4
I seem to be swimming up through thick layers of black asphalt. There were voices, angry and frightened, but they would never find me down here under the surface.
"It wasn't my fault, dammit! He jumped right in front of me."
"You were going too fast."
"I tell you he was trying to kill himself! It wasn't my fault!"
"You're lucky he wasn't killed."
I opened my eyes. A ring of faces stared down at me. Eyes and mouths round and big and open. For a moment I gazed at them numbly without feeling or thought. The numbness began to fade and I felt the tickling sensation of returning fear. All of the faces showed concern or anxiety. One was the face of a stranger. The driver of the car, I thought. And one of the faces was a mask behind which hid a thing incomprehensible and terrible.
"Mr. Cameron! Are you all right?"
I looked into the large green eyes of Laurie Hendricks. They were remarkably beautiful eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, their color deep and vivid. Now they were very wide and troubled. The smooth plane of her forehead was faintly creased with worry and her lips were parted over even white teeth. She was someone I had never really seen before. I had been abstractedly aware of red hair and a pair of slim calves crossed and a figure that strained a sweater—but I had never clearly seen the person.
Was she the one?
"You okay, professor?"
My eyes shifted to Mike Boyle and I had a quick impression of his massive, powerful body towering over me.
"Yes, I—I think so."
I stared at each of them—Laurie, Boyle, the blond youth, the little brunette with small, demure features, the red-faced stranger who appeared to be more angry than concerned. The memory of the car's fender brushing past me as I fell returned so vividly that a reaction hit me. I had to fight down the impulse to get away, to run, to limp, to hobble, even to crawl, just so that I could be away from the thing that watched me, luring behind anxious human eyes.
"What the hell did you do that for?" It was the stranger speaking, the driver of the car.
"I—I tripped."
"Jesus Christ, you could have got killed!"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
I sat up. Hands reached down to help me and I flinched at their touch. I moved my legs and felt along my arms and ribs. Nothing seemed to be broken. There were no sharp pains, only a mass of aches blending into one. I had been very lucky. The next time they would make sure that I wouldn't escape.
Mike Boyle put a meaty hand under my arm and lifted me to my feet with the casual ease of an adult hoisting a child in the air. Could all that muscle hide a super brain?
I steeled myself to peer across the street at the spot where the man had stood watching me. The sidewalk was empty.
"You been drinking, Mr. Cameron?" the blond boy asked with a grin.
I smiled stiffly. "Coffee. I can't explain what happened. I just lost my balance and fell. It was almost as if someone had pushed me."
I watched the boy's eyes closely but they betrayed no reaction.
"Well, I can't stand around here all night," the red-faced man said belligerently, making the statement a challenge. "I guess you're not hurt."
"No. I don't think so. The car just missed me."
"Maybe you better get his name, Mr. Cameron," the blond youth suggested.
"Yeah, you might have internal injuries or something," Mike Boyle put in.
"What the hell does he need my name for?"
I suddenly wondered if I should so quickly dismiss the stranger from suspicion. Hadn't his car appeared rather fortuitously? And hadn't he been racing too fast?
"Yes, I'd better have your name," I said.
"Now, wait a minute, if you think you're going to sue me—"
"I have no intention of sueing, but I'd better have your name. You do have insurance, I suppose?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Do you want me to get a cop, Mr. Cameron," the blond boy asked aggressively.
I looked at the red-faced stranger. "I don't think that will be necessary."
The suggestion of bringing the police into the affair convinced the man. He fished out his driver's license. Laurie Hendricks found a pencil in her purse and wrote out the name and address. Albert Harrison, Trailer G12, 444 San Rafael Road. I got the name of his insurance company and told him that was all I needed. Then he insisted on having my name and address. I hesitated, glancing at the four listening students. Then I realized that it didn't matter. They could easily find out where I lived through the school. I was even conveniently listed in the telephone directory.
Harrison finally marched off in a bad temper, obviously afraid that I would discover some non-existent injuries the following day. I was reasonably convinced that he was innocent, but it was just as well to know his name. And to know where to find him.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Mr. Cameron?"
Laurie Hendricks had moved close to me. As she spoke she rested a hand lightly on my arm and raised those incredible green eyes to meet mine. I felt the bold collision of our stares. Her fingers burned through the sleeve of my jacket, and I caught the subtle drift of the flower fragrance she wore.
"Yes," I said slowly. "Thanks for helping."
"We could drive you home," Mike Boyle offered without enthusiasm. "I've got my car."
"That won't be necessary."
And suddenly I looked at the slender girl standing beside Boyle, realizing that she was the only one of the group who had not said a word. She was watching me with curious interest. Catching my gaze she smiled.
"Yes, we'd be glad to drive you. Mike wouldn't mind."
She looked up at the big football player and slipped her hand under his arm with a slight suggestion of possessiveness. Ordinarily the gesture would have made me smile. Even now it caused my quick suspicion to evaporate.
And I realized that I couldn't really believe that any of these four normal young people could be anything but what they seemed. To think otherwise was absurd—and yet I had heard one of them instructed to kill me.
Or had I?
And all of the tormenting doubt and fear of the past months returned. Could I have imagined everything—the voices, the attempt to kill me, the mysterious beings from outer space? Was all that an elaborate concoction of a diseased mind?
There was nothing imaginary about the fall in front of the speeding car. But what if there were no enemies except those in my own mind? The meaning of this possibility was harrowingly clear. For then I had tried to kill myself.
I saw the blond boy's feet shifting in evident impatience. I surveyed the group once more and my eyes lingered on Laurie Hendricks' upturned face, on the soft shimmer of her bright red hair.
"You kids go on," I said. "I'm all right now."
I turned and walked away, not looking back.