VASSI By ART LEWIS The apartment was empty. So was she. But not for long. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The apartment is called a single. It contains a Murphy bed, a chest of drawers, an overstuffed chair, a sofa, a coffee table, a seventeen-inch television set, a bookcase partially filled with the volumes A through F of an encyclopedia from the supermarket, assorted paperback books, and a radio that doesn't work. In the ceiling is a fixture with two twenty-five-watt bulbs. A short hallway leads to the bathroom and the kitchen. Julia Fenway stood outside her apartment, fumbling in her bag for her keys. She had never had any trouble finding her keys before. Her purse was always neat and orderly. And she was breathing hard. Breathing hard from the short walk from the bus at the corner and down the long corridor to the private, the lonesome apartment door. Those keys! Where are those keys! I'm becoming a regular pack rat lately. Look at that bag! Did you ever see so much junk? She thrust her hand deep inside and felt around. A crumpled kleenex, worn-out lipstick, change purse, pencils, movie stubs ... a coldness, the keys. Her heart was pounding. She pressed the hand with the keys to her bosom. It _was_ pounding. At least it was working. She managed to get the door open just as the landlady's door down the hall gushed forth cooked cabbage odor and Mrs. Shultz stuck her head out. Julia closed her door behind her until she heard the lock click. Of all the people in the world, why was it the Mrs. Shultzes she attracted? At the sound of the lock, the cat, Belle, poked her head out of the kitchen. She walked lazily into the room, rubbing her side along the wall to scratch off the sleep. Then she leaped to the top of the dresser and started to wash herself. * * * * * Julia stood with her back against the door. Her arms, tired of reaching out, hung limply against her sides. A ray of sunlight streamed through the partly open window and a little pool of it snuggled on her pillow. It had been such a long ride in from Beverly Hills and on two buses. She had sat in the back where it wasn't so crowded and the smell of exhaust was still in her nostrils. She walked over to the dresser and put her purse down beside the cat and ran her fingers caressingly through the soft fur. Belle took a swipe with a hind paw. Julia rested her head on the dresser. "I'm going to die, Belle." The cat sat up and lifted a front paw. She washed it with little delicate strokes from her tongue.