Another pause. “No.”
This time I didn’t mind, because the darkness concealed the fact that my clothes were smeared with dirt and blood from my damaged hands. I went upstairs, past the aching emptiness of Sammy’s room, washed in cold water, taped my knuckles and put on fresh clothes. In my den I discovered that the saw-handled target pistol was never meant for concealment, but I was able to tuck it into my belt on the left side and cover it fairly well with my jacket. Coming downstairs, I hesitated at the door of the lounge before telling May I was going out again. She nodded without speaking, without caring what I might do. If Sammy died she would die too—not physically, not clinically, but just as surely—which meant that two important lives depended on my actions of the next hour.
I went out and found the atmosphere of the night had changed to one of feverish excitement. The streets were alive with cars, pedestrians, running children, all converging on the gigantic bonfire which had appeared, gratuitously, to turn a dull evening into an event. Two blocks away to the south the old Guthrie house was an inferno which streaked the windows of the entire neighbourhood with amber and gold. Its timbers, exploding in ragged volleys, were fireworks contributing to the Fourth of July atmosphere. A group of small boys scampering past me whooped with glee, and one part of my mind acknowledged that I had made a major contribution to the childish lore of the district. Legends would be born tonight, to be passed in endless succession from the mouths of ten-year-olds to the ears of five-year-olds. The night the old Guthrie place burned down….
Dr. Pitman lived only a mile from me, and I decided it would be almost as quick and a lot less conspicuous to go on foot. I walked automatically, trying to balance the elements of reality, nightmare and carnival, and reached the doctor’s home in a little over ten minutes. His Buick was sitting in the driveway and lights were showing in the upper windows of the house. I looked around carefully—the fire was further away now and neighbours were less likely to be distracted by it—before stepping into the shadowed drive and approaching the front door. It burst open just as I was reaching the steps and Dr. Pitman came running out, still shrugging on his coat. I reached for the pistol but there was no need to bring it into view, for he stopped as soon as he saw me.
“George!” His face creased with concern. “What brings you here? Is it your boy?”
“You’ve guessed it.” I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back into the orange-lit hall.
“What is this?” He shrugged against my hand with surprising strength and I had to fight to contain him. “You’re acting a little strangely, George.”
“You made Sammy sick,” I told him. “And if you don’t make him well again I’ll kill you.”
“Hold on, George—I told you not to get overwrought.”
“I’m not overwrought.”
“It’s the strain …”
“That’s enough !” I shouted at him, almost losing control. “I know you’re making Sammy ill, and I’m going to make you stop.”
“But why should I …?”
“Because he was in back of the old Guthrie place and saw too much—that’s why.” I pushed harder on his chest and he took a step backwards into the hall.
“The Guthrie house! No, George, no!”
Until that moment I had been half-prepared to back down, to accept the idea that I’d gone off the rails with worry, but his face became a slack grey mask. The strength seemed to leave his body, making him smaller and older.
“Yes, the old Guthrie place.” I closed the door behind me. “What do you do there, doctor?”
“Listen, George, I can’t talk to you now—I’ve just heard there’s a fire in the district and I’ve got to go to it. My help will be needed.” Dr. Pitman drew himself up into a semblance of the authoritative figure I had once known, and tried to push past me.
“You’re too late,” I said, blocking his way. “The place went up like a torch. Your equipment’s all gone.” I paused and stared into his eyes. “They are all gone.”
“I … I don’t know what you mean.”
“The things you make. The things which look like people, but which aren’t because the original people are dead. Those are all gone, doctor—burnt up.” I was shooting wildly in the dark, but I could tell some of my words were finding a mark and I pressed on. “I was there, and I’ve seen it, and I’ll tell the whole world—so Sammy isn’t alone now. His death won’t cover up anything. Do you hear me, doctor?”
He shook his head, then walked away from me and went up the broad carpeted stair. I reached for the pistol, changed my mind and ran after him, catching him just as he reached the landing. He brushed my hands away. Using all my strength, I bundled him against the wall with my forearm pressed across his throat, determined to force the truth out of him—no matter what it might be. He twisted away, I grappled again, we overbalanced and went on a jarring rollercoaster ride down the stairs, bouncing and flailing, caroming off wall and banisters. Twice on the way down I felt, and heard, bones breaking; and had been lying on the hall floor a good ten seconds before being certain they weren’t mine.
I raised myself on one arm and looked down into Dr. Pitman’s face. His teeth were smeared with blood and for a moment I felt the beginnings of doubt. He was an old man, and supposing he genuinely hadn’t understood a word I had been saying …
“You’ve done it now, George,” he whispered. “You’ve finished us.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s one thing I want you to believe … we never harmed anybody … we’ve seen too much pain for that…’ He coughed and a transparent crimson film spanned his lips.
“What are you saying?”
“It was to be a very quiet, very gradual invasion … invasion’s the wrong word … no conquest or displacement intended … physical journey from our world virtually impossible … we observed incurably ill humans, terminal cases … built duplicates and subsituted them … that way we too could live normally, almost normally, for a while … until death returned …”
“Dr. Pitman,” I said desperately, “you’re not making sense.”
“I’m not real Dr. Pitman … he died many years ago … first subject in this town—a doctor is in best position for our … I was skorded—you have no word for it—transmitted into a duplicate of his body …’
The hall floor seemed to rock beneath me. “You’re saying you’re from another planet!”
“That’s right, George.”
‘But, for God’s sake, why ? Why would anybody … ?”
“Just be thankful you can’t imagine the circumstances which made such a project … desirable.” His body convulsed with sudden pain.
“I still don’t understand,” I pleaded. “Why should you duplicate the bodies of dying people if it means being locked in an old house for the rest of your life?”
“Usually it doesn’t mean that … we substitute and integrate … the dying person appears to recover … but the duplication process takes time, and sometimes the subject dies suddenly, at home, providing us with no chance to take his place … and there can be no going back …’
I froze as a brilliant golden light flooded through the hall. It was followed by the sound of wheels on gravel and I realised a car had pulled into the driveway of the house. The man I knew as Dr. Pitman closed his eyes and sighed deeply, with an awful finality.
“But what about Sammy?” I shook the inert figure. “You’ve told me nothing about my son.”
The eyes blinked open, slowly, and in spite of the pain there I saw kindness. “It was all a mistake, George.” His voice was distant as he attempted more of the broken sentences. “I had no idea he had been around the old house … aren’t like you—we’re bad organisers … nald denbo sovisegg … sorry … I had nothing to do with his illness …’