We had concerned ourselves with two lives and had studied everything but life itself. It had all been wasted. In the end, bizarre hormonal changes had captured our attention with their effects upon the physical forms of the two subjects, and we had sunk without trace into chemical formulae and physical law. Perhaps the inevitability of such a conclusion should have been a personal vindication, but I felt a deep sense of guilt as I left the Institute, a powerful sense of failure.
I returned five days later to collect my few belongings. I visited the laboratory and was surprised to find everything still in operation, although there was no one there.
The sealed door to the environment was open and I called through. There was a peculiar smell in the air.
"Who's there?"
It was McCreedy's voice. I walked to a monitor screen and stared at him. He stared toward the camera, obviously not seeing me. "Who's that? Lipman?"
"Yes."
"You couldn't see it through, eh? Well… I can't say I blame you. But I don't give up so easily."
He returned to the subjects, both of which were now in a bad state of decomposition. Yvonne's body had liquefied quite phenomenally and the distended, distorted bones protruded through stretched skin.
"Something will happen," he shouted. "This is the most abnormal decomposition I have ever seen."
His sleeves were rolled up and a thick, green slime coated his arms—he was feeling around among the bloated viscera of the dead woman, and the body seemed to writhe beneath his touch.
I turned away. Behind me McCreedy shouted, "Look—Lipman, look!"
I closed the door against his madness.
-End