Marc dropped the letter in his hand and gazed absently out the window. “Oh, all right,” he said. “Run them through.”
Memphis left the room. A moment later there was a tap at the door.
“Come in!” Marc called without turning.
The door opened and footsteps moved into the room. There was a long moment of silence and then a throat anxiously cleared itself nearby. Marc turned around. A small boy, about twelve, regarded him from the other side of the desk ... a small boy with eager eyes and a hawk-featured face.
“Culpepper!” Marc yelled.
The boy twisted his cap nervously. “Yes,” he said. “It’s me, Mr. Pillsworth. Your secretary kept throwing me out.”
“I told her to.”
The boyish Culpepper nodded. “That’s why I took the pills. It was the only way I could get in.”
“There are several ways you can get out,” Marc said menacingly. “One of them is with a broken neck.”
Mr. Culpepper started waving his small hands. “You must listen to me, Mr. Pillsworth, I have something sensational to show you. You remember we were talking about something that would make people immortal? Well ...” He paused to fish a small green bottle out of his pocket. “Well ...”
“Out!” Marc was on his feet, yelling. “Out! OUT!”
The boy’s eyes widened with alarm. He turned and scurried for the door like a frightened rat.
“Don’t!” he shrieked. “Don’t throw that paper weight, Mr. Pillsworth! I’m leaving, Mr. Pillsworth! I’m leaving!” He scooted through the door and slammed it after him.
Marc replaced the paper weight on the desk and sank back into his chair. For a long time he just sat there, staring blankly across the room. Then, slowly, a smile crept into his face.
Somewhere in the back of his mind there was laughter.
THE SHADES OF TOFFEE
Marc Pillsworth thought that certain laws were futile and
should be repealed—such as gravity—which he
annihilated!
CHAPTER I
STANDING in the center of the basement laboratory, Marc Pillsworth held the vial up to the light and carefully poured out a small portion of the liquid so that the measure would be exact to the final degree.
Certainly, if he had known that the thing he measured was destruction, intrigue and madness, he would have hurled the container and its greenish contents to the floor. But he did not know, or even dream...
Assured that the amount was correct beyond question, he turned with the vial, poised it over the small vat on the work table, and poured.
Chaos!
The room screamed with brilliant light as the vat erupted and vengefully spat its contents to the four walls. The wall at the end of the room shuddered and shrugged away a great, irregular section of concrete so that the night gushed inside and swallowed up the light. Caught in the tide of the rushing darkness, Marc felt himself lifted helplessly from his feet, hurled upward to a great height, then plunged downward headfirst.
He fell endlessly, it seemed, down and down. And the darkness droned in his ears and in the pit of his stomach as he fell—deeper and deeper into a region of black strangeness. Fear grew inside him, writhing, coiling and recoiling like a great venomous snake in the depths of his stomach. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound died in his throat as the darkness rushed inside him and caused the metallic taste of panic.
And then it was over.
He had arrived, but how and where and for what precise reason he couldn’t imagine. But, oddly, it didn’t seem to matter. There was no reason for it to matter now. None that he could think of at the moment. His thoughts moved so slowly, it seemed.
It was as though he had lain down to rest, limply and gently, in a soft coolness. A languor seeped through him, and he fell easily under the spell of a dreamy quietude. What could any man conceivably have to worry about when he felt like this?
Marc stretched his arms up over his head, then brought them down and clasped his hands at the back of his neck. He was suddenly swept with a mood of utmost felicity. Everything was so unreasonably wonderful! Mother, he thought, pin a rose on me! He grinned happily at his own urbanity.
And then the darkness began to pulse with a faint light which grew steadily stronger with each successive impulse. Slowly, vague outlines began to rise out of the dimness and form a horizon. And then the light became a steady glow, and the forms moved in closer and were distinct. Marc sat up and looked about him with astonished eyes.
