To the Vanishing Point

10

A dividing line still ran down the center of the highway. Further proof that two lanes remained was provided moments later when something like a runaway meteor came exploding toward them, only to scream past in the oncoming lane and vanish aft. Steven turned to follow its passage.

"Geez, what was that?"

Burnfingers was whistling softly to himself as he drove. A paralyzed Frank finally moved, straightening in his seat, accepting what he saw outside while fighting to avoid staring at it. There was no shoulder, no solid border to the narrow roadway. If Burnfingers lost control, there was nothing to prevent them from driving right off the pavement, to fall endlessly, forever, through the abyss that enclosed them on all sides.

The sign that came up fast on their right almost sent him over the edge inside his head.

SALT LAKE CITY — 212 Miles

The sheer sameness of the speckled wonderment outside finally brought Alicia forward, just in time to catch a glimpse of the sign before they rolled past.

"Surely that can’t be right."

"Why not?" said Burnfingers cheerfully. "Miles or light-years, what’s the difference? It’s all a matter of perspective."

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take," said Frank in a low voice.

"You can take as much of it as you have to, my friend, because you have no other choice."

"Couldn’t we, maybe, pull over and rest for a while?" Alicia asked hopefully.

"Pull over?" Frank gestured outside. "Pull over where? I mean, I like the wide open spaces, but I like solid ground under them."

"Nothing’s solid anymore," Alicia observed thoughtfully. "You can’t count on anything being real anymore." She turned to the diminutive figure on her left. "Isn’t that right?"

Mouse nodded. "Reality flexes."

Frank half turned in his seat. "That’s nuts."

"In and out, in and out." Mouse moved her hands to illustrate. "Like a bellows. Here reality has been stretched thin enough to see through."

"Wonderful." He slumped back down in his seat.

After a while Burnfingers finally gave in to Frank’s repeated requests to let him drive. At first he was nervous, but a few minutes behind the wheel found him cruising easily. All you had to do was stay on the road, he told himself. Despite their success in escaping from Pass Regulus, he still had more confidence in his own driving than Begay’s.

The last thing he expected to see was an off ramp.

It was coming up fast on the right, and he slowed quickly. The sign nearby said CEDAR CITY. Alicia was sitting across from him now and he looked anxiously at her.

"Seems okay." She glanced back. "Burnfingers?"

Begay came forward, studied both the sign and ramp. "Might as well. If it’s half right, we’re a long ways from Vegas and longer still from Regulus."

Licking his lips, Frank flipped his turn signal and slowly started down pavement no thicker than plastic wrap.

There was a stop sign at the bottom of the off ramp. A normal-looking, battered red and yellow sign. As he hit the brakes the light changed, late afternoon replacing the awesome universal night around them. It was reality, snapping back like a rubber band.

"We’ve fallen through a crack," said Burnfingers.

"We’re back." Alicia let out a long sigh. "Thank God, we’re back!"

"Maybe," said Burnfingers, but to himself.

The sign by the dirty asphalt read WELCOME TO CEDAR CITY, UTAH. Ahead they could see structures of wood and stucco, clinging to the lower slopes of snow-capped peaks. On a telephone pole nearby, a hawk sat examining the motor home. As they approached, it took wing in search of vermin. The air was warm but not desert hot, refreshingly devoid of pollutants or other surprises. Frank lowered his window, sucked in mountain air.

"Smells right. Looks right. Could we be back where we belong, back on the right reality line?"

"Reality is rife with off ramps," Mouse replied gently, "but I admit it does appear promising. There is no need to try to find the interstate again. We can continue along this state highway."

"You mean you can continue along. I’ve had it. I know I promised, but I can’t take this anymore, lady. Not even if we’re, like you said, linked together. No more."

Mouse regarded him for a long moment. "I understand, Mr. Sonderberg. It has been harder than I thought. There will be dangers to you, but perhaps when I depart your company they will not manifest themselves. I will make my way alone the rest of the way to the Vanishing Point."

Frank seemed confused by her ready acquiescence. "Well, okay. That’s more like it." Alicia said nothing.

"What will you do?" Mouse asked him curiously.

He considered, hardly daring to believe their ordeal was nearing its end. "I dunno. I guess we’ll find a motel." Now Alicia smiled. "An ordinary chain motel where we can get some rest. Then I’m calling a taxi, or a limo, or something. The outfit that rented us this machine can come and get it. I don’t give a damn if the taxi has to come all the way down from Salt Lake. I ain’t doing any more driving. We’ll head for the nearest airport. I’ll beg, borrow, or steal a charter plane to fly us home. We’re not even going into Salt Lake for a regular airline. I just want out of here as fast as possible."

