[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
colored the same shade of red as the sandstone on which the complex was
constructed. For a while he considered running down to join Charlie for a
late-night chat and maybe a dip in the simulated desert pool, hoping to forget
the ridiculous situation in which he found himself.
Except that it was real, this love, and how could love be considered
ridiculous? That thought made him smile and he sipped at the cold water. The
Page 22
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
face would not leave him alone for a second. He could still see it sharply in
his mind's eye. It called out to him, pulled insistently, clung to his psyche
like a limpet to a piling. Phantom, ghost, dream, obsession-whatever adjective
he appended to the beauty didn't matter.
Obviously he was going to have to do something about it.
He didn't sleep very well that night. The face never left him. Somus tablets
helped only a little and he was afraid to try anything stronger. He tossed
restlessly on the chilled waterbed. When he finally sat up, nearly an hour
before the alarm was due to go off, it seemed as though he'd never been
asleep.
Charlie's chatter about obsessions and his own comment that some obsessions
were necessary came back to haunt him. Not that his friend's common sense
would stop him from pursuing the matter. His confused mind gave him no
alternatives. A sharp ring shook him out of his torpor. Sitting in dark
silence on the bed, he'd forgotten to turn off the alarm.
He rubbed exhaustedly at his eyes and listened to the steady drip of the
brewer in the kitchen as it processed his morning coffee. More programming
he'd forgotten to change.
Not that coffee now was a bad idea. Soon he'd have to get dressed. There were
schematics to proof, hard copies to be approved, a presentation to be
prepared. The Hong Kong trip could be an important milestone in his career.
In the bathroom he washed his face, noted the redness in his eyes. Suddenly he
found an unfamiliar face staring back at him.
It should have been Eric Abbott, age thirty-one, first junior designer for
Selvern, Inc. It had to be.
This is my house, he thought. My best friend lives down the hill, and his name
is Charles Simms. There is a girl in our building at work, a very pretty girl,
who I believe wants to go to bed with me. Her name is
Gabriella Marquez. I am six feet one inches tall and weigh 185 pounds, thanks
more to good genes than regular exercise.
I am not obsessed. That's unhealthy. I've always been healthy, in body and
spirit, and I'm not going to change now.
But what about the stranger in the mirror? Mightn't he change, in
unpredictable, unpleasant ways?
Mightn't he fixate in a fashion alien to Eric Abbott?
The longer he stared, the more the face seemed to change. The eyes widened,
the lashes above lengthened. Black hair grew long and wavy and the neck
serpentined. Then features began to soften and flow like plastic, until no
face at all looked back at him from the glass. There was only a featureless,
pulsating mass of flesh, all meat and no soul.
He twisted violently away from the mirror, knocking a bottle of aftershave to
the floor. It bounced off the vinyl, caromed off the base of the commode, and
tumbled to a stop in a comer. Green liquid sloshed from side to side inside
the container, looking the way his guts felt.
He leaned on the sink, suddenly in need of support. For the first time he
could remember, he felt queasy.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruisw...paar/Alan%20Dean%20Fost
er%20-%20The%20I%20Inside.txt (22 of 165)19-2-2006 21:56:45
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruiswijk/Mijn%20documenten/spaa
r/Alan%20Dean%20Foster%20-%20The%20I%20Inside.txt
Crazy, this is crazy, he thought frantically. Maybe Charlie's right. This
can't be love, or even romance.
Those are healthy feelings and right now I don't feel real good. Time to grow
up. Time to forget this and get on with real life.
He reached for the half-open dresser drawer and his bolo tie. His hand paused,
hovering over the small jewelry box, then retreated. Turning, he picked up the
phone and cupped the receiver to his ear. For a long moment he stood there.
Then, with the same forcefulness with which he'd pulled his hand away from the
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
drawer, he dialed the eighty-fourth floor of the Selvern Tower. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
colored the same shade of red as the sandstone on which the complex was
constructed. For a while he considered running down to join Charlie for a
late-night chat and maybe a dip in the simulated desert pool, hoping to forget
the ridiculous situation in which he found himself.
Except that it was real, this love, and how could love be considered
ridiculous? That thought made him smile and he sipped at the cold water. The
Page 22
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
face would not leave him alone for a second. He could still see it sharply in
his mind's eye. It called out to him, pulled insistently, clung to his psyche
like a limpet to a piling. Phantom, ghost, dream, obsession-whatever adjective
he appended to the beauty didn't matter.
Obviously he was going to have to do something about it.
He didn't sleep very well that night. The face never left him. Somus tablets
helped only a little and he was afraid to try anything stronger. He tossed
restlessly on the chilled waterbed. When he finally sat up, nearly an hour
before the alarm was due to go off, it seemed as though he'd never been
asleep.
Charlie's chatter about obsessions and his own comment that some obsessions
were necessary came back to haunt him. Not that his friend's common sense
would stop him from pursuing the matter. His confused mind gave him no
alternatives. A sharp ring shook him out of his torpor. Sitting in dark
silence on the bed, he'd forgotten to turn off the alarm.
He rubbed exhaustedly at his eyes and listened to the steady drip of the
brewer in the kitchen as it processed his morning coffee. More programming
he'd forgotten to change.
Not that coffee now was a bad idea. Soon he'd have to get dressed. There were
schematics to proof, hard copies to be approved, a presentation to be
prepared. The Hong Kong trip could be an important milestone in his career.
In the bathroom he washed his face, noted the redness in his eyes. Suddenly he
found an unfamiliar face staring back at him.
It should have been Eric Abbott, age thirty-one, first junior designer for
Selvern, Inc. It had to be.
This is my house, he thought. My best friend lives down the hill, and his name
is Charles Simms. There is a girl in our building at work, a very pretty girl,
who I believe wants to go to bed with me. Her name is
Gabriella Marquez. I am six feet one inches tall and weigh 185 pounds, thanks
more to good genes than regular exercise.
I am not obsessed. That's unhealthy. I've always been healthy, in body and
spirit, and I'm not going to change now.
But what about the stranger in the mirror? Mightn't he change, in
unpredictable, unpleasant ways?
Mightn't he fixate in a fashion alien to Eric Abbott?
The longer he stared, the more the face seemed to change. The eyes widened,
the lashes above lengthened. Black hair grew long and wavy and the neck
serpentined. Then features began to soften and flow like plastic, until no
face at all looked back at him from the glass. There was only a featureless,
pulsating mass of flesh, all meat and no soul.
He twisted violently away from the mirror, knocking a bottle of aftershave to
the floor. It bounced off the vinyl, caromed off the base of the commode, and
tumbled to a stop in a comer. Green liquid sloshed from side to side inside
the container, looking the way his guts felt.
He leaned on the sink, suddenly in need of support. For the first time he
could remember, he felt queasy.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruisw...paar/Alan%20Dean%20Fost
er%20-%20The%20I%20Inside.txt (22 of 165)19-2-2006 21:56:45
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruiswijk/Mijn%20documenten/spaa
r/Alan%20Dean%20Foster%20-%20The%20I%20Inside.txt
Crazy, this is crazy, he thought frantically. Maybe Charlie's right. This
can't be love, or even romance.
Those are healthy feelings and right now I don't feel real good. Time to grow
up. Time to forget this and get on with real life.
He reached for the half-open dresser drawer and his bolo tie. His hand paused,
hovering over the small jewelry box, then retreated. Turning, he picked up the
phone and cupped the receiver to his ear. For a long moment he stood there.
Then, with the same forcefulness with which he'd pulled his hand away from the
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
drawer, he dialed the eighty-fourth floor of the Selvern Tower. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]