"Forget it?" demanded Carroll.
"I saw no black car. You claim that Sally walked to the corner, turned away and entered a black sedan. Actually—though I said nothing—Sally crossed the street and entered the store. As we finished there and left she followed us, passed us on the sidewalk and delivered her package. This is merely a delusion, James."
"Delusion?" said Carroll doubtfully. "Am I—Am I...?
"I plead with you, James. Let me give you psychiatric help? Please?"
Carroll considered. Delusion—he must be going mad. "I'll be in to see you tomorrow," he said.
Pollard took a deep breath.
"Thank God!" he said.
James Carroll returned home in a dither. Regardless of the pain of—whatever it was—he was going to go through with this. Delusions and hallucinations of that vividness should not be. He must be in a severe mental state. He hadn't believed them when they told him that he had been a brilliant physicist. But this well-proven hallucination was final. And before he got worse....
James Carroll was in a state over his state by the time he opened his front door. He entered the room, looking idly about him, half in fear of what he might see next.
What he saw was the sheet of paper with the report on it.