several weeks. He began to grow a mustache and a beard. A steady stream of messengers started delivering food, newspapers, soap, and other personal necessities to his home and office.
There were rumors that Robert had become a recluse and that he was emaciated and had grown long craggy fingernails. When he heard these reports on radio and television, he smiled. Soon, very soon, he thought to himself, he would begin making an occasional appearance to test whether people would accept his new look. He exalted in the thought of coming out and becoming accepted. He felt that he could then really begin to live.
The day for Robert's first adventure into the outside world arrived. He had made arrangements to give a talk on how to invest at a local college. He got out of bed, dressed immaculately, sprayed some gray wig tint into his hair, mustache and beard. Satisfied, at last, that he had added just the right amount of age to his face, he began walking to the bathroom door.
Strangely, what should have been a simple maneuver required an extra effort of his will. His left leg seem reluctant to move, it seemed to have a mind of its own. It wanted to remain motionless while the rest of his body focused on the door. Puzzled, and with a strong exercise of the will, Robert partially walked the recalcitrant leg, partially dragged it, to its planned destination. He immediately regained control and the incident was forgotten.
Robert met the press before his lecture. A few reporters asked why he looked different. He confessed to a facelift and said that he had kept himself undercover for a long period of time because he wanted his new appearance to be a complete surprise to the outside world. Whatever suspicions others might have had were dispelled when he answered their questions with the kind of authority that only Robert Alfonse Moore could have commanded. Photos were taken during his talk and published in the papers.
Much to his distress, Roberts left leg proved to be unruly again the next day. He had ventured outdoors and, at the massive gate to his estate, had turned to walk right, but the obstinate leg had wanted to go left. He forced the leg to travel in the direction that he had intended. Greatly fatigued by this effort, he cut his outing short.
It happened again later the same day. While Robert was relaxing in his leather recliner, his unruly leg began pulling on him as if it were a dog tugging at his pants. The leg wanted to travel! It took all the mental strength that he could muster to keep this defiant member from carrying him off to some unknown destination.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Robert was compelled to call for assistance. Filled with foreboding, he dialed a number and heard Dr. Thorne's sleepy voice at the other end.
"Doctor, he began. "My left leg. It seems to have a will of its own. I know this sounds unbelievable, but at times, it will not obey the commands of my mind. It wants to go somewhere on its own, and I don't know where that is."
There was a long silence on the other end.
Dr. Thorne's voice finally crackled across the line. "I can't explain it all," he said, "but it might have something to do with the clone syndrome that we are just beginning to understand. It is known that every cell in the human body has the property to reproduce another human exactly like the owner of the body. It's possible that there is still a part of Benny Harris left somewhere within you. It may be that a remnant of Benny's brain, in your left leg, is attempting to control that leg."
Horrified, Robert asked what he could do.
"Wait for me," the doctor exclaimed. "We'll let the leg take us where it wants to. Maybe it just wants to go to the boxing ring," he said with a hint of sardonic humor in his voice.
Forty-five minutes later, Dr. Thorne arrived at the Moore mansion. Robert and the doctor sat and talked while waiting for the disorderly leg to begin expressing its will.
They did not have long to wait. "It's happening," cried Robert. "The leg, it's pulling at me.
"Go with it," Dr. Thorne cried out excitedly. "Let's see where it wants to go!"
With a cooperative Robert Moore, the leg led him and Dr. Thorne to Robert's Rolls-Royce. Through subtle motions transmitted to the young man's body, he was guided to drive to State Prison. Dr. Thorne gained entry to the prison. The car, along with its occupants, was allowed to drive to the prison's hospital. The rebellious leg was controlling all actions.
In the hospital, the perverse limb led the two men to a laboratory buried deep within the bowels of the huge prison. In the lab, the trek ended in front of a glass jar containing a human brain. The label on the jar read, Benjamin R Harris.
"That's Benny's brain," Dr. Thorne whispered in awe. "His leg has brought us here. It wants Benny's body reunited with his brain."
Quaking with fear, Robert gasped, "What can I do. Make it stop!"
"There is not a moment to lose," Dr. Thorne shouted. "The leg must be removed. With it, you will be tormented for the rest of your life."
"Anything, anything!" Blurted Robert. "Losing a leg is a small price to pay for peace."
Hastily, an operating room was prepared. The required attendant personnel were swiftly recruited. They were told that Roberts leg was infected and had to be amputated at once in order to save his life.
The operation was performed. Several hours later, Dr. Thorne visited Robert in the recovery room. "How are you feeling, Robert? He asked.
"All right, I guess," he responded. I have pain, but that's nothing compared to what I've gained. "Losing a leg isn't so bad. I can get an artificial one made up. Despite the setback, I can still enjoy the life I had planned."
"Of course," Dr. Thorne assured him "the nightmare is over. You can now…"
The doctor stopped speaking and stared intently at Roberts hands. "Why are you doing that?" He asked
"Doing what?" A frigid ice cube crept up Robert's spine.
"Why are you clenching your hands?"
He got his answer in an unexpected way. Just in time, Dr. Thorne was able to evade a vicious right and left combination thrown at him by Robert Moore's fists.
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