He turned on the telly for her, and as she turned her attention to a situation comedy, Alan turned to Charles.

"When's her next dialysis?"

Charles was speechless for a few seconds. "Did Sylvia tell you?"

He shook his head. "Didn't even know you were a father. I saw how pale she was, the puffiness around her eyes, and then I spotted the fistula when her cuff slipped up. Care to tell me about it?"

Charles made the long story short—chronic atrophic pyelonephritis due to congenital ureteral atresia, a contracted bladder, donor rejection, high cytotoxic antibody titers.

"Poor kid," Bulmer said, and there was genuine feeling in his eyes. But not all of it seemed to be for Julie.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Charles asked.

Bulmer tapped his forehead. "I can imagine what it cost you up here to bring her to me."

He went over and talked to Julie, gradually drawing her away from the telly. She responded to him, and soon she was babbling on and on about her dialysis treatments and how she measured her daily fluids and took her dozens of pills. Charles found himself responding to Bulmer, almost wishing, despite his abhorrence of the very thought of being in private practice, that he had his knack with people.

Suddenly Bulmer grasped both of Julie's shoulders and closed his eyes for a second. He shuddered and Julie gave a little cry of pain.

Charles leaped toward her. "What's wrong?"

"My back!"

He could feel his teeth baring as he turned toward Bulmer. "What did you do to her?"

"I think she'll be all right now."

"I'm okay, Daddy," Julie said. "He didn't touch my back. It just started to hurt."

Not knowing what to think, Charles hugged Julie to him.

"You're pretty lucky with your timing, you know," Bulmer said.

"What do you mean?"

"Bringing her here during the Hour of Power."

"It wasn't luck. I used the tide chart."

Bulmer looked at him as if he were crazy. "Tide chart? What's that got to do with it?"

"It's high tide now. That's what brings on your so-called Hour of Power."

"It does? When did you find that out? Why didn't you tell me?"

Charles felt a cool lump of dread settle on the back of his neck. "You don't remember me telling you?"

"Of course not! You never did!"

Charles had no intention of arguing with him. He called radiology and ordered a repeat PET scan in the morning, top priority. He had a dreadful suspicion as to the cause of Bulmer's cognitive deficits and abnormal scans.

But right now he wanted to get Julie home. It was time for her dialysis.

They said good-bye to the slightly confused Alan Bulmer and headed for the elevator. He let Julie press all the buttons, and she seemed as happy as a clam until they were about halfway to the ground floor. Suddenly she leaned forward and bent her knees, jamming her thighs together.

"Oh, Daddy, it hurts!"

Alarmed, he crouched beside her. "Where?"

"Down there!" she cried, pointing toward her pubic region. Then she was sobbing. "And it's all wet!"

He looked and he saw the wet stain spreading down her thighs, turning her jeans a darker shade of blue. The air within the elevator car filled with the unmistakable ammonia odor of the urine that was pouring out of a child who hadn't produced more than an ounce a week for years, pouring into a bladder that had forgotten how to hold it.

Charles" hugged his daughter against him as his chest threatened to explode. He closed his eyes in a futile attempt to muffle the sobs that racked his body from head to toe, and to hold back the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

___42.___

Alan

"When can we expect you?" Sylvia's voice said from the phone.

It was a sunny Monday morning and Alan longed to be with her. Now that his stay at the Foundation was nearly over, every extra minute here seemed like an eternity. He wished she were stretched out beside him on the bed right now.

"In a few hours," he said.

"In time for dinner?"

"I sure hope so. The food here isn't bad, but institutional food is institutional food. After dinner I'll see what I can do for Jeffy."

There was a pause on the other end, then: "Are you sure he'll be all right?"

"Can he be any worse?"

"Not much." Her voice suddenly brightened. "Anyway, it'll be nice to have a doctor around the house again."

"Not for long. I'll move into a motel and start getting the insurance straightened out on the house and get construction going on a new place."

"Alan Bulmer! You are staying here with me, and that's final!"

Her words warmed him. This was what he had wanted her to say, but he still felt compelled to put up a show of resistance.

"What will the neighbors say?"

"Who cares? What can either of us do to make our reputations any worse?"

"Good point, Mrs. Toad. I'll see you later." If I can remember how to get back to Monroe.

As Alan sat up on the bed and hung up, Axford walked into the room without knocking. He took three paces in from the doorway and stood there, staring at Alan. His face was pale and lined and haggard. He looked physically and emotionally exhausted.

"Her BUN is down to twenty-six," he said in a flat voice. "Her creatinine is down to two-point-seven. Both are still dropping. We spent most of the night running back and forth to the loo until about four a.m., when her sphincters started toning up and her bladder started stretching." His voice quavered and Alan could see the muscles of his throat working. "Her renal sonogram shows both kidneys have enlarged since her previous study, and a renal-flow scan shows normal function."

Alan was completely baffled. "Charles, is something wrong?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep, tremulous breath. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. Then he looked at Alan again.

"Whatever you want that I have or can get for you is yours. Just say the word. My right hand? I'll cut it off. My balls? Say the word."

Alan laughed. "Just get me out of here! And tell me what the hell you're talking about!"

Axford's eyes widened. "You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Oh, Christ! I—" He glanced over at the chair. "Can I sit down?"

Once he was seated, he faced Alan squarely and leaned forward. He seemed more in control of himself now and started to speak in low, measured tones.

Charles told Alan how he had cured Julie, Charles' daughter, of her chronic renal failure last night. And with each word Alan felt a terrible sick feeling grow within him, because he did not remember seeing Charles since yesterday afternoon, and didn't remember ever knowing that he had a daughter.

"All this leads to what I'm about to say, which is going to be tough for you to hear. But you've got to know and you've got to do something about it."

Charles paused, then said:

"You've got to stop using the Touch."

"What?"

"It could kill you."

Alan's mind whirled. How could something that healed kill him?

"I don't understand."

"That repeat PET scan you had this morning—it shows a significant increase in the nonfunctional areas of your brain."

"And you think there's a connection?"

"I'm sure of it. Look: You say your memory has deteriorated during the past few months. The Touch started a few months ago. Your baseline PET scan was abnormal and consistent with Alzheimer's. After a couple of days of not using the power, your PET scan improved and so did your mental function. Then you used the Touch last night and suddenly forgot that the Hour of Power coincides with high tide."

"It does?" It was news to Alan.

Charles ran a hand over his eyes. "This is worse than I thought. We discussed it Saturday, and again last night. I even showed you an EEG of yours that demonstrated it."