“Seven, the book will never be finished.” A certain sound came into Cyprus’ voice and suddenly Seven saw a thousand books or more, each page of each book with its own sequels and probably variations, and each written down by a different probable Jeffery. Oversoul Seven winced. “It’s the one Jeffery we know that I’m speaking about.”

“Exactly,” Cyprus answered.

Seven started to reply, but the icicle he was staring at suddenly began to melt, dripping past the windowsill that Seven saw was Will’s, not Josef’s. “Will must be in trouble,” he cried to Cyprus. “Here we’ve been talking and—” Seven forgot what he was saying. The icicle was almost gone. The sun glittered on its vanishing remains for just a moment, and Will, staring at it, thought that he’d vanish from life as easily as the icicles melted in the sun. He’d take sleeping pills.

Will had a plastic Cheshire cat that he’d found in a secondhand store. Seven liked to sit inside it, when Will was in one of his moods, so that he could look out from a point of relative safety. Inside it now, he had an excellent view of Will, who was rigidly sitting on the side of the rumpled bed, staring hard-eyed out the window at the point where the icicle had just vanished.

“Shit,” Will muttered. He’d awakened with a dream memory that infuriated him, and though the memory was already nearly gone, his anger grew. Now all he recalled was the feeling that he’d dreamed about himself, only a self so accomplished that next to that image, he was worthless. Or nearly worthless. Dead, at least his poor empty body would get some attention. Dead; he’d make them question, his friends and so-called friends, his traveling-free parents and prissy professors. How could you have let such a young man die? Will cursed: There he was, full of self-pity again! Well, sleeping pills would take care of that, too.

“You don’t even like to swallow aspirin,” Seven said mentally.

“No, pills won’t do,” Will mused, accepting Seven’s thought without wondering where it came from. Neither would drugs. If he was going to die, he wanted to make an impact. He smiled brightly, dramatically: If he was going to do it, he’d do it right.