By Charles De Lint
Whilst the quiet and dependable Leonard dealer and the wild and reckless Johnny Devlin get up in every one other's our bodies, dealer is left to aim to patch jointly Devlin's shattered and hopeless lifestyles.
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When I put what this tells me about Devlin together with the reaction I got from Zeffy and Tanya earlier, I realize that, unlike me, Devlin doesn't have much of a life to return to. I wonder if Devlin ever thought about that. Prob ably not—but that makes me stop to consider my own life, how easily it can be summed up. I have to ask myself, am I really much better? WHiat do I have except for my work? Not much. If I was to disappear—or if Devlin was to leave the city in my body—who'd miss me? People depend ing on me for instrument repairs or advice.
In a week," I repeat. I feel safe with that time-frame. This is Devlin's problem, so let him deal with it. I can't imagine the situation I'm in lasting out the day, little say dragging on for a week. Though I don't mind having had the chance to meet this Zeffy. I like her spunk, the way she won't back down, not to the man in the hall ear lier and not to me now. I just wish I'd been able to meet her under different circumstances, that I could be myself and not have her so angry with me—or rather, so angry with Devlin.
Now I feel caught. Trapped. When the doorbell sounds again, I'm expecting it, but no more willing 28 CHARLES DE LINT to answer it than the first time it rang. What would I say to whoever's at the door? How can I tell if I'm even supposed to know the person? Whoever's standing out in the hall is leaning on the bell now. The sound of its ringing goes through the apartment in a continuous, irritating peal and I get the feeling that it's not anyone that John Devlin would want to see either. I go out into the living room and stand in front of the door, not knowing what to do.