"I do understand. I hope all will be well with you."

"Put me in the air headed toward L.A. and I’ll be well, all right."

They entered town. A small Western town, salubrious in its ordinariness. Burger King, McDonald’s, a Kentucky Fried slid past, until their mouths were watering. They were followed by a small shopping center anchored by miniature Sears and JC Penney stores, then a Kmart. It was so much like Los Angeles on a smaller scale that Alicia started crying. Best of all, it didn’t change as they cruised up the main street. Frank pulled into the first motel with a Best Western sign out front.

The Vacancy/No Vacancy sign wasn’t working. That didn’t matter to Frank, who could have spotted the lifeless neon letters a mile off. He pulled up alongside the fenced swimming pool and parked.

"Guess I’ll be leaving you here, too," said Burnfingers. He raised a hand to forestall Frank’s protest. "It’s all right. I know this country well and will have no trouble here. You have been good people. I did not thank you properly for rescuing me back at that casino. Maybe someday I may even be able to explain it to myself."

"Didn’t exactly rescue you," Frank replied. "All we did was help distract those guys who were beating on you and give you a chance to rescue yourself." He checked his watch. "Least we can do is buy you something to eat."

"That’s kind of you. I would enjoy a proper meal. It has been a strenuous couple of days."

"Now there’s an understatement." Alicia smiled for the first time in a while. Wendy, too, had recovered, though she wasn’t twisting and tossing her body in time to the music inside her head with quite the same abandon as before. She missed her tape player.

Maybe a cheeseburger and fries would serve as a temporary substitute, her father mused. "Just let me check us in first." He headed for the door. "Maybe the manager can recommend a place to us."

They must have presented an interesting sight as they crowded into the modest waiting room. There was a stone fireplace, cold this time of year; a smaller color TV on a stand, on which a young man with too many teeth was giving away large appliances; a pile of magazines; a couple of couches for the use of guests only; and the counter with the omnipresent revolving postcard rack and boxful of local giveaway pamphlets advertising attractions in Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, and points in between.

The manager/owner was in his early sixties, a large man with a tired paunch and a flowing white mustache. Thin white rimless glasses framed his eyes, and suspenders struggled to keep his waistband even with the bottom of a striped white shirt. He grinned as he inspected his visitors.

"Well! You folks look like you’ve been through the wringer!"

"We do?" Frank didn’t realize it showed that much. "Just been driving a long time."

The manager grunted. "That’s tough on anybody. Y’all stayin' here?"

"No. Just the four of us. Our friends will be looking for separate transportation out of town."

The man shoved a registration form across the narrow counter. "Greyhound stops once in the morning, Trailways in the evening — they been kind of irregular lately."

Alicia tried to make conversation while her husband filled out the registration form. "Pretty country."

"That’s why folks’re livin' here." The manager chuckled. "Quiet. You want excitement, you’re in the wrong town. Wrong state, far as that goes."

A woman juggling a glass and dishrag against each other appeared by the back door. "Hello, folks."

Alicia smiled. "Good evening."

"Yes, it is a good evening, isn’t it?" She frowned slightly at the glass, worked the rag a little faster. "Where you folks from?"

"Los Angeles," Steven piped up.

"Oh?" She left the doorway to peer over the counter. "Didn’t see you down there, sonny."

"We’re on vacation," Steven told her brightly, "and you should’a seen some of the things we’ve seen!"

His mother glanced sternly down at him. "That will be enough, Steven."

"Awww." Disappointed, he turned to stare at the TV.

Frank turned the completed registration form around. "Want a credit card imprint now?"

"Neh. Don’t need it — unless you want to charge long distance calls. Local are free."

"All we want now is something to eat."

Taking his cue, the manager leaned forward and looked to his left, toward the street. "You go up Central about two blocks and you’ll hit downtown. 'Bout half a dozen good places to eat."

"Which one would you recommend?" Alicia asked politely.

"Oh, none of 'em. They all pretty much stink. Dave’s Diner’s a real tourist trap and Judy’s Country Kitchen’s anything but."

"That’s right," said his wife cheerfully. "They all suck."

"I see." Alicia regarded the pair of homey smiles askance. Frank stepped in.

"Then where would you suggest we eat?"

"There’s another hotel up the street. The Gables. Rooms are awful; full of roaches." The woman made a face. "And sometimes they don’t wash their linen between guests, but the kitchen is run separate. My husband and I go there ourselves sometimes when we want to eat out."

"That’s very straight of you. Thanks."

