He broke off and caught his breath. Some new chemical reaction was fizzing inside his skull. He paled, then trembled, then swore. When his vision cleared again, he saw that Star was now very close to him, the blue-black eyes just inches from his own. He flinched.

“You saw?” Star said. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Nothing. I saw nothing. I was just—Jesus, Star, it’s this stuff. I can’t think straight. Come on, we know each other, right? No hassle, we’re…”

“Oh, sure, we know each other.” Star moved closer and gripped Mitchell’s lapels. “You know me really well. Like, inside out. You know what makes me tick. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. What does make me tick, exactly, Mitchell? Is it money, pills, little girls, like you? Or is it more?”

Mitchell began to struggle violently. “Let go of me,” he began, his voice rising. “Let fucking go of me, okay?”

“I think it’s more, Mitchell. I think it’s this—appetite—I have for more. More of everything. More sex, more money, more pills, more thrills, more excess. What should I do with you, Mitchell, now that you know me so well? Should I kiss you? Should I kill you?”

Mitchell gave a moan. Star was strong, and he was lifting him up now so his feet dangled above the ground. His wide mouth and even, white teeth were now half an inch from Mitchell’s own.

“Sweet…” Star said, dragging the word out so it sounded like an incantation. He bent forward, then he bit Mitchell’s nose.

Mitchell gave a howl of pain. Star laughed, and dropped him.

“Just a love bite,” he said.

Mitchell rumbled for a handkerchief and mopped his face. His nose was bleeding, and his hands were shaking; the tides of chemicals were still ebbing back and forth in his brain. “You fucking maniac…” He stared at the bloody handkerchief. He looked around him blankly. In the gathering dusk, Star had disappeared. He shook his head, breathed deeply, closed his eyes, then opened them. This time he could see Star. He was standing right in front of him, unaffected by these events, looking much as before. A down-and-out with diabolic eyes. Mitchell shivered, then swore.

“Who the fuck are you?” he began. “What are you? Why in hell…”

Star ignored the question; he gave a sweet, wolfish smile. “You know the place? See you tonight, then.”

He did not wait for any reply from his client. Mitchell’s gaze was now glazed, his eyes closing again. Star watched him for a few moments more, coolly and dispassionately, the way a scientist might watch the result of laboratory tests on mice or rats. Then he gave his thin dog a caress and turned.

Mitchell, coming to his senses a short while afterward, searched the clearing, then checked the track. Star’s capacity to materialize and dematerialize alarmed him. Mitchell felt a bit twitchy, a bit paranoid; no more than a minute or two had passed—Star had to be in sight.

He stared down the straight track to the road below. Shadows and shapes moved in his brain; the track undulated like a switchback, it had a life of its own. Mitchell watched it snake and coil. Slowly he began to understand: the track was deserted; the road was deserted. Star should have been visible, but was not; the air had assimilated him. Star was gone.