"Look over there." He pointed to a small Wall. "They're alive and performing, aren't they, Mrs. Davis?" She looked at the Wall. Alice and Lester were planting a small rose bush together. "You see, occasionally women do suffer from delusions like yours," he said. "But now that you've recovered, I'll drive you home. After a quiet night you'll forget all this." "They aren't delusions," she insisted. "I did it, with my husband's gun. I waited until they closed the door, then I aimed--I know I did it." "Yes, certainly," he said, leading her to the door. "Now come along home, Mrs. Davis." She continued to protest, but he pulled her through the corridors and down the steps to a waiting car. He nudged her into the front seat. * * * * * They passed darkened buildings. She saw the neon sign atop the _Herald_ offices ahead. If no one knew she'd killed them, no one would awaken. No one would live again. The world would end after all. She opened the door and jumped from the moving car. Stumbling, she ran toward the _Herald_ offices. She stumbled into the building and began seeking through its bright corridors. Stopping to stare at each office door, she finally found the one labeled "Editorial. Mr. Gray." She pushed into the office. The little man behind the desk wore horn-rim glasses and smoked a pipe that was a copy of Lester's. He smiled paternally. "Yes, dear?" "I killed them! They're all dead!" Realizing excitement did nothing to make her words more believable, she forced herself to be calm. Editor Gray wore his gray hair combed straight back, Lester-like. He stood, putting one hand into his trouser pocket, as Lester always did. "Who did you kill?" he asked quietly. "Calm down, dear. Tell me who you killed." "Lester and all the rest. You have to print it. I shot them--they're dead. Print it in your paper." He crossed the room to his Wall. Bass and Kippie were rolling pie dough together, one on either end of the rolling pin. "I'm afraid you're imagining these things, my dear." He sucked his pipe, looking lovingly at Kippie. "I could love that child, but of course Alice would be jealous." She backed away from him into the arms of the tweedy man, who had come into the office. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir," he said. "This poor woman is suffering from delusions. I was driving her home when she escaped me." "That's all right," Editor Gray said mildly. "Perhaps she needs professional help. Have you considered that, my dear?" But Amanda was staring at Bass. She stared at his penetrating eyes, his broad shoulders, at the curl of hair combed low over his forehead. The curl was swirled left, not right. The tweedy man took her arm, guided her from the building and nudged her into the car. Do they curl a dead actor's hair differently, she wondered. She had killed them. Why weren't they dead? * * * * *