It lasted only a few moments. They separated with no spoken word and came separately to their feet. They stared at each other once again, now flushed and bruised, their neat suits rumpled, their shirttails out.
“We’re acting like fools,” Norton said. “Or like little boys.”
“We couldn’t help ourselves,” Jenner said. “It was a natural thing for us to fight. We leaped at each other like men trying to catch their own shadows.”
They sat down, Jenner in Hollis’ chair, Norton on the couch across the room. For more than a minute, the only sound was that of heavy breathing. Jenner’s heart pounded furiously. He hadn’t engaged in physical combat in twenty-five years.
“I didn’t think it would be this way, exactly,” Norton said. “There are times when I wake up and I think I’m you. Angling for a tryout, quarreling with your wife, hitting the bottle.”
“And times when I remember prosecuting an innocent man for murder and winning the case,” Jenner said.
Norton’s face darkened. “And I remember eating a live worm…”
“And I remember a scared twelve-year-old girl cornered in a garage…”
Again they fell silent, both of them slumped over, bearing the burden of each other’s pasts. Norton said, “We should never have done this. Come here, and met.”
“I had to see you.”
“And I had to see you.”
“We can’t ever see each other again,” said Jenner. “It’s either got to be murder or a truce between us. Those few minutes when we were fighting—I actually wanted to kill you, Norton. To see you go blue in the face and die.”
Norton nodded. “I had the same feeling. Neither of us can really bear the idea that someone else knows him inside and out, even though it’s done us so much good in so many ways. I’ll get the Senate, all right. And maybe the White House in another six years.”
“And I’m back on the stage. I’ll get my wife back, if I want her. Everything I lost. Yes,” Jenner said. “It’s worth sharing your mind. But we can’t ever meet again. We’re each a small part of each other, and the hatred’s too strong. I guess it’s self-hatred, really. But we might—we might lose control of ourselves, the way we did just now.”
The front door opened suddenly. Walt Hollis stood in the vestibule, a small pinched-faced man with narrow shoulders and a myopic squint. And, just now, a dazed expression on his face.
“You two—how did you get here—why…”
“I still had a key,” Jenner said. “I called Norton and invited him down to meet me here. We didn’t expect you back so early.”
Hollis’ mouth worked spasmodically for ten seconds before the words came. “You should never have met each other. The traumatic effects—possible dangers…”
“We’ve already had a good brawl,” Norton said. “But we won’t any more. We’ve declared a truce.”
He crossed the room and forced himself to smile at Jenner. Jenner summoned his craft and made his face show genial conviviality, though within all was loathing. They shook hands.
“We aren’t going to see each other ever again,” Jenner explained. “Norton’s going to be president, and I’m going to win undying fame in the theater. And each of us will owe our accomplishments to the other.”
“And to you, Hollis,” Norton added.
“Maybe Norton and I will keep in touch by mail,” Jenner said. “Drop each other little notes, suggestions. An actor can help a politician. A politician can help an actor. Call it long-range symbiosis, Holly. The two of us ought to go places, thanks to you.”
Jenner glanced at Norton, and this time the smile that was exchanged was a sincere one. There was no need for words between them. They walked past the numb Hollis and into the small laboratory room and methodically smashed the equipment. If Hollis were to put someone else through this treatment, Jenner thought, the competition might be a problem. He and Norton wanted no further competition in their chosen fields.
They returned to the living room and gravely said good-bye to Hollis. Jenner was calm inside, now, at last. He and Norton departed, going their separate ways once they reached the street. Jenner knew he would never see Norton again. It was just as well; he would have to live with Norton’s memories for the rest of his life.
Hollis surveyed the wreckage of his lab with a stony heart. He felt cold and apprehensive. This was the reward of his labors, this was what he got for trying to help. But he should have realized it. After all, he had edited the tapes for both of them. He knew what they were. He carried the burden of both souls in his own small heart. He knew what they had done, and he knew what they were capable of doing, now that the errors of one sanctioned the errors of the other.
Tiredly, Hollis closed the laboratory door, cutting off the sight of the wreckage. He thought of Jenner and Norton and wondered when they would realize that he knew all their secrets.
He wondered how long Jenner and Norton would let him live.