I took a deep breath, held it, and at last said. “Scottie?” There was no motion beneath the paper. I took another breath and said, “Mr. Fitzgerald?” At last the paper drifted aside and the young old man underneath it opened his eyes. His face was familiar and young and terribly haunted. The cheeks were smooth and the chin was very fine. The eyes, which were clear blue, seemed to have trouble focusing on me. “Well?” he said at last. I replied, “God, I hate to bother you, but I’m a sort of literary agent and, well, forgive me, but I have an idea that I want to offer you.” I stopped, blushing at what I’d said, as the newspaper drifted back over the old young face. I took another breath and blurted, “Scottie.” There was only silence. “I apologize,” I said. “But Mr. Fitzgerald, please.” The paper drifted aside again and he stared up at me, waiting patiently. “This is ridiculous, I know,” I said. “Let me find a way to put it. Do you believe that you can travel back in time just by thinking about doing it?
What do You think about One More Body In The Pool?
