Disclaimer: Early Edition, its characters and whatever else are owned by Tri-Star and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is, was or ever will be made off this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Being Gary Hobson
by Measer

"Well? Are you coming?"  A very pregnant woman, carrying a box full of pamphlets asked from inside the elevator.

Chuck took a few steps towards the elevator, but stopped, having a flashback to the last time he was in this situation. How he fainted, after the woman slumped to the floor as amniotic fluid flowed from her body when her contractions began. On the plus side he got his picture in the paper despite the fact he was unconscious the whole time.

He decided that he never wanted to go through that again. "No... I'll wait for the next one," he said shaking his head quickly.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes as the doors slid shut, leaving Chuck the only person standing in the elevator area of the lobby.

A quarter past ten.  He was once again late for work, but he didn't really care.  The only thing that bothered him was Pritchard's mouth.  Chuck had a feeling that his obnoxious boss was out to get him and wasn't in the mood to deal with him. He hit the elevator button repeatedly until a familiar "ding" sounded and the door parted in front of him.  Stepping in, he hit 12.

"My job would be so much easier if I had the paper," Chuck leaned against the back wall mumbling to himself as the elevator slowly ascend upward. "I could be richer than my wildest fantasies."  But he didn't have the paper, just his own skills.  It bothered him that a way to make a fortune was so close, yet so far.  He wished that just for once that he could make Gary see his point of view for once, instead of the unspoken rules that his best friend had placed upon tomorrow's paper.

Chuck was lost in thought.  Which was a bad thing since the elevator decided to come to a screeching halt, tossing its inattentive passenger to the floor like a crumpled piece of paper by a writer who suffers from writer's block.  He let off a low groan as he laid face forward on the floor.  He rolled over and opened his eyes to see the fluorescent lights flickering in an almost hypnotic pattern.  With a low buzzing noise, the lights cut out, throwing the elevator into complete darkness.

"Great ... just great...! Is anything going to go my way today?"

"Ow ... that's the railing..."  Rubbing the slight bump on his head with one hand, Chuck used the other to hoist himself to a standing position.  He was unsure of what to do next.  Luckily the emergency lights kick in.  He was greeted by the brightness of a 5-watt bulb.  "That's it... I'm taking the stairs from now on..."

Chuck let off an exasperated breath, wishing once again that he'd taking a sick day.  He looked up at the light and sighed again, for the second time, loudly. "It's better than nothing ... but I can get more light out of a glow stick..."

The light flickered brightly then dimly. Chuck prayed that the thing wouldn't die.  "Okay I'm sorry... You're bright enough...  You're bright enough!"

The light fluctuated a couple time, teasing poor Chuck, who stared up at the light patiently. It finally settled back to its normal illumination. Chuck silently mouthed the words thank you, just glad for the brilliant gleam.

Chuck had light, so the next thing on his "to do" list was to see if he could get the elevator moving.  He pressed the emergency alarm button.  It had not effect.  He opened the little panel that housed the emergency phone.  It was no longer attached to its base; someone had cut the wires.  In a last ditch effort to get the elevator started, Chuck began to haphazardly push buttons, hoping for some sort of response.  After five minutes he still got nothing.

"There couldn't be anything in Gary's and his paper about this.  'MAN STUCK IN ELEVATOR FOR HOURS'.  Then he could have warned me to take a sick day..." He whined after seating himself on the floor.

Chuck was going stir crazy.  It felt like hours had passed, but in reality only ten minutes. He tried to keep himself amused with the contents of his pockets, which wasn't much (a pack of gum -- minus three sticks, his house keys, a used Kleenex and a dollar thirty-seven in change).   He managed to make a weird snow man sculpture with components of his pockets; a quarter for a head, Kleenex body, foil wrappers for arms all held together by gum, but quickly lost interest and found himself staring at the door.

Freedom was behind those doors. He could feel it, like he could feel the elevator walls slowly close in on him. He stood up and began to pace the elevator's close quarters.  This didn't put his mind at ease, it only made it worse. "The walls are not closing in... It's just your imagination."

Chuck had to get out.  He ran for the doors and noticed that they were slightly ajar.  He wedged his fingers through the crack and grunted as he pried them apart.  Centimeter by centimeter, they slowly opened. Chuck found himself on the floor once more as the door finally gave way.  He got back up and dusted himself off, but stopped as he noticed a bright light.  Instead of seeing a floor above and a floor below, he saw a floor with gray carpeting and a man dusting plants.

"Freedom!"  Chuck yelled, tumbling out of the elevator.  He stood up and instantly hit his head on the white foam board ceiling. He put his palms on the ceiling and realized it was only four feet from the floor.

"I don't remember ever seeing you here before.  Are you new to the 7 1/2 floor?"

"Excuse me?  What did you say?"  Chuck asked.

"Oh! Where are my manners?  I'm Larry, the custodian.  On behalf of the workers of the 7 1/2 floor, I welcome you."  Larry wiped his hands on his coveralls and extended it to Chuck, who looked at it in disgust.  They were still filthy.

"I must have hit my head harder than I thought.  Yeah that's it.  I'm probably still sprawled out on the elevator floor.  I need to pinch myself and I'll wake up from this..."  He grabbed a piece of flesh from his arm and squeezed hard.  "Owww...." he yelped, rubbing his arm until the pain subsided, "so much for that theory."

"Do you need help?  I can help you."

"No, that's okay.  I'll just wander around, if you don't mind."

"Okay.  I'll be around if you need me..."

"Yeah... Uh huh..." Chuck left Larry to his duties and wandered to the left." Gary gets tomorrow's paper, so why can't there be a half a floor?" He rationed it out to himself.

Everything around him looked like an average office hallway, from the gray carpeting, fluorescent lighting to the plastic potted plants, which lined the corridor.  Except for the low ceilings, nothing was out of the ordinary.

Chuck passed a row of closed doors, each with a nameplate and a small caption underneath.  He read the doors one by one, but paid no attention to the captions.  "Christina Adley... Pete Berkley... Sam Cooper... Gary Hobson... Peggy Fisher... Reiko Kawamura... Gary Hobson?"

He back tracked a bit and stared at the nameplate.  Underneath the name the caption read "Chicago Sun Times".  Chuck glanced at the previous door and under the name said "New York Daily News".  The door after it said "Washington Post" and the door after that "Tokyo Reporter".

