Free The Twilight Zone: Complete Stories by Rod Serling Page B

distinctly different from the man she married, the hypochondriac she had lived with for so many years.
    “Walter,” she asked, “do you feel all right?”
    Bedeker ignored her. “At least when I was concerned about my health,” he said aloud to no one, “there was an element of risk there. But now there is no risk. There is no excitement. There is no nothing!”
    He suddenly cocked his head slightly, his eyes grew wide and he ran past her to the bathroom. She heard him fumbling through the medicine chest over the sink. There was the clatter of bottles and of glass.
    “Ethel?” he called from the bathroom. “Do we have any starch?”
    Ethel walked toward the bathroom door. “Starch?” she asked.
    Bedeker said, “Of course, starch.”
    Ethel looked over his shoulder at the bottles he had lined up.
    There was iodine, rubbing alcohol and Epsom salts. He had one glass into which he was pouring sizable portions from each.
    “Starch!” Bedeker repeated impatiently.
    Ethel went to the kitchen and got a bottle of starch from a cabinet under the sink. She brought it to Bedeker and he immediately unscrewed the top and poured this last ingredient into the mixture, which foamed and took on a kind of mustard color. Bedeker held up the glass, and with a quick motion, drank it all down. Ethel gaped at him as he smacked his lips, looked at his face in the mirror, stuck out his tongue, then put the glass down disconsolately.
    “You see?” he asked.
    “See what?” Her voice trembled.
    “See what I just drank? Iodine, rubbing alcohol, Epsom salts and starch. And what did it do to me, Ethel? I ask you—what did it do to me? It did nothing! Absolutely nothing. I’ve just drunk enough poison to kill a dozen men and it tasted like lemonade. Weak lemonade.”
    Ethel leaned against the door. Her voice was very steady. “Walter,” she said, “I want to know what this is all about!”
    Bedeker peered at her elfishly. “What it’s all about? You really want to now?”
    She nodded.
    “All right,” Bedeker said, “I’ll tell you. I happen to be immortal. I am indestructible. I made a pact with a man named Cadwallader who has given me immortality in exchange for my soul. More succinctly than that, I couldn’t put it.”
    Ethel caught a brief look at her reflection in the mirror and wondered in part of her brain how any woman could look so pale and so frightened.
    “I want you to sit down, Walter,” she said, collecting herself. “I’m going to make you some tea and then I’m going to call the doctor.”
    She turned to leave and Bedeker grabbed her arm, yanking her around to face him.
    “You will not make tea,” he commanded. “And you will not call the doctor. If you had any imagination at all, Ethel, you might tell me what I could do to get a little excitement out of all of this. I’ve been in subway crashes, bus accidents, major fires and just now, I drank poison. You saw me.” He paused and shrugged. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing. You know what I’ve been thinking?” He left the bathroom and walked back into the living room. “I have been thinking, Ethel, that I should go up to the roof and throw myself down the light well! Smack dab down the light well. Fourteen stories down just for the experience of it.”
    Ethel sat heavily down in a chair, close to tears now. “Please, Walter. Please, for goodness’ sake—”
    Bedeker went toward the door. “Ethel, darling, shut your mouth.”
    She sprang to her feet and raced to the door, intercepting him just as he started to open it.
    “Walter,” she beseeched him. “Please, Walter, for God’s sake—”
    He pushed her out of the way and went out, down the hall, to the rear stairs and started to climb. Ethel followed him, pleading all the way, arguing, cajoling, but he would have none of it. On the roof, he headed toward the light well. It was a big, square hole covered by glass. There was a small concrete shelf around it that stood only about eight inches high.