"Don’t mention it," said the manager. "Glad to help."

They went back to the motor home and began gathering clothes and toiletries for their room. "That’s the kind of honesty you don’t find anymore," Frank was murmuring.

Alicia was less sanguine. "I wonder. It was more than just honesty. They were so open, it was like they couldn’t lie if they wanted to."

Frank grabbed a pair of clean socks. "Maybe it would’ve been different if they had a coffee shop of their own."

"Wouldn’t it be neat if everybody was like that?" said Wendy.

"Bad for business." Frank looked toward the back of the motor home. "Burnfingers, Mouse: dinner’s on us."

"I can pay," Begay told him. "I have gold."

"Which you need for your jewelry work," Frank reminded him. "Our treat, and I don’t want to hear any more about it."

They walked, since it was only a few blocks to the hotel’s restaurant. A few locals were out enjoying the evening sunshine. They chatted easily among themselves, occasionally waving to the cluster of tourists.

It was early for supper and they had the restaurant largely to themselves. Frank found it hard to relate to a dinner menu after hours of fleeing through permanent night. In jumping threads, they’d lost most of a day. Reality lag instead of jet lag, he told himself.

The place wasn’t fancy, but it was clean. Flower-print tablecloths covered each dining area. The waitress was young and attractive.

"Anything special?" Alicia asked as she studied the menu.

"Not really, but don’t ask me. I eat here all the time. I’d change that color combination if I was you, though."

"What?" Confused, Alicia laid her menu down.

"Color combination. That yellow top really doesn’t go with those jeans."

"I thought bright colors were in."

"Maybe for some folks. They just make me kind of nauseous, you know?"

"Hey," Frank said, "how about taking our order instead of criticizing my wife’s clothing, okay?"

"Sure." The waitress sounded genuinely puzzled at Frank’s tone. "Hey, kid, if you gotta blow your nose, rub it on your sleeve instead of my clean tablecloth, will you?" Steven gaped at her. "And you," she went on, talking to Mouse, "we get some weird types in here, but you look like you just dropped out of some traveling freak show."

"How about me?" Burnfingers asked politely.

"I don’t much like Indians."

"That’s all right," Burnfingers responded studiously. "I do not care for blondes who bleach their hair and try to look younger than they are."

Frank held his breath, expecting to have to duck pad and pencil if not something weightier. But the woman just smiled at Burnfingers, who smiled back.

Alicia was right. He felt a by-now familiar tenseness in his gut. Something was wrong here. He noted that Mouse was paying more than casual attention to the conversation.

One by one they placed their orders. Frank found himself expecting additional comments and he wasn’t disappointed. The waitress found Wendy’s selection of lemonade to accompany her hamburger profoundly disgusting and didn’t hesitate to say so, to his daughter’s obvious surprise and chagrin. When Frank requested his steak well done, the young woman promptly told him what she thought of anyone dumb enough to order good meat burned. He would have shot back with a reply save for a cautioning look from Burnfingers Begay. So he bit back his natural response. Only when she left to turn their order in did he lean over and whisper.

"Why’d you shush me? What the hell’s going on here, Burnfingers?"

Mouse interrupted. "I fear that despite appearances we may not have returned to your reality line after all."

"That can’t be." Alicia gestured around them. "Everything here’s normal: the people, the street signs, the brand names in the windows — everything!"

"I’m afraid not quite everything," Mouse replied somberly.

"You’d better spell it out for me," said Frank angrily. "Just because we run into an honest motel and a snippety waitress, you’re trying to tell us we’re still not home?"

"What she is trying to tell you," Burnfingers Begay put in, "is that only one thing is different, but that this difference is significant. To put it another way, where reality is concerned, almost don’t make it."

Alicia was looking around worriedly, as though she expected a host of long left-behind demons to walk in through the front door. "What one thing is so different?"

Burnfingers looked at Mouse, who simply gazed back. Finally he sat back in his chair. It groaned under his weight. "Maybe we’re wrong. Let us just enjoy our food. Do me one favor, though, Frank."

"If I can."

"If the young lady who took our order, or anybody else, says something to upset you, do not get mad."

"Okay," said Frank slowly. "She’s probably just an exception anyways."

"Somehow I do not think so."

As the unexpectedly silent evening meal proceeded, Burnfingers’s prediction was borne out by the conversation around them. Other diners exchanged vicious, pointed insults and commentary with their neighbors, without trying to hide their opinions from anyone who might be listening. Their waitress smilingly insulted everyone in turn, offering her observations of their personal hygiene, taste in attire, appearance, and whatever else struck her fancy. They replied in kind. Neither restaurant staff nor customers appeared in the least upset. Later they were able to overhear her exchanging similar comments with the cook and cashier.