Curiosity was getting the better of him. It wouldn't hurt any one if he took a peak inside.  He reached for the doorknob and opened the door.  Instantly pulled in by some unseen force. The door slammed shut behind him. Chuck was propelled downward through a dark tunnel.  He tried to grab onto the walls but they were covered in slimy substance, which felt like snot.  Chuck closed his eyes and screamed, until he came to an abrupt stop.

---
(Ooohhh... That was nauseating ... tell the conductor to stop so I can get off... )

He opened his eyes but there was something wrong.  He was seeing everything through tunnel vision, nothing to the left and nothing to the right, just straight ahead.  He was outside but everything seemed different.  Everything seemed slightly... taller.

(How did I get outside?)

"Excuse me... Are you Louis Camp?"

"Yeah.  Who are you?"

"I'm with the um... FDA.  Did you ... you buy that sandwich over at Phil's Deli on Dearborn and Clark?"

"Um ... yeah. What about it?"

"I'm going to have to ask you to get rid of that sandwich right away?"

"What are you crazy? This is my lunch."

"The ham in your sandwich is tainted with insecticide.  You'll get sick if you eat it."

"Sick?"

"Yeah sick. You know ... diarrhea, stomach cramps, vomiting..."

"Vomiting?"

Chuck's view shifted to a hand, holding out the bad sandwich.

(Eww... Why the heck are you giving this to me?  I don't want it.)

"Here get yourself something else."

A navy blue pea coat arm, with a white wool sweater peaking out from the end, came into view and hand Mr. Camp a ten-dollar bill.

(Gary?)

Chuck tried to shift his view but couldn't.  He could hear Gary but couldn't see him.

(Gary?)

Chuck wondered why Gary wasn't answering him.  He didn't recall arguing with Gary about anything and he didn't think that Gary knew about any of the stuff he had done while Gary was out with the paper.  So there was no reason for his friend to be ignoring him.

(Hey big guy? Why are you ignoring me?  Is this about the TV remote?  Okay I broke it.  It wasn't the cat.  Or is this about the fifty dollar you thought you lost?  I took it.  I was going to pay you back.)

He also found out he had no control over his body or his movements.  The next thing he knew he was with in the rest room of a local Taco Bells.

Then it finally hit him as the bathroom mirror came into view.  Instead of seeing his brilliantly handsome face, he saw Gary's. He also noticed that Gary was the lone occupant in the one stall rest room.

(Oh man!  I'm in Gary's body!)

Exiting the rest room, Gary continued on his way.

(What kind of weird X-Files thing is this?  This is probably a dream... OWW..... Okay, maybe not....)

Chuck had no control over Gary's actions, so he just watched as Gary went through his day. It was a bit disconcerting to see the world through someone else's eyes but after ten minutes he got use to it.

(I wonder if I have any control.)

Chuck tried to raise Gary's arms with no success.

(This sucks... What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?)

The smell of fresh honey-roasted peanuts overloaded his senses as Gary walked past a peanut vendor.

(Ooohhh... peanuts...)

Chuck's mouth began to water.  Famished, he realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

(I wish I had a bag or two.)

Gary stopped at the peanut vendor's stand and ordered two bags of peanuts, not really sure why.  He had just eaten a big lunch with Marissa half an hour ago.

(Did I do that?)

Shrugging, Gary stuck them in his pocket to eat later.

(That's a good thing to know... I can put subliminal thought in his mind...  I wonder...)

Chuck began to plot.  There had to be a reason he was in Gary's body.

Gary walked into K-Mart and headed to the area with the camping goods and outdoor equipment. He strolled the isles until he found the flotation devices.  Unsure of which one he wanted, Gary examined all of the ones in a decent price range.

(Take the orange, with the blue and purple polka dots... the one with the sea horse head coming out of it.)

"This one should be good enough," he mumbled to himself picking up the sea horse tube.

"Hey..."  Gary called to a blue shirt employee who hurried by, "do you know where I can find some rope?"

"Three isles down on your right..."  Employee quickly said and rushed off.

"Thanks."

With everything he needed in hand, he paid for his purchases.  Now all he needed was to make one more stop.  They walked past a convenience store, that's when inspiration struck Chuck.

(Stop!  Go inside!)

Gary entered the convenience store.  He stopped at the front counter and looked at the impulse items.  Unsure why he entered, a confused look gradually spread across his face.

"Can I help you with something?"  The clerk looked up from the magazine he was reading.

"Huh? No, no ... that's okay..."

(Take the paper out of your pocket...)

Gary pulled the paper out of his back pocket.  Maybe he subliminally entered the store because he read an article about it earlier in the paper.

(Mark the numbers from the paper onto the lotto card and hand it to the clerk...)

Gary wasn't sure why he did it, but he did.

"Hey, did you know that the jackpot is over 25 million dollars?" the clerk said as he took the ticket.

"Twenty-five million?  That's a lot of money" Gary scratched his head, still unsure why he was doing this.

(Twenty-five million dollar!! Pay for the ticket! Pay for the ticket!)

Gary handed the clerk a dollar and exited the store, staring blankly at the ticket.

"Hey buddy, good luck!"  The clerk hollered as he exited.

(We're rich!)

"I don't need this..."  Gary tore up the ticket into a whole bunch of pieces and tossed it over his shoulder.

(Nooooooo!!!!)

Chuck watched as their fortune trickled down like multi colored snow, down to the hard gray concrete.

(Why... Why did you do that...)

That extra stop put Gary behind on his schedule.  He jogged to a near by gas station and used the air pump to inflate his inner tube.  He looked at the gaudy thing and wondered what ever possessed him to buy it.  Taking the rope from the shopping bag, Gary tied one end securely around the sea horses head.

(Bwah ha ... that thing uglier than the picture on the box....)

Gary looked down at his watch and realized he was running a little late.  Slipping his arm through the hole in the center of the life preserver, Gary ran down the street to his destination.

(Run, Gary, Run! I wonder where we're going...)

The world spun around Chuck.  That same unseen force, which propelled him forward, seemed to be pulling him backwards.

---
With a loud splash and abrupt, Chuck found himself in the water.  Sputtering in the frigid liquid, he looked left and right and realized he was in Lake Michigan, just off of Navy Pier.

