Part 5 (1/2)

”Dave?”

”Dave Dryden. I think you know him. He's been here a couple of times. But anyhow, that's where I called from.”

”Sheffield.”

”Yes. And you hung up on me. Twice.”

Her jaw was sagging. She looked worried. ”You're saying I hung up on you you?”

”You don't remember that either?”

”Shel, I don't hang up on people.”

”You did yesterday. I was stuck and I was trying to talk to you-” He stopped.

Linda got up and walked past him to the door of her office. ”Sally,” she said, ”would you come in here for a minute, please?”

Sally was her secretary. Dark skin, black hair, gla.s.ses. A bit too serious, probably. Linda looked at Shel. ”Sally, was Shel here yesterday?”

”Well, of course,” she said. ”He was here.”

”All day?”

”As far as I know. Except that he left early, I think.”

”This is crazy,” said Shel.

”You want to ask around?”

HE promised he'd make an appointment with a psychologist. Linda urged him again to take some time off, take the rest of the week off, but Shel a.s.sured her he was fine. But when he sat down in front of his computer, he got another shock. promised he'd make an appointment with a psychologist. Linda urged him again to take some time off, take the rest of the week off, but Shel a.s.sured her he was fine. But when he sat down in front of his computer, he got another shock.

The Devil's Disciples had gone to see Arms and the Man Arms and the Man Tuesday evening. Early Wednesday morning, around two thirty, he'd experienced the Tuesday evening. Early Wednesday morning, around two thirty, he'd experienced the event event, whatever it was. He'd spent all day Wednesday getting home. It was now Thursday morning.

Except that it wasn't. His computer indicated it was still Wednesday. He stuck his head in Bill Shanski's office, across the hall. ”Bill,” he said, ”what day is this?”

”Wednesday,” said Bill, with his usual vacuous smile.

”You sure?”

”All day long.”

HE tried to bury himself in his work, a.s.sembling a sales presentation for a new data-control system. He'd never dealt with a therapist, always thought that therapists were for the weak-minded, that talking to an outsider about problems was a waste of time and money. tried to bury himself in his work, a.s.sembling a sales presentation for a new data-control system. He'd never dealt with a therapist, always thought that therapists were for the weak-minded, that talking to an outsider about problems was a waste of time and money.

But he didn't have much choice. He opened the yellow pages, picked a psychologist, and made an appointment. ”You should come in tomorrow,” ”You should come in tomorrow,” said the female voice on the phone after he'd explained the problem, said the female voice on the phone after he'd explained the problem, ”for an appraisal.” ”for an appraisal.”

He'd never really had a physical problem other than once going to a hospital after he'd crashed into an infielder chasing a fly ball. The possibility that he was suffering from a mental problem left a cold knot in his stomach. He went through a dozen cups of coffee. (He usually had about two.) And, as if the day hadn't produced enough shocks, Linda came in on her way out to lunch to tell him she'd just had a weird phone call. Two of them, in fact.

”About what?”

”A guy claiming to be you, Shel.”

Shel was starting to get out of his chair, but with that news he slid back down. ”What did he say?”

”He said he was sorry he hadn't been able to get to work today.” She shook her head. ”He sounded just like you.”

Shel just stared at her.

”If this is some kind of joke, Shel, I don't appreciate it.”

It was enough. He told her about his appointment with Dr. Benson. And then said he was going home.

”I think that's a good idea. Why don't you stay stay home until you're feeling better.” home until you're feeling better.”

HE tried to call Dave, but all he could get was his voice mail. He'd probably be in cla.s.s, so the phone was in his desk. tried to call Dave, but all he could get was his voice mail. He'd probably be in cla.s.s, so the phone was in his desk.

He skipped dinner. Had no appet.i.te. He tried to read. Tried to watch some TV. Got on the computer for a while. But it was hard to think about anything other than what was happening to him.

He went back to the bookcase. Took down Hands on the Past Hands on the Past, by C. W. Ceram. One of his favorites when he was growing up.

Hands on the Past.

It consisted of accounts of the early archaeologists. He thought of his father's pa.s.sion for history. How he'd disappeared from a locked house. And Shel wondered if, somehow, he had in the same manner disappeared from his his house Tuesday night? house Tuesday night?

The idea was crazy. But it was too coincidental not to have some validity. In any case, there could be no harm running a test. As long as he was careful.

He picked up one of the three Q-pods, sat down on the sofa, opened the lid, and entered Galilei Galilei. When it asked where he wanted to travel, he hesitated. Keep it simple: Here. Here.

DATE?.

Today.

TIME?.

On his Wednesday morning experiment, he'd asked for 3:00 P.M. It certainly hadn't been three o'clock in the afternoon when he'd opened his eyes in the Allegheny National Forest. It had been more like midmorning.

But it might have been three o'clock GMT.

Greenwich Mean Time? Maybe that was it.