This biting verbal byplay was not restricted to the visiting adults. Children chatted equally guilelessly, and teenagers exhibited great ingenuity in putting down their companions. When a couple of girls Wendy’s age passed the table and all but reduced her to tears with their comments about her coiffure and clothing, she responded in kind. They smiled, nodded, and walked on. It was as though the words had no effect on them, or at least none of the intended effect.

"Not quite our reality." Burnfingers was finishing his Coke.

"I think I understand." Alicia pushed peas around on her plate. "It’s just like our world, except everyone here says exactly what they’re thinking. Nobody lies."

"There’s no tact or diplomacy, either," muttered Wendy darkly.

"Everyone here speaks the truth as they see it," said Mouse thoughtfully. "A different social system has evolved. It would probably be impossible to insult anyone in this place unless you accused them of telling a lie, and they very well may not know what a lie is."

"That’s why the people back at the motel were so blunt with us," Alicia murmured. "An honest opinion is all they can offer."

Wendy crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, glowering. "Well, I don’t like it."

"No inhibitions. No restraints," said Burnfingers.

"It doesn’t bother you?" Frank asked him. "Doesn’t get under your skin just a little?"

"I do not have any illusions to shatter. I know exactly what I am. And also I am — "

" — crazy. Yeah, we know," said Frank tiredly.

"Then we’re still lost." Alicia was wonderfully calm in the face of the crushing disappointment. "We’re still not back where we belong. We still aren’t — home."

"An almost perfect off ramp," Mouse observed, "but as Mr. Begay tells us, almost does not count."

"We must be close, though." Alicia sounded suddenly eager. "Aren’t we close? Wouldn’t this be good enough?"

"I dunno," said Frank. "If we stayed here I’d have to learn a whole new way of doing business. I don’t know how it works here. I don’t think I’m ready for a reality where everybody tells the truth every time. Bet politics here are interesting. I wonder if our reality is exactly the opposite of this one. I mean, where we come from, it sometimes seems like you get elected for telling the biggest lie." He looked sharply at his wife. "Are you ready for all your friends to tell you exactly what they think of you?"

She hesitated, slumped slightly. "No. No, I guess not. I guess we better not stay here."

"If we’re this close, then surely the next off ramp will be the right one." He tried to sound encouraging, reading the discouragement in her face. "At least this line isn’t dangerous." He cut a chunk of steak. "The food’s normal enough. Downright good."

So was the motel, as its managers would have honestly admitted. They had real beds with thick mattresses, a full-sized shower bath, and strangely honest television to watch.

Not wanting to send their friends off in the dark, Frank insisted Burnfingers and Mouse spend the night in the empty motor home. Both accepted, albeit Mouse tentatively. As always she was anxious to be on her way. As he prepared to climb into bed, Frank found himself checking the clock and almost laughed out loud. Time meant nothing to them until they made it back home. The numbers on the plastic face bore no relation to their experiences of the past couple of days.

Yet despite his exhaustion and the warmth of Alicia’s slumbering form next to his own he found he was unable to fall asleep. The memories were too immediate, too strong. Alicia could sleep anywhere, anytime. The children had dropped off quickly. Only he was left to gaze at the ceiling, at the sweeps and curves in the stucco feebly illuminated by the light from the motel parking lot that filtered into the room around the edges of the curtains.

Now that they were close to the right reality line, near to home, he found himself pondering all they’d been through and experienced. Bad dreams, the stuff of nightmares. Tomorrow they’d find the right off ramp and take it all the way to Salt Lake or Los Angeles Tomorrow they would drive back to reality. In the morning they would rid themselves of the enigmatic child-woman who called herself Mouse and the wandering maybe-crazy Burnfingers Begay.

Meanwhile it was silly to lie here trying to decide how much of the past was real and how much hallucination. If he couldn’t rent a plane or taxi, they’d have to drive all the way into Salt Lake. He rolled over, forced himself to close his eyes.

It was a quiet room, especially for someone used to traffic-laden Los Angeles He thought he heard a coyote howl out by the city limits, near the mountain slopes. Probably only a dog.

He was nearly asleep when he heard something else.

At first he thought it was a bird singing at the moon. The longer he listened, the more unlikely that seemed. Though no naturalist, he did watch a lot of nature programs on TV, and he’d never heard of any bird holding a single note for so long.

Alicia’s back was ivory in the dim light. She hardly moved, deep in sleep, and he was reluctant to disturb her for an opinion. Yet as he started to lie back down the sound came again, a thin, lilting melody halfway between a song and a cry. It was weak with distance but still unmistakable.