"Hey!"

Chuck heard a familiar voice call to him as he treaded water.

"Chuck?!"

Chuck looked up and saw Gary standing off the pier.

"Gary!  A little help here."

Gary tossed him the sea horse.

Chuck took one look at the garish thing and instantly regretted putting that subliminal thought into Gary's mind.  He grabbed onto the thing anyway. It was better than drowning.  Chuck half swam and was half dragged to shore.

"You okay?"  Gary asked his friend once he was onshore.

"Yeah...Yeah... I'm fine."

"What were ya doing in the lake?"

"Swimming?"

"That's not funny.  A few minutes ago the paper said you were an unidentified man who drowned in the found just off Navy Pier!"

"Hey man, are you okay man?  Should I call an ambulance?"  A bystander asked.

"No.  I'm okay..." Chuck waved him off.

"Come on, let's go to my hotel room.  You can tell me what happened."

"I'll tell you later. I've got to go." Chuck stood up and ran off, leaving his best friend with a bunch of unanswered questions.

"Chuck! Wait!" By the time Gary was up and running, Chuck was already gone.

---

"Oh? You're back?"  Larry stopped his task of dusting the plastic plants when he heard the elevator door open.

"Yeah."  Chuck threw the light blue duffel bag he was holding out the door.  With a loud clank, it landed in front of Larry.  He then proceeded to crawl out of the elevator.  After a long night of planning and a mindless day of stock broking he knew he had to return here.

"It's after office hours.  Everybody has gone home for the day."

"That's okay."

"All right then...Well enjoy your day."  Larry went on to his duties.

Chuck went back to Gary's door.  "Okay, I'm ready this time."

Opening the duffel bag, Chuck pulled out a wet suit, swimming goggles, the gaudy purple polka dotted sea horse, pair of flippers and other sorts of swimming equipment.  He quickly put everything on and took a deep breath.  Twisting the doorknob, he opened the door and carefully stepped, in an attempt to ready himself to the portal's effects.  It didn't quite work. He wasn't as nauseous as he was before but Chuck wished he hadn't eaten that burger for lunch or the peanuts, he had as a snack.

---
(I wonder if I did throw up, where would it go?  Would it be in Gary's head...?)

Slightly disgusted by that thought, Chuck pushed it far from his mind.  He had a purpose for being here. He wondered what Gary was up to now and what preposterous errand that paper had sent him early this evening.

The world was on a tilt.  In the background he heard the sound of a radio sending garbled messages and static. He was looking outside as the scenery sped by and stopped in regular intervals and it appeared that he was in some sort of vehicle.

Chuck guessed that they were in a cab and that Gary was leaning his head against the glass.  From reading the street signs they were headed northbound.

Their view went level as Gary stared at a playground in the distance.  He watched as a young couple play with their young child.

(Don't do that to yourself buddy. Marcia wouldn't have wanted children.  You know that...)

"Maybe..."

"What did ya say, buddy?"  The cabby watched Gary from his reflection in the rear view mirror.

"Huh...?" Gary laughed slightly, not realizing that he spoke aloud.  "Nothing just mumbling to himself."

(Hey! Stop staring out the window ... you need to... Uh, scan the paper for other accidents to prevent.)

Gary pulled the paper from his pocket and began to inspect its contents.

(I wonder what the lotto numbers are...?)

Gary took a quick glance at the numbers but quickly turned the page after that.  It was enough for Chuck though.

(Three, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-seven, thirty-three, and fifty-one...)

"We're here..."

"Keep the meter running.  I'll be right back."  Gary hopped out of the cab.

(Three, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-seven, thirty-three, and fifty-one...)

"Excuse me?"  Gary asked as he crossed the street and walked up to the driveway of the middle class suburban home. The newspaper brought him here.  It was responsible for his hectic schedule.  And now if he didn't stop Mr. Phelps from driving off, there would be a horrific accident involving his Dodge Ram and a van full of children on a field trip from the Y.   "Are you Russell Phelps?"

(Three, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-seven, thirty-three, and fifty-one... What's taking so long I should have left Gary's body by now?  I was only here for twenty minutes last time...)

"What's it to ya?"

(You have to work on your approach.  You should have tried something like "Hey Russ! Remember me...?".  Then you could have stalled him until the article disappeared.)

"I'm with the National Road and Safety Commission.  Can I a few minutes of your time?"

(National safety commission?  Why didn't you just tell him you were selling vacuum cleaners or encyclopedias?  It would have had the same effect.)

"And how do you know my name?"

(You should have said you were from the Publisher's Clearing House Prize Patrol.  That would have gotten his attention. People will always talk to you if you say your going to give him something for free.)

"I got your name from um... Uh..."  Something behind Mr. Phelps caught Gary's eye. It was a shiny silver sticker with blue writing. "I got your name from Triple A."

(Three, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-seven, and fifty-one... Damn... I'm missing a number what was it...  I wish Gary would stop distracting me with his rescue...)

"Yeah right... I haven't paid my dues since '85." Russell chuckled.  "Now either tell me what your doing here or get off my property."

(That's five million to fifty thousand.... Damn it... What was that other number...)

"Russ..."  A blond woman called from the house.  "I see you haven't left yet.  Can you take Kevin with you?  He needs to go to the store to buy some school supplies."

(Forget about him. I've got bigger problems here.  He dies it's his own fault.  You've tried to warn him all ready. What the heck was that other number...)

"Awww... for crying out loud, Joyce.  Can't you take the boy to the store?"

While Russell was momentarily distracted, Gary slipped the paper from his pocket and opened it to the article in question.  It changed slightly.  The body count seemed to have risen do to his interference.  Gary's heart sunk.  He caused this.  Instead of three being dead it was now fourteen.

(You didn't cause this. Mr. Congeniality caused it himself... Him and that stupid cell phone...)

"No, I can't I still have a million things to do here.  And thanks to your help.  I have a million more things to do."

"All right! All right!  Where is that boy?"

"...The accident was caused by Phelps, who witness say, was in a heated argument with someone on his cell phone.  Distracted he ran a red light and slammed into a tractor-trailer carrying a load of confiscated weapons to a police impound yard.  After the two vehicles collided, the truck spilled its cargo onto the street where bystander started to pick up the weapons.  Most of the weapons were turned in by the end of the night but about 3 percent of the two thousand weapons are still unaccounted for. " Gary muttered quietly to himself.

