I hadn't stopped on the way from the lab to buy one. I hadn't brought one up with me from the car--or had I? Suddenly I wasn't sure. I _could_ have. If it wasn't for this other business I wouldn't have thought anything of it. I stared at the folded newspaper, and it lay there on the plastic tablecloth with abnormally sharp detail, the most bizarre element of the day's mad events. I relaxed. There was something in the paper, of course. If I spread it out and looked at the headlines I would probably go screaming mad.... That must be it, because I didn't want to open up the paper. Instead, I wanted to get up and go down to the car, and drive out of the city, away from everything, and forget everything. The other things were strange and inconsistent, but not insane. This feeling was irrational. Maybe it was caused by the other things. Just leaving the newspaper there and running away wouldn't resolve anything. I had to open it up and read it. And of course I knew what the headlines would be. There was only one thing they could be to fit the insane pattern. MRS. ORVILLE SNYDER FOUND SLAIN. And the subhead would be, POLICE SEARCHING FOR MISSING HUSBAND. But it was absurd. I took another bite of sandwich and a swallow of milk and stared at the folded newspaper. An idea was forming in my thoughts. It was vague and almost unreachable, but it was there. I turned it over slowly. Somehow there must be an explanation for all this. I was Fred Martin and I couldn't be Orville Snyder, but I must be. Somewhere in that lay the key to something. And if I could _reach_ that key I wouldn't have to open the paper and read the headlines. Why? Because the newspaper wouldn't be there. Neither would I. I could be--where would I want to be? Back in Mr. Kaseline's store? Definitely not. Back in college? Why did I think of escaping into the past? As soon as I asked myself the question I knew why. It was because I couldn't think of any place else to mentally escape to. Physically--I could get up and go down to the garage and get in my car and go anywhere. And neither alternative was what I felt lay there, just under the surface. Perhaps neither was possible. How could I go back into the past and make it anything more than just memories of the past? And if I were wanted for murder it would be highly improbable that I could escape the police for very long. Not when my fingerprints were those of Orville Snyder. No. What I was sensing, but not quite able to reach, was something else. And I didn't know what it was. * * * * * I finished my two sandwiches and glass of milk. Leaving the newspaper untouched on the table, I undressed and took a hot bath. In bed, I lay in the darkness, my eyes open, thinking.