Ellison Wonderland by Harlan Ellison

roles; but never once coming to grips with reality.
    In the plight and disease of Richard Becker, Dr. Charles Tedrow saw a bit of himself, of all men, of his times and the thousand illnesses to which mortal flesh heir.
    He returned Richard Becker, as well as Ted Rogat, to the security and tiny world of room 16.
    Two months later he brought him back, and spent a highly interesting three hours discussing group therapy with Herr Doktor Ernst Loebisch, credentials from the Munich Academy of Medicine and the Vienna Psychiatric Clinic. Four months after that, Dr. Tedrow got to know the surly and insipid Jackie Bishoff, juvenile delinquent and hero of “Streets of Night.”
    And almost a year later — to the day — Dr. Tedrow sat in his office with a bum, a derelict, a rheumy–eyed and dissipated vagabond who could only be the skid from
Sweet Miracles
, Richard Becker’s first triumph, twenty–four years before.
    What Richard Becker might look like, without camouflage, in his own shell, Tedrow had no idea. He was, now, to all intents and purposes, the seedy old tramp with the dirt caked into the sagged folds of his face.
    â€œMr. Becker, I want to talk to you.”
    Hopelessness shined out of the old bum’s eyes. There was no answer.
    â€œListen to me, Becker. Please listen to me, if you’re in there somewhere, if you can hear me. I want you to understand what I’m about to say; it’s very important.”
    A croak, cracked and forced, came from the bum’s lips, and he mumbled, “I need’a drink, yuh go’ uh drink fuh me, huh . . . ”
    Tedrow leaned across, his hand shaking as he took the old bum’s chin in his palm, and held it fixed, staring into this stranger’s eyes. “Now listen to me, Becker. You’ve got to hear me. I’ve gone through the files, and as far as I can tell, this was the first part you ever played. I don’t know what will happen! I don’t know what form this syndrome will take after you’ve used up all your other lives. But if you can hear me, you’ve got to understand that you may be approaching a crisis point in your — in your life.”
    The old bum licked cracked lips.
    â€œ
Listen!
I’m here, I want to help you, I want to
do
something for you, Becker. If you’ll come out for an instant, just a second, we can establish contact. It’s got to be now or — ”
    He left it hanging. He had no way of knowing
if–what
. And as he lapsed into silence, as he released the bum’s chin, a strange alteration of facial muscles began, and the derelict’s countenance shifted, subtly ran like mercury, and for a second he saw a face he recognized. From the eyes that were no longer red–rimmed and bloodshot, Dr. Charles Tedrow saw intelligence peering out.
    â€œIt sounds like fear, Doctor,” he said.
    And, “Goodbye, once more.”
    Then the light died, the features shifted once again, and the physician was staring once more at the empty face of a gutter–bred derelict.
    He sent the old man back to room 16. Later that day, he had one of the male nurses take in an 89-cent bottle of muscatel.
    â€œSpeak up, man! What in the name of God is going on out there?”
    â€œI — I can’t explain it, Dr. Tedrow, but you’d better — you’d better get out here right away. It’s — it’s oh Jee–zus!”
    â€œWhat
is
it? Stop crying, Wilson, and tell me what the hell is
wrong
!”
    â€œIt’s, it’s number 16 . . . it’s . . . ”
    â€œI’ll be there in twenty minutes. Keep everyone away from that room. Do you understand? Wilson! Do you understand me?”
    â€œYessir, yessir. I’ll — oh Christ — hurry up Doc . . . ”
    He could feel his pajama pants bunched around his knees, under his slacks, as he floored the pedal of the ranch wagon. The midnight roads