his kind. Defender of the Fixed Position might well have been histitle. With all his might and power, Bill Baker defended the FixedPosition he had chosen, the Fixed Position behind the wall ofEstablished Authority.
A blind spot, perhaps? But it seemed more than mere blindness that keptBaker so hotly defending his Fixed Position. It seemed as if, somehow,he was aware of its vulnerability and was determined to fight off anyand all attacks, regardless of consequences.
Fenwick didn't know. He felt as if it was less than hopeless, however,to attempt to change Bill Baker. Any change would have to be broughtabout by Baker himself. And that, at the moment, seemed far less likelythan the well-known snowball in Hades.
* * * * *
Fenwick knew he must have dozed off to sleep with the light still on inthe room and Ellerbee's unread book opened over his chest. He did notknow what time it was when he awoke. He was aware only of a suffocatingsensation as if some ghostly aura were within the room, filling it,pressing down upon him. A wailing of agony and despair seemed to scratchat his senses although he was certain there was no audible sound. And adepression clutched at his soul as if death itself had suddenly walkedunseen through the closed door.
Fenwick sat up, shivering in the sudden coolness of the room, but clammywith sweat over his whole body. He had never experienced such sensationsbefore in his life. His stomach turned to a hard ball under the flow ofpanic that surged through all his nerves.
He forced himself to sit quietly for a moment, trying to release hisfear-tightened muscles. He relaxed the panic in his stomach and lookedslowly about the room. He could recall no stimulus in his sleep that hadproduced such a reaction. He hadn't even been dreaming, as far as hecould tell. There was no recollection of any sound or movement withinthe house or outside.
He was calmer after a moment, but that sensation of death close at handwould not go away. He would have been unable to describe it if asked,but it was there. It filled the atmosphere of the room. It seemed toemanate from--
Fenwick turned his head about. It was almost as if there was somedefinite source from which the ghastly sensation was pouring over him.The walls--the air of the room--
His eyes caught the crystal on the table by the bed.
He could feel the force of death pouring from it.
His first impulse was to pick up the thing and hurl it as far as hecould. Then in saner desperation he leaped from the bed and threw on hisclothes. He grabbed the crystal in his hand and ran out through the doorand down the stairs.
Jim Ellerbee was already there in the living room. He was seated by theold-fashioned library table, his hand outstretched upon it. In his handlay the counterpart of the crystal Fenwick carried.
"Ellerbee!" Fenwick cried. "What's going on? What in Heaven's name iscoming out of these things?"
"Baker," said Ellerbee. "He smashed up on the road somewhere. He's outthere dying."
"Can you be sure? Then don't sit there, man! Let's get on our way!"
Ellerbee shook his head. "He'll be dead before we can get there."
"How do you know he cracked up, anyway? Can you read that out of thecrystal?"
Ellerbee nodded. "He kept it in his pocket. It's close enough to him totransmit the frantic messages of his dying mind."
"Then we've got to go! No matter if we get there in time or not."
Ellerbee shook his head again. "Sam is on his way over here. He's intouch with Baker. He says he thinks he can talk Baker back."
"_Talk_ him back? What do you mean by that?"
Ellerbee hesitated. "I'm not sure. In some ways Sam understands a lotmore about these things than I do. He can do things with the crystalsthat I don't understand. If he says he can talk Dr. Baker back, I thinkmaybe he can."
"But we can't depend on that!" Fenwick said frantically. "Can't we geton our way in the car and let Sam do what he thinks he can while wedrive? Maybe he can get Baker to hold on until we get him to a doctor."
"You don't understand," said Ellerbee. "Dr. Baker has gone over theedge. He's _dying_. I know what it's like. I looked into a dying mindonce before. There is nothing whatever that a doctor can do after anorganism starts dying. It's a definite process. Once started, it'sirreversible."
"Then what does Sam--?"
"Sam thinks he knows how to reverse it."
