I prepared to drink her in.

There were no barriers between us. This was an experience as intense as when,making love, you lose all track of which body is your own and thought dissolvesinto the animal moment. For a giddy instant I was no less her than I was myself.I was the Widow staring fascinated into the filthy depths of my psyche. She wasmyself witnessing her astonishment as she realized exactly how little I had everknown her. We both saw her freeze still to the core with horror. Horror not ofwhat I was doing.

But of what I was.

I can't take any credit for what happened then. It was only an impulse, a spasmof the emotions, a sudden and unexpected clarity of vision. Can a single flashof decency redeem a life like mine? I don't believe it. I refuse to believe it.Had there been time for second thoughts, things might well have gonedifferently. But there was no time to think. There was only time enough to feelan up welling of revulsion, a visceral desire to be anybody or anything but myown loathsome self, a profound and total yearning to be quit of the burden ofsuch memories as were mine. An aching need to just once do the moral thing.

I let go.

Bobbing gently, the swollen corpus of my past floated up and away, carrying withit the parasitic Corpsegrinder. Everything I had spent all my life accumulatingfled from me. It went up like a balloon, spinning, dwindling ... gone. Leavingme only what few flat memories I have narrated here.

I screamed.

And then I cried.

I don't know how long I clung to the fence, mourning my loss. But when Igathered myself together, the Widow was still there.

"Danny," the Widow said. She didn't touch me. "Danny, I'm sorry."

I'd almost rather that she had abandoned me. How do you apologize for sins youcan no longer remember? For having been someone who, however abhorrent, is goneforever? How can you expect forgiveness from somebody you have forgotten socompletely you don't even know her name? I felt twisted with shame and misery."Look," I said. "I know I've behaved badly. More than badly. But there ought tobe some way to make it up to you. For, you know, everything. Somehow. I mean--"

What do you say to somebody who's seen to the bottom of your wretched andinadequate soul?

"I want to apologize," I said.

With something very close to compassion, the Widow said, "It's too late forthat, Danny. It's over. Everything's over. You and I only ever had the one traitin common. We neither of us could ever let go of anything. Small wonder we'reback together again. But don't you see, it doesn't matter what you want or don'twant--you're not going to get it. Not now. You had your chance. It's too late tomake things right." Then she stopped, aghast at what she had just said. But weboth knew she had spoken the truth.

"Widow," I said as gently as I could,

"I'm sure Charlie--"

"Shut up."

I shut up.

The Widow closed her eyes and swayed, as if in a wind. A ripple ran through herand when it was gone her features were simpler, more schematic, lessrecognizably human. She was already beginning to surrender the anthropomorphic.

I tried again. "Widow ... " Reaching out my guilty hand to her.

She stiffened but did not draw away. Our fingers touched, twined, mated.

"Elizabeth," she said. "My name is Elizabeth Connelly."

We huddled together on the ceiling of the Roxy through the dawn and the blankhorror that is day. When sunset brought us conscious again, we talked throughhalf the night before making the one decision we knew all along that we'd haveto make.

It took us almost an hour to reach the Seven Sisters and climb down to thehighest point of Thalia.

We stood holding hands at the top of the mast. Radio waves were gushing out fromunder us like a great wind. It was all we could do to keep from being blownaway.

Underfoot, Thalia was happily chatting with her sisters. Typically, at ourmoment of greatest resolve, they gave not the slightest indication of interest.But they were all listening to us. Don't ask me how I knew.

"Cobb?" Elizabeth said. "I'm afraid."

"Yeah, me too." A long silence. Then she said, "Let me go first. If you gofirst, I won't have the nerve."

"Okay."

She took a deep breath--funny, if you think about it--and then she let go, andfell into the sky.

First she was like a kite, and then a scrap of paper, and at the very last shewas a rapidly tumbling speck. I stood for a long time watching her falling,dwindling, until she was lost in the background flicker of the universe, justone more spark in infinity.

She was gone and I couldn't help wondering if she had ever really been there atall. Had the Widow truly been Elizabeth Connelly? Or was she just anotherfragment of my shattered self, a bundle of related memories that I had to cometo terms with before I could bring myself to let go? A vast emptiness seemed tospread itself through all of existence. I clutched the mast spasmodically then,and thought: I can't!

But the moment passed. I've got a lot of questions, and there aren't any answershere. In just another instat, I'll let go and follow Elizabeth (if Elizabeth shewas) into the night. I will fall forever and I will be converted to backgroundradiation, smeared ever thinner and cooler across the universe, a smooth,uniform, and universal message that has only one decode. Let Thalia carry mystory to whoever cares to listen. I won't be here for it.

It's time to go now. Time and then some to leave. I'm frightened, and I'm going.

Now.