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〃Gage！〃 he yelled。 〃e give your dad a kiss！〃
Gage ignored this。 He was following Ellie downstairs as rapidly as he could； yelling 〃Get it！ Get…it…get…it…GET…IT！〃 at the top of his lungs。 Louis caught just a glimpse of his sturdy little kid's body； clad only in diapers and rubber pants。
Rachel called up again； 〃Louis； was that you？ You awake？〃
〃Yeah；〃 he said； sitting up。
〃Told you he was！〃 Ellie called。 〃I'm goin。 Bye！〃 The slam of the front door and Gage's outraged bellow punctuated this。
〃One egg or two？〃 Rachel called。
Louis pushed back the blankets and swung his feet out onto the nubs of the hooked rug； ready to tell her he'd skip the eggs； just a bowl of cereal and he'd run。 。 。 and the words died in his throat。
His feet were filthy with dirt and pine needles。
His heart leaped up in his throat like a crazy jack…in…the…box。 Moving fast； eyes bulging； teeth clamped unfeelingly on his tongue； he kicked the covers all the way back。 The foot of the bed was littered with needles。 The sheets were mucky and dirty。
〃Louis？〃
He saw a few errant pine needles on his knees； and suddenly he looked at his right arm。 There was a scratch there on the bicep； a fresh scratch； exactly where the dead branch had poked him in the dream。
I'm going to scream。 I can feel it。
And he could too； it was roaring up from inside； nothing but a big cold bullet of fear。 Reality shimmered。 Reality…the real reality； he thought…was those needles； the filth on the sheets； the bloody scratch on his bare arm。
I'm going to scream and then I'll go crazy and I won't have to worry about it anymore… 〃Louis？〃 Rachel was ing up the stairs。 〃Louis； did you go back to sleep？〃
He grappled for himself in those two or three seconds； he fought grimly for himself just as he had done in those moments of roaring confusion after Pascow had been brought into the Medical Center； dying in a blanket。 He won。 The thought which tipped the scales was that she must not see him this way； his feet muddy and coated with needles； the blankets tossed back onto the floor to reveal the muck…splashed ground sheet。
〃I'm awake；〃 he called cheerfully。 His tongue was bleeding from the sudden； involuntary bite he had given it。 His mind swirled； and somewhere deep inside； away from the action； he wondered if he had always been within touching distance of such mad irrationalities； if everyone was。
〃One egg or two？〃 She had stopped on the second or third riser。 Thank God。
〃Two；〃 he said； barely aware of what he was saying。 〃Scrambled。〃
〃Good for you；〃 she said； and went back downstairs again。
He closed his eyes briefly in relief； but in the darkness he saw Pascow's silver eyes。 His eyes flew open again。 Louis began to move rapidly； putting off any further thought。 He jerked the bedclothes off the bed。 The blankets were okay。 He separated out the two sheets； balled them up； took them into the hallway； and dumped them down the laundry chute。
Almost running； he entered the bathroom； jerked the shower handle on； and stepped under water so hot it was nearly scalding； unmindful。 He washed the dirt from his feet and legs。
He began to feel better； more in control。 Drying off； it struck him that this was how murderers must feel when they believe they have gotten rid of all the evidence。 He began to laugh。 He went on drying himself； but he also went on laughing。 He couldn't seem to stop。
〃Hey； up there！〃 Rachel called。 〃What's so funny？〃
〃Private joke；〃 Louis called back； still laughing。 He was frightened； but the fright didn't stop the laughter。 The laughter came； rising from a belly that was as hard as stones mortared into a wall。 It occurred to him that shoving the sheets down the laundry chute was absolutely the best thing he could have done。 Missy Dandridge came in five days a week to vacuum； clean 。 。 。 and do the laundry。 Rachel would never see those sheets at all until she put them back on the bed。 。 。 clean。 He supposed it was possible that Missy would mention it to Rachel； but he didn't think so。 She would probably whisper to her husband that the Creeds were playing some strange sex game that involved mud and pine needles instead of body paints。
This thought made Louis laugh all the harder。
The last of the giggles and chuckles dried up as he was dressing； and he realized that he felt a little better。 How that could be he didn't know； but he did。 The room looked normal now except for the stripped bed。 He had gotten rid of the poison。 Maybe 〃evidence〃 was actually the word he was looking for； but in his mind it felt like poison。
Perhaps this is what people do with the inexplicable； he thought。 This is what they do with the irrational that refuses to be broken down into the normal causes and effects that run the Western world。 Maybe this was how your mind coped with the flying saucer you saw hovering silently over your back field one morning； casting its own tight little pool of shadow； the rain of frogs； the hand from under the bed that stroked your bare foot in the dead of night。 There was a giggling fit or a crying fit。。。and since it was its own inviolable self and would not break down； you simply passed terror intact； like a kidney stone。
Gage was in his chair； eating Cocoa Bears and decorating the table with it。 He was decorating the plastic mat under his high chair with Cocoa Bears and apparently shampooing with it。
Rachel came out of the kitchen with his eggs and a cup of coffee。 〃What was the big joke； Lou？ You were laughing like a loon up there。 Scared me a little。〃
Louis opened his mouth with no idea of what he was going to say； and what came out was a joke he had heard the week before at the corner market down the road…something about a Jewish tailor who bought a parrot whose only line was 〃Ariel Sharon jerks off。〃
By the time he finished； Rachel was laughing too…so was Cage for that matter。
Fine。 Our hero has taken care of all the evidence…to wit： the muddy sheets and the loony laughter in the bathroom。 Our hero will now read the morning paper…or at least look at it…putting the seal of normality on the morning。
So thinking； Louis opened the paper。
That's what you do； all right； he thought with immeasurable relief。 You pass it like a stone； and that's the end of it。 。 。 unless there es a campfire some night with friends when the wind is high and the talk turns to inexplicable events。 Because on campfire nights when the wind is high； talk is cheap。
He ate his eggs。 He kissed Rachel and Gage。 He glanced at the square； white…painted laundry cabinet at the foot of the chute only as he left。 Everything was okay。 It was another knockout of a morning。 Late summer showed every sign of just going on forever； and everything was okay。 He glanced at the path as he backed the car out of the garage； but that was okay too。 Never turned a hair。 You passed it like a stone。
Everything was okay until he had gotten ten miles down the road； and then the shakes hit him so hard that he had to pull off Route z and into the morning…deserted parking lot of Sing's； the Chinese restaurant not far from the Eastern Maine Medical Center 。 。 。 where Pascow's body would have been taken。 The EMMC； that is； not Sing's。 Vic Pascow was never going to eat another helping of moo goo gai pan； ha…ha。
The shakes twisted his body； ripped at it； had their way with it。 Louis felt helpless and terrified…not terrified of anything supernatural； not in this bright sunshine； but simply terrified of the possibility that he might be losing his mind。 It felt as if a long； invisible wire was being twirled through his head。
〃No more；〃 he said。 〃Please； no more。〃
He fumbled for the radio and got Joan Baez singing about diamonds and rust。 Her sweet； cool voice soothed him； and by the time she had finished； Louis felt that he could drive on。
When he got to the Medical Center； he called hello to Charlton and then ducked into the bathroom； believing that he must look like hell。 Not so。 He was a little hollow under the eyes； but not even Rachel had noticed that。 He slapped some cold water on his face； dried off； bed his hair； and went into his office。
Steve Mast