Tension and curiosity had conspired to bring him wide-awake. Frustrated, he pushed back the covers and quietly climbed out of bed. He donned jeans and shirt as silently as he opened the door.

It was much cooler than it had been in the desert. The mountain air chilled his skin like alcohol as he carefully shut the door behind him. Around him hung the silence of Utah night.

He stood motionless, listening. Just as he began to wonder at his foolishness he heard it afresh. Out in the parking lot the motor home squatted like a shipping container on wheels. The sound didn’t come from its vicinity or from any part of the motel.

The concrete walkway that bordered the front of the motel led him to a deep arroyo, which cut through forested land. A small creek gleamed like silver ribbon at the bottom, coursing toward the culvert that would lead it beneath the road. Abandoning the walkway at its terminus he followed the running water into the pines.

As long as he watched where he put his feet, the three-quarters-full moon provided ample light to walk by. Pine needles and leaves from other growths formed a stale carpet that crunched underfoot. Trees made a wall that soon obliterated the motel from sight.

There were no houses here at this end of town. Conscious of his increasing solitude, he would have turned back if the song had not continued to grow louder. It hung in the air between the trees, hypnotic and insistent.

A petite form appeared in the moonlight, standing by the water where the creek slowed and broadened to create a small pond. Silken tresses and folds of silk fluttered auralike around it, despite the absence of a breeze. As he drew close, a gentle wind sprang from the earth itself, curling about him. It was as if he were undergoing inspection by a ghost.

Head tilted back, the figure was singing to the sky. Stars of especial brightness twinkled through the atmosphere as though responding to that song, as if replying with light via some mysterious stellar Morse code.

She sensed his approach, or heard his footsteps compressing the forest detritus, because she stopped and turned to look straight at him. The silenced song hung in the night air like a physical presence.

"Be careful here, Frank Sonderberg."

"Mouse, what are you doing out here? I mean, you’re singing: I can see that. But I thought you needed to save your voice for the Spinner?"

She smiled understandingly. "Sometimes I simply have to sing, regardless of other considerations. It’s like breathing to me. It relaxes me and keeps me whole." As he continued toward her she put up a warning hand. "Truly be careful, Frank, or you will fall."

A yard away from her he halted, grinning in the weak light. "Where? The creek?" He gestured to his right. "Not much of a tumble."

"Not into the creek." Her head cocked sideways and those enormous violet eyes shone like amethysts. "Are you a brave man, Frank Sonderberg? Do you have real courage?"

After all they’d been through recently he thought it was an unnecessary question, but he answered anyway. "Depends how you define brave, I guess. I’ve made it this far. I built up a nearly nationwide business on guts and determination, and I’ve never avoided a challenge. Never had to shoot anybody or anything, but I think I could if I had to."

"Weapons do not make a man brave. True bravery is here" — she touched a finger to her head — "and here." She repeated the same gesture, this time touching her hand to her chest above her heart. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"No more or less so than the average guy, I guess. Why?" Off to his right the creek rang like water from a dripping faucet. He doubted it was more than six feet deep.

"Not there," she told him. She appeared to hesitate for a moment, then turned and gestured. "Here. But watch your footing. If you slip I’m not strong enough to catch you."

"I’ll be careful." He tried to stand a little taller and keep his gut sucked in, always a strain and one that grew worse each year. In a moment he was standing alongside her. Though only of average height he towered above her slight form.

The wind was much stronger now. He turned away from her and looked toward his feet.

Six inches in front of his toes the earth vanished, along with the trees, mountains, and moonlight. A few incredibly distant objects fought vainly against the void, though what those minuscule pinpricks of light might be he could not tell. It was emptier than the night through which they’d driven to reach this place, an unholy abyss hard by his left foot.

He inhaled sharply. His brain screamed at him to step back from that awful infinity, but mindful of Mouse’s words he was determined to hold his ground. As he felt her left hand on his arm he knew what she’d said was true: if he fell she wouldn’t be able to drag him back. In spite of that her touch was immeasurably reassuring, the fingers warm on his bare skin.

"There are a few places where reality simply ends. Not just in this world but in every world. Places where nothing is, not even Chaos. The congruent void. This is one of those places. A dangerous place to stand, but an exhilarating spot to sing."

Frank wasn’t afraid of falling anymore, perhaps because he was frozen to the spot. Astonishing how the utter and complete absence of anything could be so fascinating.

"When I was a kid we used to dare each other to walk to the edge of a roof at school and step off." He slipped another inch forward and felt her fingers tighten on his arm.

