Shadow on the Sun by Richard Matheson

end of the hall. The window was open and the man was gone. We thought maybe he’d gone in your room so we took a look, ’scuse that. He wasn’t there though. So he must have jumped from the window. From the second floor though?”
    Dodge felt as if he were about to faint. His head felt very light and there was a buzzing in his ears. No, this is wrong, he thought. It wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.
    â€œWhere—” He coughed weakly. “Where is he now?” he asked. He was appalled at how weak and strained his voice had become.
    â€œAin’t seen him since this morning when the Apaches rode in to see him,” Harry said. “You know who he is?”
    His voice trailed off on the last two words of his question because Professor Dodge had turned away and moved abruptly toward the stairs. Doesn’t look too steady, Harry thought. He watched the professor start up the steps, holding tightly to the bannister. Was it his imagination or had the blood drained from Dodge’s face? He certainly looked disturbed enough. Who
was
that weird duck anyway? He’d have to tell Ethel about this right off.
    Dodge heard the thump of his boots on the steps but could barely feel his feet. He seemed to have gone numb all over. He kept shaking his head with tiny, jerking movements. There had to be another explanation for this. It could not possibly be what it seemed.
    He twitched in shock as a sob broke in his throat. “No,” he whispered.
    He half-ran, half-walked down the hallway, unlocked the door to his room and pushed inside. Closing the door quickly, he relocked it, his hand so palsied by fear that he could barely manage it.
    Then he stumbled to the bed and dropped down on it heavily. He felt completely drained of strength. He had not felt such a sense of dread since that night in the shaman’s wickiup when . . .
    â€œNo!”
He drove a fist down weakly on the bed. It couldn’t be! It was impossible!
    Impossible.
    Â 
    When Finley got back to town, he left his horse at the livery stable and started toward the hotel. He wanted more than anything to strip away his clothes and take a hot bath, he felt so befouled by what he’d had to do. He could still smell the sickening odor of Al Corcoran’s mutilated flesh.
    It was when he was taking his key from Harry that he asked offhandedly if Professor Dodge had come back yet.
    â€œYes, he has,” Harry told him. “Just got back about”—he checked the wall clock—“oh, fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”
    â€œAnd he’s in his room?” Finley asked.
    â€œFar as I know,” Harry answered. “Leastwise, haven’t seen him leave.”
    â€œWhat’s the number of his room?” Finley asked.
    â€œTwenny-nine.”
    â€œThanks,” Finley said, turning away.
    The bath would have to wait, he thought. Dodge was the only one who might be able to shed some light on this unnerving situation. He couldn’t imagine why that grisly-looking man would want to see Dodge, but at least it was a start—and all he had to go on at the moment.
    Reaching the second floor, he walked to the end of the hall and knocked on the door to Room Twenty-nine. He twitched his head a little to the left, thinking he heard a gasp inside the room. Then there was dead silence. He waited for Dodge to open the door.
    When nothing happened, he knocked again, a little more loudly.
    There was no response. Could Harry have been wrong? he thought. Had Dodge gone out again?
    He knocked once more and said, “Professor Dodge?”
    There was no answer. “Are you in there?” he asked loudly.
    Silence. He grunted in frustration and started to turn away.
    â€œWho is it?” he heard Dodge ask from inside the room, his voice tight and barely audible.
    â€œBilljohn Finley,” he answered.
    â€œWho?” The question sounded faintly.
    â€œFinley.” He grimaced with