(It's the phone. Grab the phone. No phone.  No argument. No accident. Then we could leave and I'll hopefully get out of your body and get to buy my ticket... That is if I ever remember that last number.)

He didn't know where that idea came from but Gary followed.  He snuck up behind Russell and pulled the phone from its belt clip.

"Hey!  Son of a ..." Russell spun around quickly trying to grab the thief, but Gary was faster.

(There it's done. Let's just get out of here... Three, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-seven, fifty-one ... thirty-two ... no that wasn't it...)

Gary ran through the neighborhood, turning corner and hopping over fences.  He was on unfamiliar territory, this being the first time he set foot in this neighbor.  Out of breath, he looked back, hoping that Mr. Phelps wasn't behind him.  Russell wasn't behind him, but Gary was lost.

(Three, fifteen, twenty-one, twenty-seven, fifty-one...  I know it's thirty-something....)

"Get in!"  The cabby pulled up next to him and flung the door open.

He didn't argue.  Gary jumped into the back seat of the cab and it sped off.  Settling himself in the back seat, Gary sighed loudly, just thankful that the cabby came to his rescue.  "Thanks.  I didn't know where I was running to."

"Not that it's any of my business, but you took a thirty dollar cab ride to steal someone's cell phone? It looks like a cheap prepaid at that..."

Gary reached for his back pocket but the paper wasn't there.  He looked around frantically, for it and finally spotted it by his feet.  Retrieving it off the floor, he opened it to the second page. The article was gone. In its place was an article about a new exhibit opening at the Chicago Institute of Art.

(It was thirty something...)

"Pull up to the house again."  Gary asked the driver.

"Hey kid!"  Gary called from the cab.

(Thirty what though...)

Kevin turned around and looked a Gary.  He had remained in the front yard of his house while his father ran off to look for Gary.  Gary leaned out the window and tossed the phone to Kevin. He glanced at the paper once more to make sure the article didn't reappear.  It didn't. He slid back into the cab and signaled the driver to drive off before Russell returned.

"Were to now?"  The cabby asked after they were safely off the block.

(This has to be some cosmic joke on me...  Am I not meant to be a millionaire...?)

"Blackstone Hotel."

After an uneventful ride, Gary arrived at the hotel.

"How much I owe ya?"

"Nothing... It's on me," the cabby smiled.

"Howzat?"

"You don't remember me do you?" The cabby chuckled to himself. "I can tell by the look on your face you don't.  Don't worry about it.  I remember you.  You saved my nephew a couple weeks ago from being hit by a car on the corner of Madison and State.  I never go to thank you.  You ran off after you pulled him from the street.  Silly boy never looks where he's gong...  Anyway, it's on me."

"Thank you very much."  Gary reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty for a tip, but the cabby refused to take it.

(Hey it's his loss.  Keep the money I say...  Heck if you want to give your money away you can give it to me later.)

"No problem.  If you ever need a ride anywhere just call the cab company and ask for Lou.  I'll give you a discount.  You take care, all right."

"Thanks again," Gary smiled and waved good-bye as Lou drove off.

The unseen force returned and ejected Chuck from Gary's mind as Gary stepped out of the cab.

(It's about time...)

Chuck welcomed its intervention.

---

Chuck walked around his new home. It was a mansion in the exquisite, exclusive and extremely expensive hills of Beverly Hills.  In the driveway was a brand new cream-colored Bentley, fully equipped with a dad player in the dashboard.  Next to that were a red Ferrari and a black Jaguar.  He'd spend half of his original five million dollar fortune on the cars and house alone, but it's all worth it.

He was now worth eight figures.  He'd placed the other half of his fortune in smart investments, from a computer company that produced processing chips, to a fledgling studio, which originally need financial support but now produced three highly rated shows.

"Hey Chuck," Gary said as he laid in a lawn chair by Chuck's fully heated in door pool.

"Hey buddy," Chuck sat by the pool with his feet dangling in the water. "Isn't this great?"

"Yeah...  I'm so glad you persuaded me to give up on that paper, but I'm still not sure about this job as an underwear model..."

"Are you kidding..? You're making me a fortune and I believe in sharing the wealth, especially with my best bud...  You know what... I think I donate half of it to a charity..."

---
Chuck woke up with a start.  "Scottie Pippen's number... It was thirty-three..." he whispered as it finally came to him. He fumbled for the switch on the lamp on the nightstand, and looked around.  Disappointment filled him as he realized that it was all a dream.  He wasn't a millionaire, but a stockbroker with big dreams of fortune and fame.  "THIRTY-THREE!!"

His thoughts began to drift on what happened after he exited from Gary's mind.  After getting out of the water, Chuck sprinted to the nearest store, which sold lotto tickets.

"I wanna buy a lotto ticket," he huffed running into the store dripping wet.  He would have made it there faster if it weren't for the wait of all the swimming equipment he were wearing, but it never occurred to him to take it off on the way there.  The clerk said nothing about Chuck's attire or about the puddle that was forming at Chuck's feet as water dripped off from his wet suit.  It seemed like it was an everyday occurrence to him.

"Um... Sure, all right."  The blond lanky blond clerk walked over to the machine. "But you heard right?"

"What?"

"That the jackpot isn't as large as it was last night.  One person one the 25 million last night but they haven't stepped forward to claim their money yet.  The person bought it right across the street at that convenience store. That's why the press is still out there."

Chuck remembered yesterday's incident with the lotto ticket and it still hurt.  He couldn't believe that Gary tore up the winning ticket.

"Hey ... you going to buy a ticket?"

He could picture what happen to the ticket's remains after they hit the concrete.  It was now probably part of some pigeon's nest.

"Hey, you need to hurry up.  This machine shuts itself off at a certain time.  If you don't give me the numbers quickly, I won't be able to process your ticket."

"Okay, okay ... the numbers were three ... fifteen ... twenty-one ... twenty-seven and fifty-one..."
 
"One more buddy... Hurry up you have ten seconds."