"This is no place for childhood pranks," she warned him. "If you step off this soil you will never stop falling. You’ll never hit bottom because there is no bottom. You will just keep falling and falling until you perish of thirst or hunger or fear."

"What the hell. It’s just like the second floor at Whitney Elementary. The only thing that’s different is the scale."

Breathing fast, feeling the excitement course through him, he raised his left leg and stretched it out over emptiness. Then he lowered it, lowered it until his foot passed beneath the level of the ground on which he stood. As his right leg started to tremble, he stepped back. At the same time the tension in her fingers eased.

"That was a foolish thing to do, Frank."

He shrugged, inordinately pleased with himself. "We’re a foolish people. Besides, if you don’t do something a little crazy once in a while, life gets pretty damn stale. How many people can say they’ve stepped over the edge of the world? Wonder what Columbus’s boys would’ve made of this. Maybe some of those old sailors were right all along."

She shook her head but couldn’t keep herself from smiling. "Haven’t you done enough crazy things recently to last you a lifetime?"

"Those weren’t by choice. This was. You got to be in control to enjoy the craziness. Like in business." He looked behind him. The void was still there, threatening and infinite as before, however briefly conquered. "Call it juvenile if you want, but that felt pretty good."

"It was foolish. It was also a very brave thing for an ordinary man to try."

He was feeling slightly giddy and not a little wild. "Maybe I ain’t as ordinary as you think. Wasn’t I the one who stopped to pick you up?"

"That’s so. Perhaps more than coincidence was at work."

He chuckled. "Don’t get heavy on me. I’m just babbling. You ain’t one of those folks who believes that everything’s predetermined, are you? That we have no free will?"

"I believe," she replied evenly, "that certain deliberate confluences of people and places are possible." She’d moved closer to him. So near, her eyes were larger even than the void behind them. She smelled of faraway places and exotic ephemera.

There was something he couldn’t define. He recalled her impossible claim of age. Certainly she was older than she looked. Five, maybe ten years. Not centuries. Not millennia. He didn’t feel he was in the presence of an old woman. Quite the contrary.

Good God, she’s beautiful, he found himself thinking. Not in the fashion of the aspiring actresses he sometimes encountered in Los Angeles, nor in the classic sense of the portraits that hung on art museum walls. Like her silken dress, a kind of timeless elegance clung to her.

He discovered he was more nervous than he’d been when he’d suspended his leg over the edge of the world. He was more afraid of falling now, though it was an entirely different kind of falling that endangered him.

"Could you quit staring at me like that?"

Her gaze did not shift. "Why? Do I make you uneasy?"

"Uneasy, hell. You’re driving me nuts, and you know it. This is crazy. I mean, I probably am just an ordinary guy like you said. The top of my head already reflects too much light, I’m twenty pounds overweight, and the only special talent or ability I’ve got is for making money, which is no big deal where I come from."

"There is more than that," she whispered huskily, "even if you refuse to recognize it yourself. You are kind. You have a stubbornness in you that translates into bravery. You are full of love for your family and your fellow man."

"Maybe so, except for Oshmans," he said, naming his major competitor.

His attempt to make light of her deadly serious comments had no effect on her. She put her arms around his waist. "It’s easy to be brave when one is young and strong, much more difficult when one is not. Therein lies real courage."

"I told you, I’m not brave. I just like to do crazy stuff once in a while."

The evening chill had deserted them. It was downright hot there by the pond at the edge of the world. Despite all her denials she seemed to have considerable strength in those slim arms. Enough to pull him down toward her. Or maybe he bent. He was never sure.

The heat that seared him as they kissed awoke feelings and sensations dormant for twenty years. He found himself kissing back, unwilling to break the contact even though another part of him screamed for him to stop. She wouldn’t let him back away and, he had to admit, he didn’t struggle very hard.

When she finally pulled away, his whole body was on fire. She still wore that strange enigmatic smile as her hands slid away from his neck and the back of his head.

"Look," he told her, having to fight to find his voice, "I’ve never cheated on Alicia. Well, once, but that was a long time ago."

"Life is short," she whispered.

"Not according to you it ain’t. Of course, that was just a gag. Nothing lives that long. Maybe stars and sequoias and stuff. But not people." The fire was beginning to fade. He wanted it to linger and to leave. It had been much more than a natural kiss, much more. The brief, complete merging of two disparate individuals, a physical excuse for contact on a much deeper level.

"What did you do to me?"

"I kissed you."

"No. You did something else, something more."