A SOFT emerald greenness stretched beneath him in all directions, lifting softly from rise to rise in the distance, gently sloping into cool shadows. Behind him a knoll rose above the others, and along its side stretched a grove of tall feathery trees which were graceful beyond description. A soft breeze coiled through the trees trailing a shimmering blue mist, like a scarf, capriciously upward and out of sight beyond the rise.
Everywhere was a muted beauty that did not trade in harsh contrasts. Strangely, Marc could not bring himself to wonder at his being here in this impossible region; it was enough that he simply was here. He lay back again and gazed into the sky, noting without surprise that the clear blueness was unmarked by any brash and orthodox ball of sun.
His mind wandered free, along heretofore untrodden paths of melody, color and form. Had there ever been a time for making worrisome decisions, for seeking the multi-sided answer to the human equation? It didn’t seem likely. This is Eternity, Marc thought, Eternity is like this. Throwing his arms free, he stretched his lean length to its utmost.
Eternity ended abruptly.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” a voice said distinctly. “I’ll be damned and broiled over a slow flame!”
Marc swung up into a sitting position, and his eyes raked the scene behind him. He froze.
Even in that first moment of confused surprise, Marc was quite well aware that no girl had ever eyed him with such undisguised pleasure—or such frank intent. Certainly no girl as beautiful as this one, at any rate. Perhaps, if she’d just done something about getting dressed... He’d never seen a more top notch pair of legs.
Disconcertingly, the girl had chosen to place between herself and the raw elements only a slight green tunic of a consistency comparable to that of the airy mists on the slope. Considering this, Marc felt keenly that the situation called for, in full voice, a hasty apology and the quick slam of a door; he was terribly aware that there wasn’t much more between him and this alarming newcomer than the atmosphere and a very pregnant silence. He couldn’t understand how the girl could be so unconcerned about it.
“I’m sorry... !” Marc said quickly.
“I’m delighted,” the girl said. She smiled softly, in a way that suggested great intimacy.
“I think I’ll scream,” Marc said weakly, “if you’re not going to.”
“I’m not going to,” the girl said. “Not a chance.”
Marc reflected erratically that this creature, in spite of her loveliness, was surely a traveler from hell; the fires of that region danced unmistakably on the surface of her soft red hair and in the depths of her vivid green eyes. His unbelieving gaze left her pert young face and helplessly traveled the course of her supple body. It was a disturbing trip; unhurried curves moved indolently outward and took their time about coming back. And then, as the girl started forward, Marc glanced up to discover that her gaze had followed his own. He looked away sharply and was aware of a feverish sensation about the neck and cheeks.
“There’s no need to blush,” the girl laughed. “There’s every need in the world,” Marc said uneasily. “A crying need.”
“If you’re embarrassed,” the girl said, “you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”
Marc turned back, careful that his gaze went directly to her face and remained there. “Are you trying to suggest that it’s my fault that you’re naked?”
“Of course it is,” the girl said. “It’s all your fault, now that you bring it up. After all, I’m your
exclusive creation. You dreamed me up, curve for curve, line for line, and if the job seems a little immoderate, you should have thought of that sooner.” She moved lightly to where he was sitting and lowered herself to the ground beside him. She crossed one slender leg over the other in the manner of a gem broker displaying a stock of crown emeralds on a length of black velvet. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand. Personally, especially after your bug-eyed reaction, I regard myself as a pretty piece of merchandise.”
MARC FLINCHED slightly at the directness of this self-appraisal, but found it hard to find a point of disagreement. Though the girl’s nearness had done much to impair his mental processes, he was all too aware of the merchandise at hand and an unspoken invitation to feel the superior quality of the goods. He breathed deeply and edged away.
“What do you mean, I dreamed you up?” he asked.
The girl sighed despairingly. “I had hoped,” she murmured “that we wouldn’t have to waste tine on anything so dull as pedigrees. However, I can see that you’re the fretful type.” She shrugged. “I’m Toffee.” She leaned back and gazed at Marc from the corner of her eye with an expression that plainly indicated that, she had revealed “all.”