He still couldn't remember the last number.  It was on the tip of his tongue. Chuck couldn't think with the added pressure of the clerk telling him he had only ten seconds to go.  A large fortune was in his grasps but he couldn't have it due to the fact he couldn't remember one number.  With five numbers he would have a small fortune.  Chuck decided that was more than he had earlier in the day.  "Just give me any random number then..."

"Too late..."

"What?"

"You took too long. It's too late.  The machine locked me out.  Sorry..."  The clerk looked at him apologetically.  "I told you to hurry up.  Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No," Chuck said sullenly.  His fortune was gone.  There would be no tropical island in a warmer climate.  There would be no beautiful but scantily clad women hanging around with him poolside.  There would be no mansion, flashy cars and other luxuries.  It was all gone.

"I'm really sorry."

Slowly exiting the store, he walked down the street ignoring the snide comments from pedestrians as they gawked at his present attire.  He didn't care.  All he could think about was the money.  Cold and tired he headed home and to bed, wishing that this day never happened.

---
Chuck sighed again.  It was now 4:30 a.m. Shaking his head, he shut the lamp off, laid back down and went back to sleep.

---
For the third day in a row, Chuck found himself compelled to go to the 7 1/2 floor.  This time during his lunch break.  He didn't find anyone there, besides Larry, who nodded a quick hello. The entire floor was deserted in the middle of the afternoon.

Chuck strolled over towards the closed solid oak door, which was the portal to his friend's mind. He was still mad at Gary, but was angrier with himself.  He still couldn't believe that he lost five million dollars because of one stinking number. "From now on, thirty-three is my unlucky number," he mumbled to himself.

Chuck reached for the Gary's door handled and was about to enter his friend's mind, but he stopped.  He looked to his left and right, at the other doors that lined the corridors.  Each one represented a person who got tomorrow's paper. He wondered if they were anything like his friend.  Did they impose the same rules that Gary had on the paper?

Walking to the left, Chuck opened a random door and was pulled in.  It was the same disorienting ride, and he figured that was the price to see the world through another person's eyes.  Oddly enough he was getting use to the plummet through the darkness, the way astronauts train for the lack of gravity in space.  The abrupt stop always made him queasy though, but that was always the indication he was in another body. It didn't take him very long to realize where he was.

(A limo... A very nice, expensive limo at that...  Now why can't Gary every rent or buy one of these...  It's even got a TV and a wet bar...)

"What? What do you mean you aren't going to go? Look I'll pay you double.  No?  Okay triple...  All right fine... Never mind... Damn..."

(He's a businessman?)

"Still no one?"

"No."  Chuck's view swung around to another man, wearing an expensive Italian suit, sitting adjacent. "You might have to go..."

"No, that's okay Sam," the other passenger shook his head.  "I'd rather not."

"Somebody has to go, Joey," Sam sighed.  "Call Auggie and offer him five times the regular amount."

"You got it boss."  Joey pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.

"Just once, I wish that this thing would foretell a decent day."  Sam glanced down at his copy of the New York Daily News.

(Oh wait... You've been delegating the paper's incidents... That's just ... brilliant!)

"Sam!  He wants cash. "

(I wonder how much he pays these people...)

"That's fine, but we have to stop at the OTB later.  We're running a little low on funds.  There's only fifty thousand here and it's been a busy news day.  Just remind me later."

(Only 50,000!!?  Gary would have a coronary if I suggest he make half of that...)

Joey nodded and continued his conversation on his cell phone.

"I'm out 15,000 because of some poor schmuck..."

(*Choke* You're paying someone 15 g's for one rescue! I might just move to New York to work for you...)

A vacuum effect.  That was the only way to describe it. Chuck felt himself being pulled out of Sam Cooper's mind.  It was a completely dizzying effect, like someone put him in a washing machine while it was on the spin cycle.  He couldn't tell which way was up.  Chuck just held on and waited for the inevitable.

---
Chuck landed on the ground with a loud crunch.  The wind was knocked out of him, but he was otherwise uninjured. The first thing he noticed was the stench. He put his hands over his nose and mouth then crinkled his nose in disgust as the foul stench of rancid garbage assaulted his nostrils.  Seagulls squawked loudly as they circled around him like vultures to prey. Chuck looked around at the almost majestic mounds of refuse that stood almost twenty feet high as they seemingly stretched for miles.  He jumped backwards as a creature scurried across his foot.  At first he thought it was a medium sized dog, but realized it was a rat. Quickly trying to get away from the freak of nature, Chuck scampered backwards and tripped over a broken microwave.  He tried to stand, but lost his footing on something slimy and rolled head first down the steep peak of garbage.

He finally landed with a thump in a level pile of garbage.  Chuck groaned. He rolled over and looked up.  There was a landslide of trash sliding in his direction. His hands went up over his face for protection as the rubbish approach.  Chuck closed his eyes and screamed as the pile began to accumulate on top of him.

"Yo... You can stop screaming."

Chuck looked up and saw the blue sky, the gulls flying above and a man standing over him.  The man extended his hand and helped him to his feet.  He even helped him pick the pieces of garbage off himself.

"You aiight?  I mean you was screaming when I dragged you away from the garbage. You seem aiight to me..."

"Um... yeah..."  He dusted himself off.  "I think so..."

"Hey! This ain't a playground!  Why don't you get out of here?  I'm trying to work."  Both men turned to see a man with in a bulldozer hollering at them. He motioned for them to move.

"We're talking here!  The trash ain't going nowhere.  You can wait five minutes," the man who saved Chuck yelled at the bulldozer's operator.

He grabbed Chuck's arm and led him away the bulldozer and the garbage.  After a short climb down the hills of trash, they were on a dirt path.

"Thanks for saving me."

"Yeah, yeah no problem."

"I'm Chuck."  He extended his hand.

Accepting his hand with a firm handshake, the man replied, "Auggie."

"Where are we?"

"The Isle of Stat..."

"What?"

"Staten Island.  The Fresh Kills Land Fill located in Staten Island, New York City.  Come on..."  Auggie waved his hand over his face in an attempt to dissipate the smell.  "Sam ain't paying me enough to stand here in the dump.  You aiight though?"

"Yeah..."

"Come on then, let's go.  That's unless you want the seagulls to peck your eyes out?"

They walked a little further to a livery cab waiting by the gate.

"What you doin' at the land fill anyway?"  Auggie asked once they were inside the cab.

"Um..."

