A chair fused with the bed. Laura was there, sitting on the chair, but also practically sitting in Kane's lap. He blinked rapidly and reached out, and his hand moved through the image of Laura, only Laura seemed solid, three-dimensional, very real indeed. Too real. "Get out," he whispered. "What--" Glass clinked loudly right in the room with him. The jukebox blared. Kane couldn't move. He sat rigidly, and the table was there, and all the Gang around it, and Phil there smiling and they were all around Kane drinking Scotch, double shots of Scotch, no ice. Lucille looked across the table and shook her lovely head slightly. There was concern, genuine concern, a kind of sadness, behind the false smile. The smile, he knew, was for the others. But the concern was for him. Phil raised his glass. Nine glasses were in the air. "Here's to us, happy Gang, Prof," Phil shouted. "Here's to us! Here's to Sunny Hill!" they shouted. Kane slowly moistened his lips. The three walls and the ceiling had come alive. They were actually huge TV screens, and the effect was startlingly three-dimensional. Only the absence of touch could break the illusion. But the visual and the audial made up for the absence of touch. Kane didn't want to touch them anyway. He wanted them to go away, altogether. His room was crammed with phantoms from the cocktail lounge. In fact, his room was fused with the cocktail lounge. It was all there somehow. "Go to sleepy-bye," Laura whispered and made a very suggestive gesture. Her cheeks were flushed as she leaned into and through him. "Take ourselves a good long snooze," Phil grinned. "Don't worry. The Gang's all here." Lucille said, hardly smiling at all. "No, don't worry, Professor. We'll all sleep with you." He zipped his pants back up and slid back through several phantom shapes and pressed against the wall. "Phil," he finally said. "Phil!" "Aren't you sleepy now?" Phil asked. "He's sleepy," Laura said. "We're sleeping with you, Professor man." "Yes, yes I am sleepy. Goodnight now," Kane said. "Goodnight." He waited. They didn't take the hint. To them it was no hint at all. He knew they weren't going away. He knew that no matter what he said or did, they wouldn't go away. That was the thing he understood, incredible as it was, he knew now that no matter what he said or did, they wouldn't go away. They only understood that he was somehow ill. He knew that too. They were right, so he was wrong. They thought they were doing what was best for him. That was obvious. It was all over their faces and actions. If they had any idea how he felt, they still considered his feelings only symptoms of some kind, and they seemed confident that Kane would soon be all right. But his being all right had nothing to do with their going away. Kane decided not to give way, not to scream or anything absurd like that. It wouldn't do any good. Calm, be calm and--well maybe just try pretending they're not there at all.