That was the end. Or rather the beginning—the beginning of Fleetwood's strange new emotional pattern.
At any rate he felt better having at least established the point of departure, even if it didn't make the riddle of his growing metamorphosis one whit clearer. He boosted himself away from the drinking fountain and continued along the hallway with the eerie feeling that he was moving toward some prearranged meeting with Destiny.
He was still a soul adrift, so to speak, when he pushed his way out of the Grande and stood pondering in the afternoon sun. The sidewalk, the street, the traffic, the confused and crowded skyline—all of these things, in turn, presented new problems of identification and orientation, as though he was seeing them all for the first time and didn't know quite what to make of them. And yet.... And yet—what? It was as though his mind had made another sudden turning and again brought him up against the blank wall. The past, even the immediate past that included the events in the Grande Apartments, slipped away from him and were lost. When he tried to think back there were only words in his mind in place of faces, places, events—words like caper, rod, dame, murder. They brought with them no mental association with anything real or experienced. He passed a hand slowly over his eyes. Surely he was losing his mind.
With heavy concentration he forced his attention to the row of automobiles along the curb. He had the feeling that one of them belonged to him, but he hadn't the slightest idea of which one it might be. He closed his eyes and waited. The spell would pass. The others had.
He opened his eyes and hopefully surveyed the row of cars for a second time. There was something about the blue convertible. He moved forward, thinking to check the registration slip, when a smart-looking woman in green tweed walked up to the car, got inside, glanced at him curiously and quickly started the engine. He edged back, coloring about the neck and ears.
He waited a bit longer but the lost feeling didn't leave him. If anything it only grew stronger. He turned aimlessly back toward the Grande Apartments, then started with a gasp of dismay.
The Grande Apartments were gone, and in their place was an establishment called The Handy Drug Store! Fleetwood tried to think clearly, more clearly than he ever had before. It wasn't any good; there wasn't any logical answer. Warily, he approached the store and went inside.
He by-passed the cigarette counter and the magazine racks, noted their contents curiously, and climbed aboard a stool at a long counter. At least it was a place to sit down and rest. A girl approached from the other side of the counter and made a quick pass at the area in front of him with a paper napkin.
"Yes?" she inquired.