Psychoshop

"I wonder whether Adam would have approved?"

"He pretty much asserted his rights as a partner. I could have stopped him if he tried to mess with anything."

"I'm sure you could have. No real choice. No harm done."

"Did Adam tell you what he wants the thing for— above and beyond seeing whether the experiment will work?"

"Yes," she said. Then she smiled.

"Another of those Do Not Discuss things?"

"For now," she said, putting the book aside and stretching. "You ready for more clients? Or you want a break?"

I was in the foyer and had the Switch thrown in a moment.

"Break time" I said. "That was a rough one."

Later, in the washroom, it seemed that my reflection winked at me. Then, "The coin trick, Orrie. Do the coin trick," it ordered, and I remembered.

I dug into my right-hand pocket and removed a handful of coins. Tossing them high, I plucked them one by one from the air and repocketed them, save for the last one—a quarter—which I tore in half.

"Time for you to have your speed back," my voice seemed to say, "so that you can have some time to get used to it again. Hate to dump everything on you at once."

I stared.

"Look," I said finally, "obviously I'm living with a load of masking memories. For how long I've been doing it, I have no idea. They all seem real, and at least some of them must be. Whatever I'm finally to get in the way of real ones, please—don't take away my being a boy in the Bronx, my years at Brown, my friends, my work as a writer. I don't care if they're fake. They're real to me. If there are a lot more I don't know about, yes, give them to me. I'll take them. Give me whatever you want. No complaint. But please, please let me keep these, too, for I just realized how dear they are to me."

Then my eyes brimmed over and my reflection's did the same. No more answers.

I waited for as long as it took, then washed my face and went to look for Glory, careful to keep my speed down.

I found her in her room, stretched out on the bed. She gave me a small smile. "Love is a strange business," she said.

"Agreed," I responded, still standing just inside the door.

"It should make you happy, not sad."

"It should," I said. "In fact it does, me."

"But you won't be with me much longer."

I stroked her nearest skin. "Soon old Alf will be changing his skin, too," I said. "No telling what we might find underneath, eh?"

"Exactly," she said. "You will get all of your old memories and you will become my enemy."

"No. I will not become your enemy."

"Dammy's then. Same thing. We stand together."

"I do not believe you have seen the entire picture."

"But we have evidence and you have nothing."

"I have my feelings, and I do not think I would have them if they were not basically true," I said. "For somewhere inside I know what's going on, and I do not believe that that part of me would mislead this part of me this way."

She laughed. "There are awfully subtle conditioning techniques," she stated, "and the mind is a very malleable thing."

"I know," I agreed, "and I haven't anything left to say on the matter."

"Come here," she said, opening her arms. "I want you while you're still you."

I went to her and sat beside her and looked down at her. Her eyes were big and moist and far apart and wondrous deep.

"You've come here from the end of the universe," she said slowly. "That sword Mother Shipton saw had to be yours. Your destiny is chaotic."

"That may well be the case, but it has nothing to do with your fears."

"The computer was unable to locate an English translation of the poem anywhere," she went on.

"That's its problem, not mine."

"Speak, that I may record it."

I did.

"When I hear you I almost believe you," she said. "But I don't see how it could be."

"Once on a journey I outsmarted myself," I explained, "and I never recovered."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "But I remember the constellation you made me—I see it now—and the stars in your eyes are my only destination tonight."

I moved nearer those primal lights and was lost among them.

SEVEN · A MAN OF MANY PARTS

The week that followed was but a continuation of the routine that had gone before, without Adam. Certain cases stick in memory: The Whistling Shadow, the Senile Assassin, the Corpse at the End of the Rainbow, the Robot Who Needed a Heart, Those Are Gloves That Were His Hands, and the Unsaintly Stigmatist. Some hard work and some easy work, punctuated by spells of panic, frenzy, and madness—between long periods with Glory that made anything worthwhile.

When Adam and Prandy returned, they were arm in arm and smiling. Prandy was enthusiastic about most places they had visited, things they had seen. "And Adam is very famous. One paparazzo followed us everywhere, shooting him," she stated.

"Really," I said. "What did he look like?"

"Oh, short red hair," she replied, "purple and white polo shirt, sweat pants. Wore mirrorshades most of the time, and had on studded wrist straps."

"Case of mistaken identity, I'm sure," Adam said.

"No," I said. "No."

"I need a nap," Prandy announced. "Come with me."

"Of course," Adam said.

I met his gaze and held it. "But you've one little promise to keep before you sleep or get snowed on," I said.

"Oh? What is that?"

Glory entered the room as I replied. "The fancy Proustian memory. I want it now."

We continued to stare into each other's eyes. His shoulders sank and moved forward. "Now?" he repeated. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Glory was at my side. "Must it be now?" she asked.

"Believe me. It must."

Prandy turned away, releasing Adam's arm.

"It will seem a matter of seconds," she said to Glory. "Then it will be all over."

"I know," Glory responded.

Adam smiled. "True," he said. "Come along, Alf."

I followed him to the Hellhole and Glory came up beside us. "I will assist you on this one, Dammy," she said.

"No," he replied. "No assistance."

"It'll be all right," I told her.

"I'm going to insist," she said.

He shook his head. "It's not an area where you can insist," he stated. "I'm boss in there. Come on, Alf."

I gave Glory a wink. "See you in a bit," I told her, as Adam opened the door.

She turned away and seated herself on the couch as Prandy mounted the stair. I followed Adam inside and the door closed behind us. We walked through a gentle fall of knives.

"Moment of truth for you," he said.

"I suppose so," I responded, following the fiery clawmarks. After a time, I asked, "Aren't we going back pretty far?"

"All of the really good stuff is stored near the rear," he said. "Aha!"

We had not gone quite as far back as the other Alfs, though I could see them swaying ahead. Adam reached into a small stasis field to his left, and an icon appeared. "Installation will only take a few moments," he said, touching the icon, "though you will be unconscious for a time afterwards. I'm not sure how long, but time means nothing in here."

"When I come around I'll tell you something," I told him.

"Perhaps," he said, and he slapped me lightly on the side of the head and everything went away.

I woke with the taste of madeleine in my mouth. I was standing in a somewhat wider stance than usual, staring back at the doorway. It was still closed, Adam was nowhere in sight, and moments later I realized that something was wrong. The door was upside down. Then I knew that I was standing on the ceiling, though I did not feel upside down. In that I felt in no way secured in my position, it occurred to me that I might always have been capable of the feat. I had simply never tried it. I could probably walk right along the ceiling and down the wall. Might as well do it, I decided. I was more used to things below. I raised a foot, began turning to the left.