treatment, perhaps. Borgenese had said a highproportion were suicides. Such a person would want to start over againminus fears and frustrations, but not completely penniless. If he hadmoney he'd want to take it with him, though not so much that it couldbe traced, since that would defeat the original purpose.
The pattern was logical--suicides were those with a fair sum of money.This was the fact which inclined Borgenese to the view he obviouslyheld.
Luis Obispo stood there uncertainly. Did he want to find out? His lipsthinned--he did. In spite of Borgenese, there were other ways toaccount for the money he had. One of them was this: he was animportant man, accustomed to handling large sums of money.
He started out. He was in a small city of a few hundred thousand onthe extreme southern coast of California. In the last few days he'dstudied maps of it; he knew where he was going.
* * * * *
When he got there, the Shelters were dark. He didn't know what he hadexpected, but it wasn't this. Reflection showed him that he hadn'tthought about it clearly. The mere existence of Shelters indicated aneconomic level in which few people would either want or need to makeuse of that which was provided freely.
He skirted the area. He'd been found in one of the Shelters--which onehe didn't know. Perhaps he should have checked the record before hecame here.
No, this was better. Clues, he was convinced, were almostnon-existent. He had to rely on his body and mind; but not in theordinary way. He was particularly sensitive to impressions he hadreceived before; the way he had learned things in therapy proved that;but if he tried to force them, he could be led astray. The wisestthing was to react naturally, almost without volition. He should beable to recognize the Shelter he'd been found in without trouble. Fromthat, he could work back.
That was the theory--but it wasn't happening. He circled the area, andthere was nothing to which he responded more than vaguely.
He would have to go closer.
He crossed the street. The plan of the Shelters was simple; an areatwo blocks long and one block wide, heavily planted with shrubs andsmall trees. In the center was an S-shaped continuous structuredivided into a number of small dwelling units.
Luis walked along one wing of the building, turned at the corner andturned again. It was quite dark. He supposed that was why he wasn'treacting to anything. But his senses were sharper than he realized.There was a rustle behind him, and instinctively he flung himselfforward, flat on the ground.
A pink spot appeared, low on the wall next to him. It had been aimedat his legs. The paint crackled faintly and the pink spot faded. Herolled away fast.
A dark body loomed past him and dropped where he'd been. There was anexclamation of surprise when the unknown found there was no one there.Luis grunted with satisfaction--this might be only a stickup, but hewas getting action faster than he'd expected. He reached out and tookhold of a leg and drew the assailant to him. A hard object clipped theside of his head, and he grasped that too.
The shape of the gun was familiar. He tore it loose. This wasn't anystickup! Once was enough to be retrogressed, and he'd had his share.Next time it was going to be the other guy. Physically, he was morethan a match for his attacker. He twisted his body and pinned thestruggling form to the ground.
That was what it was--a form. A woman, very much so; even in thedarkness he was conscious of her body.
Now she was trying to get loose, and he leaned his weight moreheavily on her. Her clothing was torn--he could feel her flesh againsthis face. He raised the gun butt, and then changed his mind andinstead fumbled for a light. It wasn't easy to find it and still keepher pinned.
"Be quiet or I'll clip you," he growled.
She lay still.
* * * * *
He found the light and shone it on her face. It was good to look at,that face, but it wasn't at all familiar. He had trouble keeping hiseyes from straying. Her dress was torn, and what she wore underneathwas torn too.
"Seen enough?" she asked coldly.
"Put that way, I haven't." He couldn't force his voice to bematter-of-fact--it wouldn't behave.
She stared angrily at the light in her eyes. "I knew you'd be back,"she said. "I thought I could get you before you got me, but you're toofast." Her mouth trembled. "This time make it permanent. I don't wantto be tormented again like this."
He let her go and sat up. He was trembling, too, but not for the samereason. He turned the light away from her eyes.
"Ever consider that you could be mistaken?" he asked. "You're not theonly one it happens to."
She lay there blinking at him, eyes adjusting to the changed light.She fumbled at the torn dress, which wouldn't stay where she put it."You too?" she said with a vast lack of surprise. "When?"
"They found me here two weeks ago. This is the first time I've comeback."
"Patterns," she said. "There are always patterns in what we do." Herattitude toward him had changed drastically, he could see it in herface. "I've been out three weeks longer." She sat up and leanedcloser. She didn't seem to be thinking about the same things that hadbeen on her mind only seconds before.
He stood up and helped her to her feet. She was near and showed noinclination to move away. This was something Borgenese hadn'tmentioned, and there was nothing in his re-education to prepare himfor this sensation, but he liked it. He couldn't see her very well,now that the light was turned off, but she was almost touching him.
"We're in the same situation, I guess." She sighed. "I'm lonely and alittle afraid. Come into my place and we'll talk."
He followed her. She turned into a dwelling that from the outsideseemed identical to the others. Inside, it wasn't quite the same. Hecouldn't say in what way it was different, but he didn't think it wasthe one he'd been found in.
That torn dress bothered him--not that he wanted her to pin it up. Thetapes hadn't been very explicit about the beauties of the female body,but he thought he knew what they'd left out.
She was conscious of his gaze and smiled. It was not an invitation, itwas a request, and he didn't mind obeying. She slid into his arms andkissed him. He was glad about the limitations of re-education. Therewere some things a man ought to learn for himself.
She looked up at him. "Maybe you should tell me your name," she said."Not that it means much in our case."
"Luis Obispo," he said, holding her.
"I had more trouble, I couldn't choose until two days ago." She kissedhim again, hard and deliberately. It gave her enough time to jerk thegun out of his pocket.
She slammed it against his ribs. "Stand back," she said, and meantit.
* * * * *
Luis stared bewilderedly at her. She was desirable, more than he hadimagined and for a variety of reasons. Her emotions had been real, hewas sure of that, not feigned for the purpose of taking the gun away.But she had changed again in a fraction of a second. Her face wastwisted with an effort at self-control.
"What's the matter?" he asked. He tried to make his voice gentle, butit wouldn't come out that way. The retrogression process had sharpenedall his reactions--this one too.
"The name I finally arrived at was--Luise Obispo," she said.
He started. The same as his, except feminine! This was more than he'ddared hope for. A clue--and this girl, who he suddenly realized,without any cynicism about "love at first sight," because the tapeshadn't included it, meant something to him.
"Maybe you're my wife," he said tentatively.
"Don't count on it," she said wearily. "It would have been better ifwe were strangers--then it wouldn't matter what we did. Now there aretoo many factors, and I can't choose."
"It has to be," he argued. "Look--the same name, and so close togetherin time and place, and we were attracted instantly--"
"Go away," she said, and the gun didn't waver. It was not a threatthat he could ignore. He left.
She was wrong in making him leave, completely wrong. He couldn't sayhow he knew
, but he was certain. But he couldn't prove it, and shewasn't likely to accept his unsubstantiated word.
He leaned weakly against the door. It was like that. Retrogression hadleft him with an adult body and sharper receptiveness. And after thatfollowed an urge to live fully. He had a lot of knowledge, but itdidn't extend to this sphere of human behavior.
Inside he could hear her moving around faintly, an emotionalanticlimax. It wasn't just frustrated sex desire, though that played apart. They had known each other previously--the instant attractionthey'd had for each other was proof, leaving aside the names. Lord,he'd trade his unknown identity to
Forget Me Nearly Page 3
