Rofocale was sitting up on the bed when he arrived.
“Don’t you ever lock your door?” asked Raven.
“Eddie, it’s eight or nine feet away,” answered Rofocale. “I can’t even walk that far.” He paused and stared at Raven. “Did you see Lisa? How is she?”
“Alive.”
“And?”
“And hiding something from me, just like you are,” said Raven, making no attempt to hide his frustration. “And I’ll be damned if I know why. Whatever I am or have been during the past few weeks, I’m sure as hell not the enemy.”
“No one says that you are,” replied Rofocale.
“Bullshit!” growled Raven. “Four-fifths of the people I’ve encountered in the past month think I am.”
“That many people have been wrong before.”
Raven glared at the creature. “Is someone paying you to avoid giving me answers, or do you just enjoy it?”
“Believe it or not, Eddie, I’m on your side.”
“Against who?” demanded Raven.
“Against your enemies,” said Rofocale.
“Damn it!” yelled Raven. “I didn’t have any enemies until I walked into that idiotic fortune-teller’s shop a few weeks ago. Then someone I’d never seen before killed the owner, shot you and Lisa, and got away before I could stop him, and nothing’s made any sense since.” He glared at Rofocale. “Now are you going to answer me or not?”
Rofocale’s lips didn’t move, but Raven could hear his voice, plain and clear, inside his head: You have major obstacles to overcome before any answer would be meaningful to you, or even helpful. I’ll guide you as best I can, for as long as I remain alive, but never forget that the fate of this and all other worlds depends on you.
“What the hell are you talking about?” snapped Raven.
Just what I said. You are the most important man—the most important living entity—in the world. The galaxy. The universe.
Raven stared at Rofocale. “You don’t look crazy. Fantastic, maybe, but not crazy—but you couldn’t be any more irrational if you tried.”
Believe me, Eddie, you are being sought and threatened by massive forces—massive and powerful. You don’t know it yet, and I know the truth will be difficult for you to believe—but think back over the last few weeks and tell me if those constitute normal episodes in a normal life.
“Dreams,” answered Raven with less certainty than he felt. “The shooting must have shocked me so much that I’ve been hallucinating.”
Do you really believe that?
Raven considered his answer for a long moment. “No,” he said at last. “No, I don’t. For one thing, how could Lisa have had the same dreams?”
Good.
“But why are they after me—whoever they are?” asked Raven. “I’m nothing special. What possible threat could I present to them?”
You don’t know it, Eddie, but you are very special.
Raven grimaced and shook his head. “There’s been a mistake made somewhere along the way. I’m just plain old Eddie Raven.”
The hint of a smile flashed briefly across Rofocale’s face. Rather than argue, let’s try an experiment.
Raven frowned. “What kind of experiment?” he asked cautiously.
Think back and tell me who your childhood friends were, what town you grew up in, and the name of your first love.
“What is this about?” demanded Raven.
Just do it, Eddie.
“What the hell,” muttered Raven with a shrug. “If it’ll make you happy . . .”
It will.
“Fine. My best friend was Skip Nelson, I grew up in Barrington, Illinois, and my first love—well, the first girl I was attracted to—was Marcia Barelli.”
Very good, Eddie.
“Big deal. Now tell me what this is all about.”
In just a moment.
“What next?” demanded Raven.
I’ve forgotten the names. Tell them to me again—your best friend, your home town, your first love.
Raven was about to answer, and suddenly nothing came out. He closed his eyes and concentrated. And frowned. And concentrated harder. And muttered an obscenity. Finally he opened his eyes and glared at Rofocale. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
Your childhood memory is totally blank?
“You know it is,” growled Raven.
Yes, I do.
“What have you done to me?”
Nothing recent.
“Explain!” yelled Raven.
Those were memories that were given to you, Eddie. On loan, so to speak. I have just returned them to their rightful owner, a man you will never meet, and who is completely unaware of your existence.
“Can you do that?” asked Raven.
Let’s see. Please answer my question again.
Raven concentrated and frowned again. “I still can’t.”
You’re sure?
Raven tried again and shook his head in bewilderment. “I have no past—or, rather, I can’t remember one prior to the last few months.”
I know.
“Explain,” said Raven, trying to fight back the sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm him.
It will be difficult to assimilate, but you must try, Eddie.
“Just get on with it.”
You were too powerful to kill in your true form, but your enemies were able to wipe out your memory, your very identity, and place your consciousness in another body—the body you now inhabit.
“Why?” demanded Raven.
Because they fear who you really are.
“Who I am?” growled Raven. “I sell wholesale suits and dresses in the Garment District, for Christ’s sake!”
That is your disguise, Eddie. It was given to you—imposed on you, actually—once it became apparent that you were on their trail.
“Do you know how little sense this is making?” said Raven irritably.
How much more sense have the past few weeks made to you, Eddie? Believe me, you were given your physical appearance and your memories so that no one—and especially not you—would ever guess who you really are.
“And who is that?”
It is enough that you are their greatest enemy.
“Whose greatest enemy?” Raven all but bellowed.
Calm down, Eddie. Any further information could cause you to act in ways that are detrimental to our cause.
Raven stared at the creature on the cot. “What the hell is our cause?” he asked at last.
Everything will become clear in time. If you learn too soon, you will try to use your powers prematurely, with catastrophic results.
“What powers, goddammit?” yelled Raven.
Quiet, Eddie. No sense alerting them to your presence.
“Talking to you in your dingy apartment will alert some mysterious ‘them’ to my presence? Those bullets did you more damage than you think.”
By now you must know better.
“I don’t know anything,” muttered Raven, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and suddenly realizing that he didn’t smoke. “I came here for answers. All I get is double-talk.”
All will become clear in time.
“Screw it!” snapped Raven, getting angrily to his feet. “I quit. I’m going on strike until you tell me what the hell this is all about.”
You can quit, but they won’t. You—and those who depend upon you—are in mortal danger.
“I don’t care,” said Raven. “No answers from you, no cooperation from me.”
You are our only hope, came the silent words, and the desperation Rofocale transmitted to Raven was almost palpable. You must act!
“Then tell me what I want to know,” said Raven, standing by the door. “This is the last time I’m going to ask.”
There was no answer, and Raven could see that the extended effort of communicating telepathically had robbed Rofocale of his remaining strength, and that he had lapsed into unconsciousness. Raven, who couldn’t differentiate a faint from a coma, especially in a creature like this, decided to see if he could reestablish contact and peek inside Rofocale’s mind, but all he got were nightmare images that drove him to the brink of madness before he was able to finally break the connection.
“Great!” he muttered as he walked out the door, down the stairs, and began wandering distractedly through the darkened streets. “The only two people who can help me figure out what’s going on are both comatose!”