Time Thieves Read Free Page A

there was no conflict between them that he might wish to escape. He liked to think they were not just in love with each other, but that they also liked each other, something rare in most marriages. They had seldom argued, even with Della's strong will. The business? He had not been lying to Billings when he said it was fine. What else, then? He was apolitical-or liked to think he was-and could not have been unduly disturbed by the state of the nation. He had long ago decided that politicians would have everyone in their graves ahead of time, either by ignoring pollution or fostering wars. His duty was to live his own life and to hell with having children and planning on a future. Maybe it was not a gallant attitude, but it led to fewer hassles and more chance at happiness in the end.
        
        Sleep would not come.
        
        He slid to the edge of the bed and put his slippers on. Perhaps, if he found a book and read for an hour or two, all would be well. He stood and was passing the single window in the room when he saw the man standing under the willow tree on the lawn, watching the house.
        
        He stepped quickly to the glass only to find the lawn quiet and uninhabited when he got there.
        
        Della turned, mumbled and settled into sleep again.
        
        He remembered the nightmare: the face without eyes, the many-fingered hand reaching for him…
        
        But this watcher had been someone else, for there had been nothing inhuman about him. He was certain it was the same, tall, lean man he had encountered in the restaurant earlier in the evening.
        

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    III
        
        
        They drove out of town Tuesday morning, nestled in the airconditioned comfort of the big car, a picnic lunch packed in a cooler on the back seat. The day was bright, with but a few puffy clouds that scudded across the top of the sky under the lash of a high altitude wind which did not make itself felt down here. Pete turned on the radio; the music and the passing landscape combined to settle both of them and to make everything seem fine and good and uncomplicated.
        
        Except for the stranger who had been standing by the willow tree last night, watching…
        
        He had not told Della about that. It was not that he feared she wouldn't believe him. They were too close and knew each other to well to mistake sincerity for joviality. And there was nothing, surely, he could gain by lying to her. Neither was he frightened that she might think his mental problems were more severe than mere amnesia. The only reason he kept quiet was that he hated to make her tense and uncertain. She had been through more than he had, for she had been on the edge for twelve days, whereas he had been asleep all that time-or as good as.
        
        The sunlight dappled the road ahead, making its way through a heavy canopy of elm trees that lined both sides of the road.
        
        The road began to climb the mountain. The way grew more difficult as they broached the foothills and curved up the slopes of Old Cannon. To either side, the neatly kept ranch homes which had been tucked quietly between the trees began to thin out until, at last, there were no more of them.
        
        “Anything yet?” Della asked.
        
        “Nothing. It looks normal. I seem to remember passing it that Thursday morning.”
        
        Abruptly, the even surface of the road gave way to less well-paved patches of cracked macadam as state jurisdiction faded to that of the county.
        
        A yellow, canvas-roofed dune buggy of Japanese manufacture roared by them on its way down the mountain. Pete recognized the grizzly, white-haired, white-bearded giant behind the wheel as Tom Murdock, who owned a cabin upslope of them. Pete though of stopping him and asking if he had seen Pete that Thursday. He decided against it. Despite the fact that amnesia was nothing