Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 41 — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION swiftly and gathered the girl tenderly and carefully in his arms, her wounded head sup- ported on his shoulder. Straight into the air he swept, and arrowed toward the distant city lights. In a matter of minutes he was plummeting down in front of the hospital. I’m lucky, he thought; no one’s in sight—it’s nearly three o’clock. He carried her up to the front door and laid her gently on the top step. He knocked loudly on the door, then took off in a swoop high above. He watched until he saw the attendants come out, discover her and carry her inside. Then he made his way home. Safe in his room, he sank into his chair, trembling in every nerve. He was thrilled he’d been able to help the girl, but still so afraid he might have been seen and recognised. Hardly had he calmed him- self a bit from that distress when he saw the blood on his coat. He took it off, and saw more blood on his shirt. He ripped that from him in a new agony of fear. How would he ever get rid 56 of that tell-tale blood? How could he explain it? **The police are sure to trace me and hold me for hurting her,”’ he muttered, trembling. *“They’Il find my handkerchief. Why did I leave that on her?” He was in a panic. He fell into his chair, moaning that he was lost. His mind conjured pictures of himself in jail, him- self the focus of the world’s attention during his trial. *“Oh, God, I wouldn’t have a chance,” he groaned. “No one would ever believe me.”’ “Tl take them far away and bury them.’ He sprang up. “Or drop them far out at sea.” But dawn was already lightening the sky. “Too late!” was his panicked thought. ““Oh, God, don’t let me get caught before night!”’ He rolled and wrapped the | damaging garments and hid them in the darkness of his closet. Then threw himself onto the bed, and for the first time - in a dozen years he cried, his face dug deep into his pillow. If only he’d never learned that damned trick of levitating. Then he’d not be in this pickle. “But then you’d not have conmicloooks.comn