"But about the series—"
"I've got your name and address. I'll let you know if anything turns up. Don't call me; I'll call you."
Clocker closed the door behind him, went out of the handsome building and called a taxi. All through the long ride, he stared at the thinning out of the city, the huddled suburban communities, the stretches of grass and well-behaved woods that were permitted to survive.
He climbed out at Glendale Center Hospital, paid the hackie, and went to the admitting desk. The nurse gave him a smile.
"We were wondering when you'd come visit your wife," she said. "Been away?"
"Sort of," he answered, with as little emotion as he had felt while he was being controlled. "I'll be seeing plenty of her from now on. I want my old room back."
"But you're perfectly normal!"
"That depends on how you look at it. Give me ten minutes alone and any brain vet will be glad to give me a cushioned room."
Hands in his pockets, Clocker went into the elevator, walked down the corridor to his old room without pausing to visit Zelda. It was the live Zelda he wanted to see, not the tapping automaton.
He went in and shut the door.