A stairs built of stone, with a bent and rusted guardrail leading from its top, ran down into the basement.
Ducking swiftly from the alley, Frost went down the stairs. At the bottom a door, still held upright by one rusted hinge, stood propped against the jamb. By some tugging and hauling, Frost got it open, went through it into the basement, then shoved it shut again.
Having done that, he was home—a home that he had found ten days before, after a long succession of other hiding places that had been worse by far than this. For the basement was cool and dry and it had no rats or no other vermin in too noticeable a number and it seemed to be safe and forgotten, perhaps safe because it was forgotten. No one ever came around.
"Hello there," said someone from the dark.
Frost spun on his heels, crouching as he spun, dropping the bundle to the floor.
"Don't worry," said the voice. "I know who you are and I won't cause you any trouble."
Frost did not move. He held his crouch. Hope and fear wrestled his brain. One of the Holies who had sought him out again? Someone from Forever Center? Perhaps a man sent by Marcus Appleton?
"How did you track me down?" he whispered.
"I've been looking for you. I have been asking around. Someone saw you in the alley. You are Frost, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm Frost."
The man came out of the gloom in which he'd stood. The half-light from a basement window showed the human shape of him, but little else.
"I am glad I found you, Frost," he said. "My name is Franklin Chapman."
"Chapman? Wait a minute! Franklin Chapman is the man…"
"Right," the other said. "Ann Harrison talked with you about me."
Frost felt the wild laughter rising in him and sought to choke it down, but it rose in spite of him and sputtered through his lips. He sat down limply on the floor and let his hands hang helplessly, while he shook with the bitter laughter that came flooding up in him.
"My God," he said, gasping, "you are the man—you are the one I promised I would help!"
"Yes," said Chapman. "At times, events turn out to be rather strange."
Slowly the laughter died away, but Frost still sat limp and weak.
"I'm glad you came," he finally said, "although I can't imagine why you did."
"Ann sent me. She asked if I'd try to find you. She found out what happened to you."
"Found out? It should have been in the papers. All a reporter had to do was look up the record."
"That's what she did, of course. And it was there, all right, but no word in the papers. Not a single line. But all sorts of rumors. The town is full of rumors."
"What kind of rumors?"
"A scandal of some sort at Center. You've disappeared and Center is trying to hush it up."
Frost nodded. "It figures. Papers tipped off to shut their eyes and rumors started to make it seem that I ran away. Do you think Center knows where I am?"
"I don't know," said Chapman. "I picked up a lot of talk while I looked for you. I'm not the only one who has been asking questions."
It didn't work the way they thought it would. They thought that after a day or two I'd go and apply for death."
"Most men would have."
"Not me," said Frost. "I've had a lot of time to do my thinking. I always can go down to the vaults. As a last desperate measure, when I can't stand it any longer, that is always left But not yet. Not for a while." He hesitated, then spoke again. "I'm sorry, Chapman.
I didn't think. I shouldn't talk this way."
"It doesn't bother me," said Chapman. "Not any more. Not now that the shock is over. After all, I'm no worse off than many men before me. I've gotten sort of used to it. I try not to think about it too much."
"You've spent a lot of time hunting me. How about your job?"
"They fired me. I knew they would;"
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, it worked out all right. I've got a TV contract and a publisher is paying someone else to write a book. Wanted me to write it myself, but I told him I couldn't get the words down."
"The dirty creeps," said Frost. "Anything to sell the suckers."
"I know," said Chapman, "but I don't mind. I know what they are doing and it's all right with me. I have a family that has to be raised and a wife who should have something laid away before she dies. It's the least I can do for her. I made them pay. I turned them down to start with and then when they kept after me I named a figure I thought they wouldn't touch, but they did, and I am satisfied. The old lady will have plenty laid away." Frost got up from the floor, searched for his bundle and found it.
"Man up the street, fellow at a restaurant, puts it out for me each night. I don't know who he is."
"I talked with him," said Chapman. "Little scrawny man, old, all wizened up. Said he saw you going through the garbage cans. Didn't think anyone should have to get his eats that way."
"Let's go over here and sit down," suggested Frost. "There's an old davenport that someone left down here. I sleep on it. Springs busted and pretty badly beaten up, but it's better than the floor."
Chapman followed him and the two sat down together.
"How bad has it been?" asked Chapman. "Bad to start with," Frost told him. "Some Holies snatched me off the street, saved my Me, more than likely. Talked with a crazy old bastard who asked me if I read the Bible and believed in God. Then Appleton and a bunch of his hoodlums raided the place. Appleton has been trying to catch some of the Holies' ringleaders. I figured the old buzzard I talked with was one of them. I fell through a rotten place in the floor and when they left I crawled out again. Stayed there for a couple of days because I was scared to go out, but I finally got so hungry that I had to go. You ever imagine what it would be like finding, food in a city where you couldn't beg for it and didn't dare to steal it, when you couldn't talk with anyone, when you didn't want to talk with anyone because you might get them into trouble if you did?"
"I never thought about it," Chapman said. "I can imagine what it's like."
"There wasn't anything but the garbage cans. It takes a lot, believe me, to eat something out of a garbage can. The first time, that is. When you get hungry enough, you can manage it. After a day or two, you become something of a garbage connoisseur. And a place to hide, a place to sleep—they aren't easy to find and you have to keep changing around, can't stay in one place too long. People see you and get curious. I've stayed here longer than I should because this is the best I've found. That's why you were able to track me down. If I'd changed around, you wouldn't have found me.
"My beard is growing—no razor, you know. And so is my hair. In a little while the beard will cover the tattoos on my cheeks and I can push the hair down to cover the forehead. Once the hair and beard grow long enough maybe I can even venture out in daylight. Still won't dare to talk with anyone, have anything to do with anyone, but won't have to hide so much. People may stare at me, although maybe not so much, for there are some weird characters down in this area. Haven't had anything to do with them. Afraid to. You have to feel your way along, get the hang of this sort of Me."
He stopped and stared in the darkness at the white blur of Chapman's face.
"Sorry," he said, tersely, "I talk too much. A man gets hungry for it."
"Go ahead," said Chapman. "I'll sit and listen. Ann will want to know how you are."
"That's another thing," said Frost. "I don't want her getting involved in this business. Tell her to keep out of it. She can't help me and she'll end up getting hurt. Tell her to forget about me."