Thinner

And you'd really like to believe I'm crazy, wouldn't you, Mike? Because if I was crazy and I decided to start babbling about the little bottle and the little ivory spoon, why, no one would believe me anyway, would they? Goodness, no.

And that did it; the giggles passed.

'You asked him -'

'For a few details concerning the death? After the horror story your wife told me, you're damned right I asked him.' Houston's voice grew momentarily prim. 'You just ought to be damned glad that when he asked me why I wanted to know, I hung tough.'

'What did he say?'

'That Hopley's complexion was a mess, but nothing like the horror show you described to Heidi. Grand's description leads me to believe that it was a nasty outbreak of the adult acne I'd treated Duncan for off and on ever since I first examined him back in 1974. The outbreaks depressed him quite badly, and that came as no surprise to me – I'd have to say that adult acne, when it's severe, is one of the most psychologically bruising nonlethal ailments I know of.'

'You think he got depressed over the way he looked and killed himself.'

'In essence, yes.'

'Let me get this straight,' Billy said. 'You believe this was a more or less ordinary outbreak of the adult acne he'd had for years … but at the same time you believe he killed himself because of what he was seeing in the mirror. That's a weird diagnosis, Mike.'

'I never said it was the skin outbreak alone,' Houston said. He sounded a

'You should have seen him,' Billy said grimly. 'That wasn't a straw, that was the fucking World Trade Center.'

'He didn't leave a note, so I guess we'll never know, will we?'

'Christ,' Billy said, and ran a hand through his hair. 'Jesus Christ.'

'And the reasons for Duncan Hopley's suicide are almost beside the point, aren't they?'

'Not to me,' Billy said. 'Not at all.'

'It seems to me that the real point is that your mind played you a nasty trick, Billy. It guilt-tripped you. You had this … this bee in your bo

'No.'

'You sure? Heidi says you've been spending quite a bit of time in Andy's.'

'If I had,' Billy said, 'your wife would have seen me there, don't you think?'

There was a long period of silence. Then Houston said colorlessly: 'That was a damned low blow, Billy. But it's also exactly the sort of comment I'd expect from a man who is under severe mental stress.'

'Severe mental stress. Psychological anorexia. You guys have got a name for everything, I guess. But you should have seen him. You should have. . .'Billy paused, thinking of the flaming pimples on Duncan Hopley's cheeks, the oozing whiteheads, the nose that had become almost insignificant in the gruesome, erupting landscape of that haunted face.

'Billy, can't you see that your mind is hunting a logical explanation for what's happening to you? It feels guilt about the Gypsy woman, and so -'

'The curse ended when he shot himself,' Billy heard himself saying. 'Maybe that's why it didn't look so bad. It's like in the werewolf movies we saw when we were kids, Mike. When the werewolf finally gets killed, it turns back into a man again!'

Excitement replaced the confusion he had felt at the news of Hopley's suicide and Hopley's more or less ordinary skin ailment. His mind began to race down this new path, exploring it quickly, ticking off the possibilities and probabilities.

Where does a curse go when the cursee finally kicks it? Shit, might as well ask where a dying man's last breath goes.

Or his soul. Away. It goes away. Away, away, away. Is there maybe a way to drive it away?

Rossington – that was the first thing. Rossington, out there at the Mayo Clinic, clinging desperately to the idea that he had skin cancer, because the alternative was so much worse. When Rossington died, would he change back to … ?

He became aware that Houston had fallen silent. And there was a noise in the background, unpleasant but familiar … Sobbing? Was that Heidi, sobbing?

'Why's she crying?' Billy rasped.

'Billy -'

'Put her on!'

'Billy, if you could hear yourself

'Goddammit, put her on!'

'No. I won't. Not while you're like this.'

'Why, you cheap coke-sniffing little

'Billy, quit it!'

Houston's roar was loud enough to make Billy hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. When he put it back, the sobbing had stopped.

'Now, listen,' Houston said. 'There are no such things as werewolves and Gypsy curses. I feel foolish even telling you that.'

'Man, don't you see that's part of the problem?' Billy asked softly. 'Don't you understand that's how these guys have been able to get away with this stuff for the last twenty centuries or so?'

'Billy, if there's a curse on you, it's been laid by your own subconscious mind. Old Gypsies can't lay curses. But your own mind, masquerading as an old Gypsy, can.'

'Me, Hopley, and Rossington,' Halleck said dully, 'all at the same time. You're the one who's blind, Mike. Add it up. '

'It adds up to coincidence, and nothing more. How many times do we have to go around the mulberry bush, Billy? Go back to the Glassman. Let them help you. Stop driving your wife crazy.'

For a moment he was tempted to just give in and believe Houston – the sanity and rationality in his voice, no matter how exasperated, were comforting.

Then he thought of Hopley turning the Tensor lamp so that it shone savagely up onto his face. He thought of Hopley saying I'd kill him very slowly – I will spare you the details.

'No,' he said. 'They can't help me at the Glassman, Mike.'

Houston sighed heavily. 'Then who can? The old Gypsy?'

'If he can be found, maybe,' Halleck said. 'Just maybe. And there's another guy I know who might be of some help. A pragmatist, like you.'

Ginelli. The name had surfaced in his mind as he was speaking.

'But mostly, I think I've got to help myself.'

'That's what I've been telling you!'

'Oh – I was under the impression you'd just advised me to check back into the Glassman Clinic.'

Houston sighed. 'I think your brains must be losing weight, too. Have you thought about what you're doing to your wife and daughter? Have you thought about that at all?'

Did Heidi tell you what she was doing to me when the accident happened? Billy almost blurted out. Did she tell you that yet, Mikey? No? Oh, you ought to ask her … My, yes.

'Billy?'

'Heidi and I will talk about it,' Billy said quietly.

'But don't you -'

'I think you were right about at least one thing, Mike.'

'Oh? Good for me. And what was that?'

'We've gone around the mulberry bush enough,' Billy said, and hung up the telephone.

But they didn't talk about it.

Billy tried a couple of times, but Heidi only shook her head, her face white and set, her eyes accusing him. She only responded once.

It was three days after the telephone conversation with Houston, the one in which Heidi had been sobbing accompaniment in the background. They were just finishing di