A curious intensity emanating from behind the eccentric spectacles caused Fleetwood to give ground. He turned to Kitty to warn her to stay behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words shriveled on his tongue as she met his gaze darkly, with a look of extreme loathing, then turned on her heel and marched back into the living room. Fleetwood whirled back to Dermitt. "It's no use," Dermitt said smoothly, "she's back in character. And you'll follow her lead if you know what's good for you--and her." Fleetwood turned and followed Kitty back into the center of the room, toward the divan. "Kitty ..." he said, but she gave no sign that she even heard him. _"Hi, Lester," Mario said._ He was restored to dimension. _"Havin' a little trouble?" Dermitt said from the corner of his mouth. "I heard a shot."_ "Boy, are you corny," Fleetwood said spitefully. "You're all this stinker needed." Dermitt swiveled his gun in his direction. _"He got a rod from the lady," Mario smiled. "I had to slap his wrist with a bullet to get him to let go."_ _"He won't act up any more," Dermitt said. "If he does he'll be a dead character."_ Across the room Fleetwood swung around in a paroxysm of pain and grabbed his wrist. Blood began to drip again from the ends of his fingers. At his feet lay the gun, just as before. He had slipped back again into Dermitt's pattern of action. The writer had tricked him with the sudden pain. _"How about it, Cassidy?" Mario said. "You comin' outa here on your feet or by your heels? It doesn't matter a damn to me, you know."_ _"Okay," Fleetwood said. "Have it your way, Mario--for just a little while."_ _"For long enough," Lester snarled._ Fleetwood started forward, but the struggle within his mind, the straining effort to focus his mind in the direction of reality, did not cease. The pain throbbing in his hand, however, interfered badly. He bit his lip hard to provide a counter irritant. He stopped; the pain disappeared. "Now, dammit, Dermitt!" he said with final exasperation, "that doesn't even hold water, and you know it. Why would any guy in his right mind just shrug his shoulders and take off with a couple of murderous rats as calmly as though he were on his way to the garden to pick lilacs? Any guy would give himself a last chance and make a break for it. How in the devil can you expect your readers to swallow swill like that? I wouldn't even...." * * * * * There was something in Dermitt's round face--a dangerous angry red--that warned him to stop. The little man was on the verge--perhaps beyond. "So!" Dermitt exploded with a high scream. "You've not only ruined my story, now you're going to give me a lecture on writing! That does it absolutely, Cassidy, that's the end! I created you and, by God, I can destroy you too!"