It was only then that Fleetwood noticed that Dermitt had renewed his intentions with the gun. With frenzied eyes he was sighting down the barrel. Fleetwood tried to control the churning sensation in his head. The distinction between reality and imagination was lost to him too. Where, he wondered frantically, did one begin and the other end? "Okay, Cassidy," Dermitt gritted. "This is the finish. Period!" _"Ring-a-ling-a-ling, madam?" Kitty snickered, presenting herself in front of Fleetwood._ "Get out of the way, Kitty," Fleetwood said. She looked around at him. "Oh, Fleetwood!" she smiled. "I like you so much." Then with a sudden frown, as though remembering something unpleasant, she dealt him a stinging blow across the mouth and moved rapidly away. "Period!" Dermitt screamed and curled his finger down over the trigger. Fleetwood threw himself to the floor in conjunction with the explosion of the gun. It was close timing. The bullet thunked into the wall behind him. Whether it was by accident or some unconscious planning in his mind, his hand slapped down over the grip of the gun on the floor. All in one movement, he grasped the gun, rolled over and fired blind in Dermitt's direction. There was a scream of pain, a beat of silence, then a dull thud. Fleetwood jumped to his feet, holding the gun ready. "Oh, my God!" Fleetwood gasped. Across the room, huddled on the floor, Dermitt sat in a spattering of his own blood, clutching his stomach. Fleetwood ran to him. "Dermitt!" he cried. "I'm hit in the stomach," Dermitt groaned. "You've got to help me, Cassidy, you've got to!" "Get out of the story!" Fleetwood said. "Get out of here before you die!" "I can't. I can't move. Something's gone wrong with my legs." "Let me help you up," Fleetwood said, slipping his hands quickly under Dermitt's arms. "I'll carry you." "No!" Dermitt screamed. "No! I can't stand the pain!" Fleetwood released him. "What can I do?" he asked helplessly. "Oh, Lord!" Dermitt wailed. "Let me think, let me think!" His face contorted as a spasm passed through his body. Then he relaxed again and opened his eyes. "You get out," he said. "That's it. Get to the typewriter as fast as you can ... rewrite this ... mark out the part where you shoot me ... make it a miss ... or a flesh wound.... It's the only way. But hurry, for Godsake!" "Okay," Fleetwood said. "I've got to get Kitty, though, and take her with me." "No," Dermitt put in quickly. "Write her out, too, when you get there. It'll be faster. Hurry, Cassidy, hurry! I can't stand too much more of this." "All right." Fleetwood said. He whirled about and ran for the door. He turned back once, just before leaving, to look at Kitty, but the room was already in a state of half-dissolve and she was only a dim, grey figure in the distance. He hurried outside. As he ran forward into the swirling blackness ahead, the house quickly evaporated behind him.... * * * * *