"Nevermind.  I don't want to know.  Can I give you a ride anywhere?  I have to go meet Sam anyways."

"How about the bus station?"

"Which bus station?  Where you trying to go?"

"Chicago."

"Aiight, Port Authority it is..."

---
Once back in Chicago, Chuck only had time for a quick shower and shave before he headed to work at Strauss and Associates.  He made it into the building with 10 minutes to spare.

Chuck stepped into the elevator and found himself watching the numbers over the door as the elevator ascended.  Two.  Three.  He told himself that he wasn't going to the 7 1/2 floor anymore.  He needed to go to work. Chuck realized he had taken a lot of time off in the last couple of days and hoped he still had a job.  Four.  He needed to go to work, but this was so fascinating.  He'd felt Gary's adrenaline rush as he ran from Russell.  It was exhilarating.  It was a different kind of rush than the one he got from stock brokering.  Maybe that's why he always went with Gary on his rescues.   Five. Curiosity was getting the better of him.  He had found out that another of the paper's recipients was actually using the paper to make money.  Were they all like that?  Was Gary the only one not making a profit from this?  Six.  Was that one of the "unspoken" rules?  Make money.  If so he *had* to inform Gary.  But he had to go to work.  Seven...

Just as the elevator light blinked off the number seven display, then it stopped, which broke Chuck's whole train of thought.  He didn't even realize that he pushed the emergency stop button.

"Well, can't do anything about it now..." he tried to convince himself.  He pried the doors open and found himself once again on the 7 1/2 floor.  Chuck didn't care.  He just picked any door and stepped through.

He was actually getting use to the ride.  He wasn't as dizzy and disoriented. He actually felt somewhat okay. This person seemed to be staring into a computer screen. He watched the little arrow trail across the screen.  After a few minutes the arrow clicked onto a few links and a financial page came up.

"Uncle Remy, our stocks doing well," a female voice spoke.

Chuck's view shifted to an older man wearing a plaid shirt and overalls, sitting in a leather recliner.  He presumed that was Uncle Remy.  Remy was watching an old floor model TV which, which still used two rabbit ears to get it's semi clear picture.

"What did you think was going to happen, Honey? You did use the newspaper..." Remy spoke, never looking away from the television.

(That's what I'm talking about.  Apparently Gary's the only one not making a profit from this...  I really have to show him this floor...)

"Hmmp."  Chuck's view shifted to the financial section of a newspaper.  A finger, well manicured with French tips, scrolled down the columns until it stopped on a stock that sunk 5 11/16 points.  "We need to sell our toy stock.  It's going to drop by two-thirds tomorrow."

"So sell," Remy said over the TV.

"Yeah.  I should cash in anyway.  I think we have enough to donate to the tornado victims."

(Donate?)

"Is it enough for them to rebuild?"

(Rebuild?  What! Your not going to keep the money for yourself?)

"Just enough. We have to eat Spam for the rest of the month but it's just enough."

(Spam??)

"Oh joy..." Uncle Remy stood up and patted her on the shoulder.  "I'm just kidding sweetie...  Now come one we have to deliver those toys to the mission."

"Thanks Uncle Remy. For the pep talk and the for being here and helping me... What would I do without you?"

"Run yourself ragged... Is there anything we need to do before we go?"

"Let me check..." The paper flipped from the financial section to the front page.  Christina's eyes scanned the pages of the Indianapolis Star slowly, reading each article and picture.  She stopped on page ten and pointed to a picture of a dog in the middle of the page.  "We need to be on the corner of Hillside and Main...  We need to save a stray dog from getting hit by a bus. "

(Helps stray dogs...  I think I'm going to be sick...  They're worse than Gary...)

"I'll drive.  We can even drop the dog off at the pound, it's on the way..."

Chuck welcomed the unseen force's intervention.  He'd actually been trying to extricate himself from this body for the last five minutes.  He knew he had to brace himself though.  He was about to land in another unknown place.

Chuck prayed it wouldn't be another landfill.

---
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!" With a loud THUD, Chuck found himself on the floor.

"What the hell?"  A figure to Chuck's left shouted. Startled from their nap and the figure, whose feet were propped up on the desk and leaning all the way back in their chair, almost fell to the floor.  After a quick struggle to catch the hat that covered his eyes and at the same time plant their feet to the floor, the person swung their chair in Chuck's direction.

Chuck picked himself up off the floor. He glanced around his surroundings.  Concrete and iron bars ceiling high, with a lone bunk in the corner.  The surrounds looked vaguely familiar like he'd been in here before.

"Fishman?"

"Joe?" He walked up to the bars and looked at the handsome blond Chief of Police standing in front of him.  "I guess I'm in Hickory then."

"What are you doing in there?"

"I don't know. What am I doing in here?"

"I don't know..."

"So let me out..."

"I can't..."

"Why?"

"You had to be locked up for a reason."

"Do you know why?"

"No..."

"So let me out..."

"I told you, I can't..."

"That's it!"  Chuck yelled from the cell.  "I'm gonna sue you for false imprisonment and hire Johnny Cochrine..."

Chuck argued with Joe for an hour before the Chief of Police actually checked if Chuck had been arrested.  Finding nothing, Joe grudgingly let Chuck out.

"I told you, I didn't do anything," Chuck said smugly.

"I'm sorry for holding you so long..." The Chief said while scratching his head, wondering how he got in there in the first place.  He sighed loudly and began to mumble as he continued speaking.  "...And you were right and I was wrong... Are you happy now?"

"Yes..."

Once free he headed back to Chicago.
---

It had been almost three weeks since he accidentally stumbled on to the 7 1/2 floor.  With the exception of Larry, he hadn't seen anyone else around. Not that he was complaining.  He didn't know what he was going to say if he actually found someone here.  What could possibly be said, "hey nice half a floor". Or maybe-- "Wow that's a wonderful portal... Do you think I can have one installed in my living room?".  It was better off that he didn't see or that anyone see him.

He took some time off, that way when the novelty of this wore off, he would have a job to return to. Chuck mostly stuck to the doors within the Eastern half of the United States.  After one day of being Reiko Kawamura, recipient of the Tokyo Reporter, he found it a pain explaining his presence to local authorities after he was expelled into a protected park of cherry blossoms.  He spoke Japanese, though the police didn't quite understand his dialect and poor Chuck wound up spending six hours in a holding cell until they found a translator.