"Only a kiss. Anything else you felt lay within you all the time. All I did was help you to unlock yourself. I am a key. I knew it would be worth it.

"The beautiful, the handsome people who bestride your world in awe of their own genetic good fortune are often dull and passionless, while those who do not match the artificial cultural ideal, who may be heavy or short, thin or dark, too light or too tall or too something, may have all manner of wondrous feelings bottled up inside them. Often they refuse to acknowledge their own potential. They are unable to recognize their true selves."

He was shaking his head. "That couldn’t have been my true self. Not good ol' Frank Percival Sonderberg."

"Why do you deny yourself? Why do you think you’ve been so successful at what you’ve tried?" She was chiding him the way she would a child. "You have achieved great things. There is greatness in all accomplishment. It’s not necessary to write great music or draw beautiful pictures, to discover new medicines or plumb ocean depths to achieve, to accomplish. You have overcome your own limitations and have excelled. Only the direction you’ve chosen is different. That does not reduce you in stature. Visibility and popularity are not signs of greatness as often as they are of simply being loud. They are more often the signature of vulgarity rather than achievement. It is what we do with ourselves that makes us great, not the value others place on those doings.

"You possess hidden resources, Frank. Most people do, but yours run deeper than most. I had to find out what kind of man you are."

"And did I pass the test, teacher?" Despite his flippancy he was intensely interested in her reply.

She hesitated, thinking. Then the most marvelous expression came over her face, as though her entire body was smiling. It lit up the night and spilled over into the great abyss.

"You’ll do."

He swallowed, then stepped past her, suddenly wanting to be away from the edge of the world. When he stopped and turned, the void had disappeared. There was only the moonlight shafting down between the trees and the distant shadowy ramparts of the mountains. He wondered if the void would reappear if he retraced his steps.

"I don’t know what I’ll do for," he said apologetically, "but while a lot of me screams to do otherwise, I’m afraid I won’t do for you. See, I love Alicia. She’s not as pretty as some and she’s not as bright as some and she’s probably not several other things as much as some, but then neither am I. So we make a pretty good match. We’re comfortable with each other.

"You talked about merging. Maybe it’s not the same kind of merging we just did, but Alicia and I merge on a lot of other levels. Pretty tight. So I’m sorry. If it’s comfort you’re looking for, why don’t you try Burnfingers Begay? I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige."

She shook her head slowly. "I could never make love to a crazy man."

"You believe he’s nuts?"

"He admits to it. Who am I to argue with him? Burnfingers Begay is a wondrous person I have yet to figure out. He is too much of a mystery for me to be intimate with. I prefer my love predictable."

She came toward him and he nearly panicked and ran. Because he knew that in spite of everything he’d said, if she kissed him like that a second time he wouldn’t be able to resist, wouldn’t want to resist.

"Burnfingers’s spirit is pure and unencumbered by guilt. It’s amazing to encounter someone like that in your corrupted world. I think maybe he’s a yeibichai."

"A what?" They were making their way back through the trees, following the cheerful creek toward the motel.

"A Navajo spirit. What kind, I don’t know."

"Come on. I mean, I know I just stepped over the edge of the world, but a spirit? Begay’s about the solidest-looking spirit I ever saw."

"You may be right. Perhaps he is only a man. A smart crazy man can fool people into thinking peculiar things. I am perceptive, but not perfect." She put her hand back on his arm, circling it through the crook of his elbow. "You cannot fly home to your Los Angeles, Frank."

"Don’t tell me stuff like that. Please. I’ve just about reached my limit."

"Your limit is greater than you know. I’m sure of that now. I can only tell you no matter how painful you may find the hearing of it that if you try to leave me now you’ll never see your home, your reality, again. You’ve come too far. Now I am your only link to that reality. You cannot abandon me any more than I can go on without you. I cannot prevent you from so doing, however."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed heavily. "I guess I’m stuck with you. Got no choice, right? It’s like Russian roulette. I can go ahead and pull the trigger, but if I guess wrong I don’t get a second try."

"I’m afraid so. If you leave me and try to drive or fly home you might just make it. Or you might slip onto another thread of reality. Then I would never be able to find you again. You and your lovely Alicia would be lost forever."

"From here on it’s all or nothing, is that it?"

She nodded. "You’ve crossed too many boundaries, jumped too many lines. There’s no going back now until we reach the Vanishing Point."

"Which is somewhere between here and Wyoming, right?"

"As you would define it, yes. You’re going to have to take me all the way."

"Just so long as you don’t expect me to go all the way."

She smiled up at him. "You see? Only a truly brave man would be able to joke about something so serious."

