurred to him, this time meant alone . . . very, very alone.
4
Garreth drove blindly, not caring where he went. Some place would feel
right, and there he would stop, and think. Rational answers he had overlooked
before would become apparent. Then perhaps he could make the terrified child
within him realize that there was nothing to run from, nothing to be
frightened of.
Eventually he found himself in a deserted parking lot, but it was with
shock that he looked up and recognized Mount Davidson. The white cross atop
the hill loomed above him, his strange new night vision seeing it luminous
with icy fire against the night sky.
Relief and triumph followed surprise. This proved his imaginings false. How
could he possibly have come to a place like this if he had . . . changed.
Climbing out of the car, he made his way up the slope toward the cross.
Still no terrible agony engulfed him. If anything, each step made him feel
better. Sitting on the ground at the base brought sheer relief, with all the
aches of the past several days draining away.
Garreth stretched out full length and buried his face in the grass. The
earth felt delicious, so cool, so clean and sweet-smelling. Funny. He had
never liked sleeping on the ground as a kid on scouting campouts, but now it
felt better than any bed, certainly better than that torture rack at the
hospital. What a joy it would be to just to continue lying here, to pull the
earth over him and sleep forever.
Pull the earth- He sat bolt upright, shaking, horror and gutwrenching fear
flooding back. What the hell are you thinking, man! He really was going wacko.
He had better take himself back to the hospital before his delusions had him
jumping some unsuspecting jogger.
But Garreth could not make himself move, even though he suddenly felt as
though his presence defiled the hill. The earth drew him. It even soothed the
thirst growing more ravenous by the hour. The sun, he decided. He would wait
for the sun. If nothing happened when it rose, there was nothing wrong with
him except that he had gone bananas and needed a room at the funny farm. And
if-well, it would be a clean end with no one having to know what a foul thing
he had become.
Garreth crossed his legs, folded his hands in his lap, and waited.
Eventually the sky lightened.
His heart pounded. Feeling it, he scolded himself. Don't be a fool.
Nothing's going to happen. But his heart continued to slam against the wall of
his chest while the sky grew brighter. Pulses throbbed in his aching, burning
throat, in his arms, legs and temples.
The upper rim of the sun appeared over the horizon. Garreth braced himself.
A beam of light lanced westward to the great white cross above him. He fought
an urge to bury his face in his hands and made himself lift his chin to meet
the sun.
There was no agony, no searing dissolution. The light burned through his
eyes, however, turning the throb in his temples to a pounding headache. A
great weight pressed down on him, draining his strength, dragging at his
limbs. The earth beckoned to him, called him to the sweet coolness that would
shut out this miserable, blinding, exhausting sun-
"No!" He lurched to his feet. "Damn you!" he shouted at the sun. "Kill me!
You're supposed to kill me. Please! I won't be-that!" He screamed into the
terrible blood-red sky of dawn. "I won't be! No! No! NO!" Screamed in fury and
despair, over and over and over.
Garreth could not recall running down Mount Davidson or fishing trooper
glasses from the glove compartment of the car and gunning the ZX out of the
parking lot, but he found himself driving again, with mirror lenses hiding the
eyes of his image in the rearview mirror. Driving where, though? He slowed
down, groping for orientation. And slowed still more as a patrol car passed
him going the other direction. He carried no driver's license; that sat in the
Property Room along with the rest of his billfold contents, state's exhibits.
A street sign finally told him where he was. From that he guessed where his
reflexes were taking him: Lien . . . who had kept him sane the last time his
life came crashing down around him.
Garreth parked the car around the corner at the end of the block Harry did
not pass on the way to work and followed the narrow footpath between the
backyards to the Takananda gate. Slipping over, he sat down behind the big oak
tree shading the flagstoned patio and settled against the trunk to wait.
From inside the house came the sounds of morning: a shrill electronic
beeping of the alarm clock, running water, the murmur of voices. The telephone
rang. Harry's voice rose. Moments later the front door slammed and the motor
of the car roared to life. Tires squealed around the corner at the far end of
the block.
Garreth pushed to his feet and came around the tree onto the patio.
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