Marc tried to think. He repeated the name several times to himself. Toffee... Toffee... Toffee... It didn’t mean a thing to him.
“Well?” the girl said.
“Well?” Marc echoed faintly. The look in her eyes made him warmly uncomfortable.
“If you’re going to start making passes at me,” the girl said, propping herself up on one elbow, “I think I ought to say right now that there will be the usual hollow pretense of resistance.” She smiled slowly. “But my heart won’t be half in it, and that’s a fact.” She reached down and smoothed the tunic over the curve of her perfectly formed hip. “I just thought I’d mention it.”
“Oh, my gosh!” Marc gasped. “Do I understand you correctly?”
“If you don’t,” the girl said with a twinge of impatience, “I might as well pick up my drawing pencils and go home. Why are we wasting all this time and energy?”
“Don’t you have any repressions at all?” Marc asked.
“Of course not,” the girl answered. “That’s the way you made me.”
“The way I made you?”
The girl nodded and leaned toward him. “I told you, I’m Toffee.” She studied his face for a moment, then sat up. “Say, don’t you recognize me?”
“I’ve never set eyes on you before in my life,” Marc said emphatically. “Maybe that’s because I don’t habitually frequent burlesque theatres.”
“Now, look here, you withered old goat!” A flame of annoyance flickered brightly in the green eyes. “Just where do you get off, making cracks like that? I’ve been in the back of your mind for years. You’ve dreamed me up, hip, thigh and shoulder, just the way I am. Don’t think you’re going to get away with pretending you’re above it all now.”
Realization blanked Marc’s expression. “You mean you’re a product of my subconscious mind?”
“Now you’re getting it,” the girl said. She swept a hand at the slopes behind them. “This is the valley of your mind. I’ve been languishing in this trap for years. If I’ve grown a little eager in the meantime, it’s only natural. It puts an awful strain on a girl to have what I’ve got with no market for outlet. I’m just a bundle of frozen assets.”
MARC SMILED, and his manner became a bit less constrained. “Then all this is only a dream, and you’re strictly an imaginary figure.”
“You could put it that way,” the girl nodded. However, there was a note of reservation in her voice. “Of course, it works two ways really. You might say that you’re only in my imagination too. Up till now, that is.” She surveyed his sprawled length with critical interest. “And, believe me, you’re getting all the best of the bargain. If I’m a dream come true, you’re a moaning nightmare. I’ll bet you’re nothing but a mess of knobs and angles under those baggy clothes of yours.”
“We’ll just skip my knobs and angles,” Marc said distantly, “if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind,” the girl said, looking a trifle alarmed. “I mind like all get-out. Why should I want to skip the awful things? Do you mean I’m to pick them up all in a string and play jump rope with them?” She shuddered delicately. “Is that what you have in mind?”
“Of course not,” Marc said. “I merely mean to say that my knobs and angles do not constitute a matter for your concern in the least. I’ll be more than happy if you’ll just ignore my knobs and angles altogether. Just pretend they aren’t there.”
“What an awful picture that brings to mind,” the girl said. “Without your knobs and angles you’d be even worse than you are already. Besides, they’re of utmost concern to me. Heaven knows they’re nothing to boast about, or even mention, for that matter, but they’re the only ones handy, and I’ve been waiting for years to get my hands on a working set of knobs and...”
“That’s enough,” Marc broke in. “I wish you’d stop going on about your sordid-minded desires. I don’t want to hear about them. And get away from me!” He started violently. “Leave my knobs and angles alone!”
But it was too late to protest. Already the girl had twined her arms tightly about his neck and was drawing him toward her.
“This,” she whispered with soft intensity, “is an angle of my own.”
Marc struggled for a moment under the knowing pressure of her lips, but the period of resistance was short lived. He yielded quickly to the coolness of her arms about his neck and the warm brush of her hair against his cheek. He had actually begun to aid and abet the effort before it was over. Toffee released him and leaned back.
