I was Orville Snyder, and I had killed my wife. After I had killed her something had snapped, blotting out all memory of the deed. I definitely couldn't remember killing that woman! When that something snapped I became a schizo and took the identity of Fred Martin. Unfortunately I couldn't make the schizo switch perfect. On the other hand, I was Fred Martin. I lived in a bachelor apartment and had been living there for three years. My car was down in the garage in back of the apartment house. My books with my name in them were on the bookshelves gathering dust. I had never heard of Orville Snyder until today. I turned over on my side and watched the vague light seeping past the drapes over the window. A slight breeze was tugging at the drapes, sending a breath of fresh air into the room. I had bought those drapes three years ago. They'd been cleaned twice since then, and would need cleaning again soon. Mrs. Bricher was the landlady and her husband Ed ran a beer truck. And I didn't know a damned thing about Orville Snyder. I sat up and put my feet on the floor, letting them grope for my slippers and get into them without turning on the light. I padded out of the bedroom and across the living room where the moonlight made things quite visible but indistinct. In the kitchen I turned on the light and got a glass of milk. Then I stood by the table looking at the folded newspaper, drinking the milk in sporadic gulps. "To hell with it!" I said. Purposefully I went to the sink and rinsed out the empty glass. Then I put it in the drying rack and went back to the table. I picked up the newspaper and unfolded it. My eyes went to the headlines. The letters were big and black and sharply distinct. I started to read, and the first word became indistinct. The letters were still clear and sharp, but I could not read them. I grinned. I had had dreams where I tried to read, and the words did that. Maybe I had gone to sleep and was just dreaming I was in the kitchen trying to read the headlines. Of course that was it. I had to wake up. How did you wake up when you knew you were asleep and wanted to wake up? I had done that, too, and it was easy. You just woke up. I did. * * * * * It was light. Not bright, but the vague light of the first blush of dawn. The rheumatism in my right shoulder woke up a second or two after I did--but I had never had rheumatism in my life! Startled, I jerked an elbow under me and rose up. Beside me, still asleep, lay a woman. She had gray hair. It was done up in tight curls held in place with bobby pins, and made her look bald headed. I stared at her for one preternatural second, then groaned, "Oh Lord!" and sank back on my pillow. The woman stirred in her sleep. She opened her eyes, and I closed mine quickly, pretending to be asleep, waiting for her to scream in alarm at the strange man in her bed.