You're All Alone (illustrated) by Fritz Leiber Read Free Book Online Page B

felt, and her arms were rigidly fixed to hold a teacup or an open purse.
    THERE WAS something so ludicrous about the costume of the four men and their unconcern, both for the shoppers and for the figure they were carrying, that it was all Carr could do not to burst out laughing. As it was, he was relieved that none of the four men happened to look his way and catch his huge grin.
    He studied them delightedly, wondering what weird circumstances had caused this bit of behind-the-scenes department-store business to take place in front of everyone.
    Oddly, no one else seemed aware of how amusing they looked. It was something for Carr’s funny-bone alone.
    He watched until they were well past him. Almost regretfully, he turned away toward the tie counter. But just then the rigid right arm of the mannequin unfolded and dropped down slackly, and the head fell back, and the dark-lashed eyes flickered and fixed on him a sick, doomed stare.
    Carr was not quite sure how he got out of the store without screaming or running. There was a blank space of panic in his memory. The next thing he remembered clearly was pushing his way through the ocean of unseeing faces on State Street. By then he had begun to rationalize the event. Perhaps the mannequin’s arm worked on a pivot, and its swinging down had startled him into imagining the rest. Of course the hand had looked soft and limp and helpless as it dragged along the floor, but that could have been imagination too.
    After all, a world in which people could “turn off” other people like clockwork toys and cart them away just wasn’t possible—even if it would help to explain some of the hundreds of mysterious disappearances that occur every month.
    No, it had all been his damnable imagination. Just the same, his mood of calm self-confidence was shattered and he was tormented by a sudden sense of guilt about his lateness. He must get back to the office as quickly as he could. Behind his desk he’d find security.
    The five blocks to General Employment seemed fifty. More than once he looked back uneasily. He found himself searching the crowd for black snap-brim hats.
    He hurried furtively through the lobby and up the stairs. After hesitating a moment outside, he gathered his courage and entered the applicants’ waiting room.
    He looked through the glass panel. The big blonde who had slapped Jane was sitting in his swivel chair, rummaging through the drawers of his desk.

CHAPTER VIII
What’s a mean guy do when he finds out other guys and girls are as good as dead? He trots out all the nasty notions he’s been keeping warm inside his rotten little heart. Now I can get away with them, he figures . . .
    CARR DIDN’T move. His first impulse was to confront the woman, but right on its heels came the realization that she’d hardly be acting this way without some sort of authorization—and hardly obtain an authorization without good cause.
    His mind, instinctively preferring realistic fears to worse ones, jumped back to a fleeting suspicion that Jane was mixed up in some sort of crime. This woman might be a detective.
    But detectives didn’t go around slapping people, at least not before they arrested them. Yet this woman had a distinctly professional look about her, bold as brass as she sat there going through his stuff.
    On the other hand, she might have walked into the office without anyone’s permission, trusting to bluff to get away with it.
    Carr studied her through the glass panel. She was more beautiful than he’d realized yesterday. With that lush figure, faultless blonde hair, and challenging lips, she might be a model for billboard advertisements. Even the slight out-of-focus look of her eyes didn’t spoil her attractiveness. And her gray sports outfit looked like five hundred dollars or so.
    Yet there was something off-key about even her good looks and get-up. She carried the lush figure with a blank animal assurance. There was a startling and unashamed barbarousness in