“That,” she said, “is the introduce-tory offer, merely a sample to bring the product to your attention. The objective, in case you’re somewhat hazy, is to create a large and steady demand for the brand.”
Marc was more than hazy. “Oh, my gosh!” he breathed. “I feel completely demoralized!”
“Fine,” Toffee said blandly. “It takes a heap of demoralizing to make a man a man. We’re on the right track and proceeding with a steady speed. We’ll build up steam as we go along.”
“Oh, no we won’t!” Marc said getting uncertainly to his feet. “We won’t build up anything, you and I. We’ll put an end to this dream before we both have something to regret. If I dreamed you up, I can get rid of you too.”
INSTANTLY the girl was on her feet beside him. “Of all the gall!” she said. “Of all the slithering, dripping gall!”
Marc winced. “You’re affecting my stomach,” he said.
“And that’s not all I’m going to affect before I’m through with you! I’m going to affect you from end to end and border to border! You leave me stumping it around in this air tunnel head of yours all these years, and then dream me up just to throw me over!”
“Wait a second... !”
“Be quiet,” Toffee snapped. “Wait till I’m through. This goes on for some time.” She gazed tragically into the distance and resumed in a mellowed tone: “That’s all I ever was to you, a plaything to be used and cast aside when you’ve grown tired of me.” Her voice broke with emotion. “Now that I’m old and ugly, you’re ashamed of me... This is even better with violins.”
“Stop that,” Marc said. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no need for dramatics. You’re far from old and ugly, and as for...”
But suddenly the girl had fastened herself to him for the second time. “Then you really do think I’m a little sensational after all?” she cried ecstatically. “Kiss me! I’m yours!”
“No!” Marc cried. “I didn’t say that! I didn’t even mention...!”
“Yes, you did,” the girl breathed in his ear, and drew her mouth quickly to his.
“Wait a minute!” Marc objected, forcing her from him. “This sort of thing has got to stop!”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? I think it’s perfectly divine.”
Marc stopp
ed to consider her question. Actually, why did it have to stop? There was a reason, a good reason, if only he could think of it. And then something stirred in the far reaches of his mind and drifted slowly forward.
Julie!
“Holy smoke!” Marc cried, “Julie. I have a wife!”
“Of course,” the girl said. “But what difference does that make? I don’t mind in the least. I’m terribly broad-minded. Besides, it happens that your wife isn’t in this dream. Why drag her into it and spoil everything?”
“No!” Marc said excitedly. “No. You don’t understand. I just remembered. There was an explosion. Julie was in the house—and a lot of her friends. Heaven only knows what happened. Oh, my gosh!” He drew away from the girl and glanced desperately around. “I’ve got to get out of here!”
But even as he spoke another matter rose for his immediate attention. All of a sudden the little valley had been seized with a shuddering convulsion. The greenness underfoot began to tremble violently. As Marc looked frightenedly about, the trees on the knoll commenced a weird seesawing, weaving back and forth in mad counter rhythm. Then, with a great roar of agony, the quiet valley began to crumble apart beneath their very feet. Everything dropped away into blackness...
Falling, Marc was only incidentally aware of the tightening pressure of the girl’s arms about his neck. And then the frightened words came breathlessly, close to his ear: “Marc! Marc! Don’t leave!”
“Please, Marc! Open your eyes!”
The imperative note of command sang hollowly in the depths of his subconscious, echoed back in some small chamber of his awareness. He stirred.
“Open your eyes, darling. Look at me.”
Marc clawed at the edge of darkness, caught hold, and pulled himself upward toward the lighter region of consciousness. He struggled to the brink, caught a measure of leverage, and opened his eyes...
Julie’s face peered down at him duskily, her blue eyes bright with fear even in the dim moonlight. A whisp of blonde hair had gone astray across her forehead.
The Complete Adventures of Toffee Page 35
