He opened the basement door. Madge followed him. They moved cautiously down the stairs, into the dark, silent basement, damp with the faint night mists.
The basement was empty. Tyler relaxed. He was overcome with dazed relief. “He’s gone. Everything’s okay. It worked out exactly right.”
“But I don’t understand,” Madge repeated hopelessly, as Tyler’s Buick purred along the dark, deserted streets. “Where did he go?”
“You know where he went,” Tyler answered. “Into his substitute world, of course.” He screeched around a corner on two wheels. “The rest should be fairly simple. A few routine forms. There really isn’t much left, now.”
The night was frigid and bleak. No lights showed, except an occasional lonely streetlamp. Far off, a train whistle sounded mournfully, a dismal echo. Rows of silent houses flickered by on both sides of them.
“Where are we going?” Madge asked. She sat huddled against the door, face pale with shock and terror, shivering under her coat.
“To the police station.” “Why?”
“To report him, naturally. So they’ll know he’s gone. We’ll have to wait; it’ll be several years before he’ll be declared legally dead.” Tyler reached over and hugged her briefly. “We’ll make out in the meantime, I’m sure.” “What if—they find him?” Tyler shook his head angrily. He was still tense, on edge. “Don’t you understand? They’ll never find him —he doesn’t exist. At least, not in our world. He’s in his own world. You saw it. The model. The improved substitute.”
“He’s there?”
“All his life he’s worked on it. Built it up. Made it real.
He brought that world into being—and now he’s in it. That’s what he wanted. That’s why he built it. He didn’t merely dream about an escape world. He actually constructed it—every bit and piece. Now he’s warped himself right out of our world, into it. Out of our lives.”
Madge finally began to understand. “Then he really did lose himself in his substitute world. You meant that, what you said about him—getting away.”
“It took me awhile to realize it. The mind constructs reality. Frames it. Creates it. We all have a common reality, a common dream. But Haskel turned his back on our common reality and created his own. And he had a unique capacity—far beyond the ordinary. He devoted his whole life, his whole skill to building it. He’s there now.”
Tyler hesitated and frowned. He gripped the wheel tightly and increased speed. The Buick hissed along the dark street, through the silent, unmoving bleakness that was the town.
“There’s only one thing,” he continued presently. “One thing I don’t understand.”
“What is it?”
“The model. It was also gone. I assumed he’d—shrink, I suppose. Merge with it. But the model’s gone, too." Tyler shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He peered into the darkness. “We’re almost there. This is Elm.”
It was then Madge screamed. “Look!”
To the right of the car was a small, neat building. And a. sign. The sign was easily visible in the darkness.
WOODLAND MORTUARY
Madge was sobbing in horror. The car roared forward, automatically guided by Tyler’s numb hands. Another sign flashed by briefly, as they coasted up before the city hall.
STEUBEN PET SHOP
The city hall was lit by recessed, hidden illumination. A low, simple building, a square of glowing white. Like a marble Greek temple.
Tyler pulled the car to a halt. Then suddenly shrieked and started up again. But not soon enough.
The two shiny-black police cars came silently up around the Buick, one on each side. The four stern cops already had their hands on the door. Stepping out and coming toward him, grim and efficient.