* * * * *
There wasn't much pain. Not as much as he would have supposed. He feltsure there was terrible damage inside. He could feel the warmth of bloodwelling up inside his throat. But the pain was not there. That was good.
In place of pain, there was a kind of infinite satisfaction and agrowing peace. The ultimate magnitude of this peace, which he couldsense, was so great that it loomed like some blinding glory.
This was death. The commitment and the decision had been made. But thiswas better than any alternative. He could not see how there could havebeen any question about it.
He was lying on his back in the wet clay of a bank below the road. Itwas raining, softly now, and he rather liked the gentle drop of it onhis face. Somewhere below him the hulk of his wrecked car lay on itsside. He could smell the unpleasant odor of gasoline. But all of thiswas less than nothing in importance to him now. Somewhere in the back ofhis mind was a remnant of memory of what he had been doing this day. Heremembered the name of John Fenwick, and the memory brought a faintamusement to his bloody lips. There had been some differences betweenhim and John Fenwick. Those differences were also less than nothing,now. All differences were wiped out. He gave himself up to the pleasureof being borne along on that great current that seemed to be carryinghim swiftly to a quiet place.
After a time, he remembered two other names, also. James Ellerbee andSam Atkins. He remembered a crystal, and it meant nothing. He rememberedthat it was in his pocket and that for some time he had felt a warmthfrom it, that was both pleasant and unpleasant. It was of no importance.He might have reached for it and thrown it farther from him, but his armon that side was broken.
He was glad that there was nothing--nothing whatever--that had anymagnitude of importance. Even his family--they were like fragments of along-ago dream.
He lay waiting quietly and patiently for the swiftly approachingdestination of ultimate peace. He did not know how long it would take,but he knew it could not be long, and even the journey was sweet.
It was while he waited, letting his mind drift, that he became aware ofthe intruder. In that moment, the pain boiled up in shrieking agony.
He had thought himself alone. He wanted above all else to be alone. Butthere was someone with him. He wasn't sure how he knew. He could simply_feel_ the unwanted presence. He strained to see in the wet darkness. Helistened for muted sounds. There was nothing. Only the presence.
"Go away!" he whispered hoarsely. "Go away, and leave me alone--whoeveryou are."
"No. Let me take you by the hand, William Baker. I have come to show youthe way back. I have come to lead you back."
"Leave me alone! Whoever you are, leave me alone!" Baker was consciousof his own voice screaming in the black night. And it was not onlyterror of the unknown presence that made him scream, but the physicalpain of crushed bones and torn flesh was sweeping like a torrent throughhim.
"Don't be afraid of me. You know me. You remember, we met thisafternoon. Sam Atkins. You remember, Dr. Baker?"
"I remember." Baker's voice was a painful gasp. "I remember. Now go awayand leave me alone. You can do nothing for me. I don't want you to doanything for me."
* * * * *
Sam Atkins. The crystal. Baker wished he could reach the cursed thingand hurl it away from him. That must be how Atkins was communicatingwith him. Yes, somehow it was possible. He had found no trick, nogimmick. Somehow, the miserable things worked.
But what did Sam Atkins want? He had broken in on a moment that was asprivate as a dream. There was nothing he could do. Baker was dying. Heknew he was dying. There was no medicine that could heal
the batteringhis body had taken. He had been slipping away into peace and release ofpain. He had no desire to have it interrupted.
There was no more evidence of Sam Atkins' presence. It was there--andBaker wished furiously that Atkins would let his death be a privatething--but he was not interfering now.
There was the faint suggestion of other presences, too. Baker thought hecould pick them out, Fenwick and Ellerbee. They were all gathered towatch him die through the crystals. It was unkind of them to sointrude--but it didn't really matter very much. He began driftingpleasantly again.
"William Baker." The soft voice of Sam Atkins shattered the peaceablerealm once more. "We must do some healing before we start back, Dr.Baker. Give me your hand, and come with me, Dr. Baker, while we touchthese tissues and heal