esperate, mumbling and raving--I could hardly hear
him, because I was talking, too. Nobody tried to stop us. Somebody went
out the door and I figured it was to call the cops, but that was all
right. Once I took care of Chowderhead, I didn't care what the cops did.

I went for the face.

He cut me first. I felt the knife slide up along my left arm but, you
know, it didn't even hurt, only kind of stung a little. I didn't care
about that. I got him in the face, and the bottle came away, and it was
all like gray and white jelly, and then blood began to spring out. He
screamed. Oh, that scream! I never heard anything like that scream. It
was what I had been waiting all my life for.

I kicked him as he staggered back, and he fell. And I was on top of him,
with the bottle, and I was careful to stay away from the heart or the
throat, because that was too quick, but I worked over the face, and I
felt his knife get me a couple times more, and--

And--

* * * * *

And I woke up, you know. And there was Dr. Santly over me with a
hypodermic needle that he'd just taken out of my arm, and four male
nurses in fatigues holding me down. And I was drenched with sweat.

For a minute, I didn't know where I was. It was a horrible queasy
falling sensation, as though the bar and the fight and the world were
all dissolving into smoke around me.

Then I knew where I was.

It was almost worse.

I stopped yelling and just lay there, looking up at them.

Dr. Santly said, trying to keep his face friendly and noncommittal,
"You're doing much better, Byron, boy. _Much_ better."

I didn't say anything.

He said, "You worked through the whole thing in two hours and eight
minutes. Remember the first time? You were sixteen hours killing him.
Captain Van Wyck it was that time, remember? Who was it this time?"

"Chowderhead." I looked at the male nurses. Doubtfully, they let go of
my arms and legs.

"Chowderhead," said Dr. Santly. "Oh--Roebuck. That boy," he said
mournfully, his expression saddened, "he's not coming along nearly as
well as you. _Nearly._ He can't run through a cycle in less than five
hours. And, that's peculiar, it's usually you he-- Well, I better not
say that, shall I? No sense setting up a counter-impression when your
pores are all open, so to speak?" He smiled at me, but he was a little
worried in back of the smile.

I sat up. "Anybody got a cigarette?"

"Give him a cigarette, Johnson