Jack Williamson - Hole In The World

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JACK WILLIAMSON

THE HOLE IN THE WORLD

Dear Dad," Amy's note began, "I found your address on a letter from Mom's

lawyer. You don't have to write back to me, but I hope you will. I want to know

if you are happy with Miss Winkle. Mom says she's a vicious bitch. I hope that's

wrong. I'm awful sad about the trouble I made between you and More. I know I was

sometimes so bad you had to hit me, but I'll always love you. Even if you can't

pay the support.

"If you can write back, please send it to Millie. She's my best friend. Her

address is on the envelope. Dad, I want you to know I love you. I always will,

no matter what."

The signature was a messy ink stain. She must have cried on it. Maybe she really

did love him. She had even sworn she did, crying on the witness stand. She'd

told the judge he hadn't hit her often. Never really hard. She had gotten the

bruises and broken her arm when she tripped and fell down the stairs.

A cute little kid, but he couldn't risk an answer. Gretchen and her

blood-sucking attorney would eat him alive with anything they got their greedy

hands on. He ran the letter through the shredder. His worry today was the spot

on his chin. He had first noticed it while he was shaving.

A tiny white spot with jagged edges, it looked like a fleck of eggshell. But it

wasn't eggshell. His fingers couldn't feel it. It wouldn't rub off. Frowning at

it, he studied his face again. Still firm enough, pleasing enough when he

smiled. The white fleck was still there, but he had other matters on his mind.

He'd been alone all week, but Creighton and Zara were both due back today.

Creighton had been off at company headquarters, setting up his new franchise.

Zara was away in Dayton, where her sister was having a baby. The franchise meant

money, and Zara loved money as much as he loved her. He was picking her up at

noon.

And tonight --

Thinking of tonight, he let the razor foil caress his face again. His chin had

to be smooth, because whiskers scratched Zara's delicate skin. She loved to have

him begin with a massage of her sweet little feet and work up from there. He

splashed aftershave in his hand and rubbed the spot again.

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Still there, it looked larger. Maybe a floater? But floaters were dark and it

was white. He shut one eye and then the other. Both eyes saw it. Maybe he'd had

a drink too many at Steve's stag party. He tried to whistle on his way

downstairs, but his lips were dry and a dull ache throbbed at the back of his

skull and the house was too empty.

Gretchen had taken most of the furniture as well as the kids, but Amy had left

her school photo tacked to the refrigerator door with a heart-shaped magnet. The

spot blotted out half her freckled grin. He ran hot water out of the tap to make

instant coffee and ate a stale doughnut before he hurried to the office.

Creighton wasn't in.

"He said he'd be here," he told the secretary, "to talk about the franchise -- "

"Ask him about it." She was a straight-spined, sharp-voiced, God-crazed spinster

who had never liked him. "He called from Hawaii to say he'll be in later today."

"Hawaii?" Goggling at her, he saw the spot above her lifted nose. "I thought he

was in Chicago, arranging my new franchise."

"Chicago?" She pushed up her glasses to give him an indignant glare. "Mr.

Creighton has been on vacation in Hawaii. He'll be here this afternoon."

She swung back to her computer.

What the hell? Creighton hadn't mentioned Hawaii. He rubbed his chin and tried

to check his sales totals for the month, but the spot blanked the figures out.

His head was pounding. His throat felt parched. He got a drink of water and

looked at his chin in the lavatory mirror. No longer white, it shone like a

fleck of tinfoil. He washed his face and saw it still there.

Bothered more than ever, he called Dr. Kroman, the eye man on the top floor. He

knew the nurse, a feisty little redhead. She said she could work him in if he

came up at ten. He studied the spot again. Now it was nearly the color of blood

and flickering unsteadily, though still there was nothing he could feel. The

face of his watch was a crimson shimmer, but he could read the office clock. He

went up at ten and the nurse put him in a heavy chair with his head in a vise.

Kroman was a fat, wheezy man who smelled faintly of something that didn't quite

cover an unpleasant breath. Squinting through a battery of lenses, he endured

the breath and a dagger of light stabbing his eyes. The spot made it hard to

tell which lens was better, but Kroman seemed not to care.

"Sir, you're a lucky man!" Booming cheerily, Kroman backed away. "I find nothing

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Jack Williamson - Hole In The World

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