"What did you say her name was?" he asked.

I looked at him again. Okay, so he didn't even believe one percent.

And why should he? And why should I? I started to cry again.

Testimony of Bill Smith

The lady was a lot more disturbed than I'd figured. I did my best to piece it together, almost like I'd handle an airplane crash.

The baby had some sort of congenital disease. I'm not an expert on those kinds of problems, but a couple of things occurred to me. Such as: the mother had syphilis, or she was a heroin addict while she was carrying the child. What else could have given her such guilt? Why else would she be telling her story in such crazy metaphors? The child died before her second birthday. Or maybe not. There was a possibility she was a vegetable kept alive by machines.

Come to that, the welfare department might have taken the kid. Maybe she was living with her foster parents. There was just no way I could tell.

So it was well established Louise was crazy. The more she talked, the more certain it was.

I've got a reaction to crazy people. I'd prefer to have nothing to do with them. She might get violent. There was no telling what she might imagine, what she might decide to blame me for.

Yet I didn't feel it this time.

It's true I was emotionally exhausted when she was through. It's true the back of my neck was getting sore from all the sympathetic nods I'd been giving her. But it didn't matter. I still liked her. I still wanted to be with her.

Testimony of Louise Baltimore

"I haven't got much time left," I said, when I'd finished telling him a story he had no background to comprehend. "I think I'll go freshen up." I glanced at my watch. "After all, at ten in the morning I turn into a pumpkin."

I studied my face in the bathroom mirror. Same old Louise. Same old idiot.

"See," I told myself. "You were making a lot of fuss about nothing. You told him the thing you least wanted to talk about, and he didn't believe a word. You might call that an anticlimax."

I started coughing before I got through the speech. I found my Vicks inhaler and took a deep whiff, hoping the stench -- to Bill's nose -- wouldn't foul up the whole room. Then I took off my clothes and got in the shower.

Sherman had cooked up a whole sub-plot to begin at this point. It was cuter than hell, chock full of lines borrowed from the likes of Katharine Hepburn and Jean Arthur, that ended up with me falling into his arms and -- I presume -- waves crashing on the beach as we faded tastefully away. Trouble was, it only works like that in movies. We'd met cute; that was about all the cuteness I could stand. It was time to leave the thirties and forties and get right into the explicit eighties.

So I got out of the shower and opened the door.

Testimony of Bill Smith

She seemed to enjoy it. At least, if she didn't, she made all the right noises. God knows I enjoyed it. I felt she was at least as hungry for sex as I was, and I'd never been so hungry.

When it was over she reached for her cigarettes, and that annoyed me just a little. Maybe I needed something to complain about. Maybe all of a sudden my life was too good.

"Do you always smoke right after you make love?"

She looked down at her crotch, and the punch line passed between us without her needing to deliver it. We both laughed. She lit up, and took a long drag, let the smoke out very slowly.

She seemed utterly content.

"I smoke after everything, Bill. I smoke before everything. If I could figure out a way to smoke while I was sleeping, I'd do it. It's only my inhuman self-restraint that leads me to smoke them one at a time in your presence."

"I suppose you know what the Surgeon General has determined."

"I can read the side of the box."

"Then why do you smoke?"

"Because I like the taste. It reminds me of home. And because getting lung cancer would be like a half-inch snowfall at the north pole."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm already dying of a horrible disease."

I looked at her, but her eyes weren't giving anything away. It could be the literal truth, or another of her weird delusions, or she could just be pulling my leg.

I'd been proud of myself when I'd decided, back at the restaurant, that she was lying to me. Now, I couldn't read her at all.

"We're all dying, Bill," she said. "Life is invariably fatal."

"I'd say you had quite a while to live yet, though."

"You'd be wrong."

"Why did you run yesterday morning? When I asked you for a cup of coffee?"

She stubbed out her smoke, lit another.

"I didn't expect to see you there. l was looking for something else."

"Do you really work for United?"

She grinned at me.

"What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy."

"I know that. The truth just isn't good enough for some people."

I thought it over.

"Yeah. I do think you work for United. I think you just have fun making people feel foolish. You like to keep them off-balance."

"If you insist."

"I think you were shocked by something else. Like bloody toys, and torn-up Christmas presents."

She sighed, and looked at me with sad eyes.

"You've discovered my dark secret. I've got a soft heart." She looked away from my face, down quite a bit lower, and stubbed out a cigarette half-smoked. From her, it was a startling gesture.

"You ready to do it again?" she asked.

Testimony of Louise Baltimore

The mission was still there, though I'd practically forgotten it. I had to keep reminding myself: what you're here for is to change him, to keep him from going back to that hangar in the middle of the night and meeting an earlier version of Louise Baltimore.

The fact that if he didn't go there a part of my life I'd already lived would be cancelled out, would never have happened, didn't bother me much. If the universe cancelled me out at least I'd fade away a contented woman. That's a lot better than I ever expected to get.

When I looked at my watch it was seven in the morning, and we were still sitting there in bed, naked, laughing and talking as the sun came up outside. I don't know who suggested sleeping, but eventually we seemed headed in that direction. I didn't think I'd have much trouble keeping him away from the investigation tomorrow. For one thing, this C. Gordon Petcher item was certain to arrive some time that morning, taking a lot of pressure off Bill.

He could plead illness, spend the day in bed.

At least I kept telling myself that.

The whole Window C business had turned out very strange. I had broken security up one side and down the other. I had told him the literal truth about many things. And I had not been believed.

Strangely, I saw that as a good sign. He thought I was a kook, and yet he didn't seem-to mind too much, Could it be so hard for the lovely kook with all the crazy stories to enchant this man long enough to keep him out of that hangar tonight? Even if she was destined to turn into a pumpkin at ten A.M., Pacific Standard Time?

Testimony of Bill Smith

We laughed in each other's arms, roaring drunk, and made love again, more slowly. We laughed some more, and made love some more. I impressed even myself. I hope she appreciated it.

I have no idea when I got to sleep. It didn't seem to matter.

But it did. Oh, it did.

I came out of bed like a guided missile ...

... and bumped my nose on the wall. I stood staring stupidly at it as my hungover thoughts arranged themselves into a dim state of awareness.

The alarm didn't ring. What's this wall doing here? Who am I where am I what am I why am I ...