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only this time it gave me an itch that left me
feeling like I was dead meat on bones.
    The damn
phone kept ringing.
    It had
to be the buyer.
    I took a
breath, held it for a second then let it out slowly as I reached for the
receiver.
    It
stopped ringing just as I touched it.
    Forget
it.
    I
flopped down on the sofa, lit up a cigarette, and watched the sun bleed below
the horizon through the slats of the blinds.
    Keep the
money and give the guy the graph.
    Get rid
of it, Sean.
    I
switched on the lamp then reached out, picked up the envelope by the corner as
if it was contaminated, and let the picture bounce onto the table.
    Only now
there was something wrong with it.
    I slid
off of the sofa and hunkered down on my knees, peered across the table top, and
I swear to God that the emulsion had blown.
    The
front of the picture was beveled.
    It had
gone from flat to three D where a dirty line had traced around the guy's head.
It was like the image was trying to burn its way into the room.
    I sat
back on my haunches. I didn't know what to do, except I didn't want to touch
the thing now.
    I
slugged back on bourbon, chewed on ice, then dragged the back of my hand over
my mouth.
    I
thought it was blood.
    But when
I looked in close I couldn't see right. So I shuffled over to the lamp for a
better look and held my hand under the light.
    There
was a red smear all over my knuckles.
    I stood
up and staggered into the bathroom.
    The
over-light hissed and clicked as I stepped up to the cabinet and edged my way
in front of the rusted mirror.
    Don't
look at the eyes, Sean.
    I
remember thinking that, just don't look at the eyes.
    But I
didn't get a chance because that's when there was a thump at the front door.
    The
apartment was such a cheap dump I didn't even bother with security much. I
didn't add chains and bars across the door. There was no point.
    I had
nothing to steal. A burglar would have been doing me an insurance favor.
    And
burglars don't pound at the door.
    I dived
for the floor like a brick had been lobbed at my back.
    "Open
up!" the guy shouted.
    I
scrambled into the front room on my hands and knees and grabbed the photograph
just as the bullet ricocheted off the lock and embedded itself in the floor two
inches away from my hand.
    After
that it was pure instinct.
    I'm
surprised I remembered my jacket, never mind my wallet, as I scrambled out the
kitchen window.
    I guess
I should have remembered the letter. Without that they have had nothing on me.
And maybe that was why she had made such a fuss about me destroying it. Who
knows?
    And
maybe she was already dead because of it.
    #
    After
that I lived with rats and cockroaches behind dumpsters in backstreets for
three months until even the homeless guys grew suspicious of me.
    To tell
the truth I didn't trust them either. Any one of them could have been in
disguise, keeping watch.
    And I
still couldn't bring myself to get rid of the picture. If they caught me with
it I was a dead man. If they caught me without it I was a dead man.
    So I did
the next best thing.
    I
vanished completely.
    I
changed bank accounts, changed my name, bought a new passport and made my way
around the world.
    What I
didn't realize was how cold a desert gets in the middle of the night.
    All I
remember is sitting with my back against a rock and that I hadn't eaten
anything in days.
    I was so
numb I couldn't even feel pain.
    #
    "So
I had to run. You see that don't you? I had to get away."
    "What
happened to it?" the doctor asked.
    "He
took it from me."
    "Who?"
    "Orthon."
    "The
spaceman?"
    "Yes."
    "What
were you doing out in the middle of the Californian desert anyway?" he
asked scribbling notes on a yellow pad.
    "I
was heading for Desert Center," I said.
    "Why?"
he asked peering at me over half-moon specs.
    "Guess,"
I said.
    "I'm
all out of guess work," he said, hunched over back at his notes again.
    "I
was going for a walk," I said.
    "You
were lucky," he said leaning back. "Another few hours and you would
have died