 It was also putting a strain on his wallet. He eventually had to fly home afterwards, but on the plus side he was
racking up the frequent flyer miles.

He also tried the door that belonged to Peggy Fisher, recipient of the Washington Post.  That almost got him
locked up for treason after he was expelled in to a highly restricted area of the US Mint.  Luckily he was a great liar and convinced them that he had accidentally strayed from the tour.  They let him go with a warning never to come back and Chuck gladly accepted.  Once back in Chicago, he marked that door and a couple of others a no-no.

From David Baker of the Anchorage Daily News to Joni Landburg, recipient of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Chuck found that each of the "special" subscribers were basically the same.  They all helped people, each went with a different way of doing so.  Some were like Sam Cooper and Nancy Mitchell of the Tombstone Tumbleweed who helped themselves while they helped others, while others like Christina Adley and his friend Gary who used the paper selflessly.

Chuck thought about Gary and how much he missed his friend.  It had been weeks since they'd seen each other. Physically seen each other.  He was technically with Gary when he entered his mind but that was something wasn't the same. Gary had no idea that Chuck was there and Chuck couldn't really interact, except on a subliminal level. The excitement of his discovery had consumed all of his time. He was beginning to miss hanging around with his best bud, especially their daily breakfast at McGinty's. How they would talk about what was in the paper with Marissa just before work they went to work and Gary did his errands of the day.

He walked to an unoccupied desk, picked up the phone, dialed nine, then Gary's number.  He was disappointed to hear the click of the answering machine instead of his friend's voice.  It was almost 9 p.m.  Chuck hoped the paper wasn't sending him to another pointless save like stray dogs in traffic.  "Hey buddy, it me," He said after the beep." I just called to say hi and was wondering if you wanted to meet me for a beer...  Call me back on my cell phone."

"What am I doing," he thought to himself.  "I can go see..."

He jogged over to Gary's door to find that his blue duffel bag was right where he left it.  Chuck was beginning to wonder if anybody actually worked on this floor besides Larry.  Come to think of it he hadn't seen Larry in a while either. He pushed that thought from his mind and quickly put all his swimming equipment on.  Once finished, he stepped through the door.

---
(Hey Gar, what are you up to now?)

"I'm telling ya put the gun down... Nobody has to get hurt."

(Whoa!!! Um... I don't think you've noticed but he has a shotgun and he's pointing it at you.)

"Here," Gary handed the gunman a wad of bills from his pocket.  "That's all you're going to get from the register. Take it and leave."

"Thanks for your donation.  Now you," he turned to the clerk.  "Open the safe!"

Chuck's view shifted to a young man, trembling with fear. "I... I... I don't-t-t... ha-ha-have the k-k-key..."

"You're lying!"  The gunman raged.

The gunman lifted the shotgun to swing at the attendant, completely forgetting that Gary was there and now behind him.

Gary sprang into action.  He quickly grabbed the top of the gun with one hand and tackled the guy, pushing him into a magazine rack.

The gunman crashed into the rack.  He laid on top of the weapon, dazed.

"Run Kenny!"

The clerk didn't need anymore prompting.  He ran out the door.

"Mother--fu---" The armed robber rose from his position on the floor to see Gary making a break for it.  He still had his weapon.  He cocked the shotgun and let off a blast.  It just missed Gary's ear.

Gary scrambled out the door.  He tripped off the curb and landed on the pavement, skinning the palm of his hands, but he didn't have time to worry about that now.  Quickly getting back to his feet, Gary ran behind a dumpster, located on the side of the building.

(Come on! You've helped him enough.  The gas station attendant can take care of himself.)

Gary was crouched behind a dumpster, tired and out of breath. He stood motionless not wanting to alert the gunman to his whereabouts.

(LET'S GO!  If that manic hits one of the pumps were all
done for!)

"The pumps!"  Gary pulled the paper from his pocket. The front page changed.  In stead of  "ATTENDANT, 19, SHOT TO DEATH", it now read "40 DEAD IN EXPLOSION"

His best friend held his ground, scanning left and right for the missing attendant. Under a navy blue sedan, Gary saw a head poke out.  It was the attendant.

"I know your still out there!"  The gunman yelled.  He fired two shots in the air.  "All I want is the safe key!"

(No...)

Chuck felt that force pulling at him, but he didn't want to go.  Chuck needed to stay here with Gary.  He needed to know if he was going to be all right.  It took sheer will power to stay and that effort was rapidly taking its toll on Chuck.

(Get out of here Gary before you get hurt!)

Gary quickly crawled to the next car.  He had to somehow disarm that maniac before he hit the pumps and help the attendant who cried silently underneath a near by car.

"Why didn't I call the cops..."  His plan was to warn the attendant and get him to leave before anything happened. But the paper was wrong about the time. Gary had gotten there 10 minutes early to find the robbery already taking place.

(Gary come on... Get out of there...  Let the cops handle it...)

Gary quickly sprinted to a tow truck parked by the garage. He needed to get closer to stop this nut.

The gunman spotted him.  He fired another shot towards Gary. It missed Gary completely and shattered a window. Gary dove behind the tow truck for protection.

"You're still here?  Who the hell do you think you are? Superman?  Well, I got the kryptonite bullets!" The gunman fired three more shots at the tow truck, one shattering the windshield, the other two becoming imbedded in the door.

The gunman spun around.  He heard something a bag crinkle behind him.  It was Kenny, the attendant, making a break for the phone.  The gunman leveled his gun and aimed at the young man and fired.  The shot missed, but struck the pay, reducing it to nothing more than frayed wires, melted plastic and twisted metal.

That was the distraction Gary needed. Gary ran as fast as he could towards the gunman.

The gunman twisted around to see Gary leaping towards him. He aimed his shotgun at Gary and was about to pull the trigger...

The world spun around Chuck.  The unseen force had finally succeeded in pulling Chuck away from Gary's body.

Chuck screamed. He didn't want to go, but had no more energy to fight it. He had no choice but to leave Gary with the crazed gunman.

---
"Hobson."

"Detective Crumb."

"Should I even ask?"

"I don't know. Should you?  You're always tell me you don't want to know..."

"Let me guess.  You were walking by and saw a gas station being robbed, and instead of calling the police, like you should have, you went inside to help the attendant."