"Yeah. Or else I’m crazier than Burnfingers Begay. Knowing you’re in deep shit doesn’t make you brave. Just realistic."

"I know it pleases you to demean yourself because you think of yourself as unattractive and not as intelligent as some. You do yourself repeated injustices, Frank." She took both of his hands in hers and squeezed tightly. "You must take me all the way to the Vanishing Point."

"What about my wife and kids? They ain’t truly brave, or whatever it is you’re convinced I am."

"For that, I sorrow. I wish it were otherwise because of the great danger. I know how concern for their welfare preys upon your thoughts. Sadly, we have come this far together and so must continue to the end together. Console yourself in the knowledge that when the Spinner is soothed, reality will stabilize and you will be returned to a world no longer in danger of coming apart around you."

"Good thing I’m not paranoid or I wouldn’t be able to handle any of this." She freed his hands. They burned from the contact, as his lips still burned. "When we get to this Spinner I’m gonna have some choice words for it. What business does it have screwing up reality, anyway?"

"It is not a purposeful thing. Not even the Spinner is immune to illness and unhappiness."

"I hope we hit it off well. What’s it like, anyway? I know quite a bit about spinning. My stores only stock top-quality stuff. Jogging suits, sweat socks, uniforms, like that. Is the fabric of reality natural like cotton, or artificial like polyester?"

That made her laugh softly, as it was intended she should. It faded rapidly. When she spoke again it was in deadly earnest.

"The Anarchis will stop at nothing to prevent me from soothing the Spinner and realigning the fabric of existence. By now all the evil on every reality line will be watching and waiting, hoping to be the one that interrupts our journey. Evil thrives where Chaos reigns, remember, and nothing could do more to stimulate its expansion than the unraveling of order. Goodness requires the presence of stability, logic, and reason to do its work."

Frank considered thoughtfully. "You think maybe our little detours have been less than accidental?"

"It’s difficult to say. My being marooned in the desert for so long before you stopped to pick me up was an unlikely happenstance, as was your subsequent shunting to Hell. As for our detour to Pass Regulus, only Burnfingers Begay’s driving helped us escape from there."

Frank stepped around a tree. He ought to be exhausted, but there was no dozing in Mouse’s presence. Not when she was keyed up like this. She exuded enough energy and sense of purpose to keep an army awake.

We’re all the army she’s got, he told himself. Myself, Alicia, and the kids, and one crazy Comajo. Or maybe Burnfingers would prefer Navamanche.

"I know this isn’t a dream. I know it’s all happening for real. But every now and then I find myself wondering if it’s some kind of elaborate hallucination, if you’re a terrorist or foreign agent or something."

"Think of me as a foreign agent if it makes it easier for you. Think of the Anarchis as a terrorist. The analogy is not so very extreme. All terrorists are agents of Chaos to some degree. All affect the fabric of existence. All alter reality or attempt to do so. It is the degree to which they achieve their aims that matters."

"You said the aim of the Anarchis is Chaos. What’s the aim of Evil besides encouraging the spread of Chaos?"

"Extermination of the good. I’m sorry you’ve been put in this position, Frank, but I can’t change that. More than just your reality is at stake here. Mine is endangered as well. The fabric of existence weaves through all worlds. A single substantial rip anywhere" — she drew her hands apart sharply, as if ripping a sheet of paper in half — "can shock many worlds, many lines. The Anarchis will move quickly to exploit the smallest tear."

"Once reality gets ripped, how can you fix it?"

"I cannot. Only the Spinner can do that."

"What’s this Spinner like, anyway? Is it like you?"

"Oh, no." She laughed gently, bells in the night. "It is difficult to describe. Whatever you imagine will be insufficient. Grand it is, and vast."

"Must be pretty damn overpowering."

"You will see for yourself when we reach the Vanishing Point."

"You know, I think I’m starting to get a handle on this. It’s kind of like how a foul-up at a critical point affects a whole company. The ripple effect."

"You would be surprised how few differences there are, Frank, between existential philosophy and commerce."

"No kiddin'? I’m afraid my readings in philosophy don’t go any further than Andrew Carnegie and Lee Iacocca’s autobiography."

"That may be, but you have an instinctive grasp of how things connect in order to work together. That is philosophical knowledge at its most practical. Reality is not so very different."

"That so? You won’t mind if I throw out the philosophy and just look at this as a question of getting from point A to point B without getting killed?"

"Think of it however it pleases you."

"Hey, I may be crude, but I have shallow depths nobody’s plumbed yet."

"There you go, demeaning yourself again."

"Yeah. But only among friends."