Gary hadn't actually thought of a story, so he just nodded.

"Unbelievable..."  The older man shook his head.  "So then what happened?"

"GARY!!"  Chuck jumped out of a cab and pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring all comments about his wet suit and flippers.  He ran towards the pumps where Gary and Crumb stood, but was stopped by a uniformed officer.

"Oh joy, he's here too..."  Crumb gripped.  "Palmer, let him through.  I guess I want to speak to him too."

The officer let go. Chuck sprinted to his friend.

"GARY!"  He ran up to Gary and hugged him tightly, garnering a surprised look from both Crumb and Gary.  "I'm glad you're all right.  After you tackled the gunman while he was pointing that gun at you..."

"You what!?  You tackled an armed gunman!  How stupid are you?"  The Detective shook his head in disbelief.

"How did you know?  You weren't with me."

"I was, in essence..."

Crumb held his head and let off a low moan.  He felt a headache coming on.  Not just any headache, a "Hobson" headache.  He needed aspirin.  The Detective headed back to his car to find some, leaving the other two to argue.

"What do ya mean in essence?"

"It's hard to explain.  I'll tell you over a beer.  After Crumb let's us go."

"Okay." Gary agreed hoping for some sort of explanation of his friend's behavior over the last couple of weeks.

"Crumb!!!  Can we go now!!!"

"Hold your horses Fishburn," he hollered from his car.  "What's your rush?"

"It's late and I'm cold standing here and you have the gunman in custody.  Besides I'm sure you know where to find us if you need us..."

"All right, all right... The sooner the better."

"Thanks Crumb."  Chuck yelled.  He grabbed Gary by the arm and pulled him through the crowd.

"Um, Chuck... What's with the wet suit?"

"Never mind that.  Why aren't you dead?  I mean you jumped for the gunman and he aimed the shotgun right at you..."

Gary didn't answer.  It finally sunk in how close he came to dying.  Fortunately he lucked out.  When the gunman pulled the trigger all he heard was a click.  The gun was empty.  Gary then punched the guy, knocking him unconscious until the police arrived.

"I got lucky..."  Gary said.  "Come on let's go..."

---
"A half a floor?"  Gary paced his hotel room.

"Why is that so hard to believe?  You get tomorrow's newspaper," Chuck said from his seat on the couch.  He'd taken off the wet suit and was wearing borrowed clothes.  They were a little big, but way more comfortable than what he was wearing.

"But a half a floor..."

"Anyway, it leads to a portal to your mind."

"My mind.  That ridicules..."

"It's true... The other day when I was Navy Pier, you bought the sea horse from models.  You also tore up a wining lotto ticket that was worth 25 million dollars..."

"Yeah..."

"The next day you went to the suburbs to stop a car accident and stole someone's cell phone."

"How did you know that?"

"I was there, in your mind.  That's what I've been doing for the last couple of weeks.  Going from people's minds...  You know Gar, some of the other recipient use the paper for profit.  I think you should do the same..."

"Is that what this is about?  Money?  I told you.  I'm not going to use the paper for profit.  It doesn't work that way."

"I saw it myself.  Come on I'll show you."  He headed for the door.  "Let's go."

Gary reluctantly grabbed his coat, but he followed Chuck out the door.

---
"Hi, Mr. Fishman.  You're here awfully late on a Friday evening."

"Hi Ray.  I just need to get something I left on my desk."

"Sure, but Gary has to stay here.  He's not even supposed to set foot in the building.  Pritchard's orders."

"Oh come on.  It's after hours.  Besides Pritchard's not here now.  Come on, you know him," he pointed to Gary. "He won't do anything."

"All right, but don't take too long."

"We won't."

"Thanks Ray."  Gary smiled.

"Come on."  He pulled Gary by the arm towards the elevator.

They boarded.  When it reached between the seventh and eighth floor, Chuck hit the emergency stop button.  He pried the door open and turned to his friend "There!"

"There what?"

"It's not here..."  He turned around and all he saw was a floor above and a floor below.

"What's not here?"

"The door...  There was supposed to be one right here..."

"I'm telling you there was one right here.  It lead to a half a floor and there were these doors, which are actually portals..."

"Chuck, I'm tired.  It's been a long day.  I'm going home.  I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Gary pushed the close doors button and pushed the lobby button.  Once at the bottom he exited the elevator.

"Gary wait..."  It was too late.  Gary was already through the revolving doors.

"He's not supposed to see it.  Never is."

"Larry?"  He turned back around.  The janitor was standing behind him.  "Where did the floor go."

"It's gone."

"I know that but where?"

"I don't know.  I've been transferred in cleaning the fourth floor.  The owner of the offices said something about moving his business.  And something about a man named Hobson is not supposed to see it.  You're not Hobson are you?"

"No...  So it's gone..."

"I guess...  Here..."  Larry handed him the duffel bag he left.

"Thanks."

"Good night..."

---
Epilogue

The 7 1/2 floor, the next day...

"Do you think he learned his lesson?"  A woman with curly red hair asked.

"Perhaps.  It's hard to tell with that fellow," a man wearing a bowler hat.

"Perhaps."

"Ah... There you are."

"Meorww..."  A cat appeared in front of them.

"Here's the paper...  And don't forget to show Gary the sixth page.  I'm sure he'll miss it.  And watch that Fishman fellow, we don't want another incident like the last time he took the paper."

"Meorwww...."

"Yes, good day to you..."

"Cooo... cooo..."

"Go morning to you... And see if you can get Sam to lay of the financial page..."

"Coo... coo..."

"What I don't understand is why he didn't exit the portal as soon as he entered like our messengers."

"Grrr..."

"You're cranky today. Here..."  He said putting the paper in the Rotweiler mouth.  "The portals were only built for the animals."

"Moo...."

He put the paper on the cow.  It mooed again and walked away.

"I see."

"It doesn't matter now.  We're located in a different building now.  I believe this is the Sun-Times Building."

"Ah, where Lucius Snow worked."

"Yes..."

"That's the last of them..."

"Yes... Just in time... It's almost 6:20.  Time to punch out and go home..."

"You have a good day."

"Good day to you.  Until tomorrow..."
----------
The End

Email the author: Measer@nyc.rr.com
 

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