Second Chance by Chet Williamson Page A

the music sounded better too. There was a clarity to it, and it seemed that scratches he knew were there had vanished. Maybe the grass was still doing its magical work, laying a patina of dream over reality.
    He felt sure he was right after he took Alan's pack of Kents from atop the foot locker. He tapped one out, slid out the book of matches wedged in the cellophane, and stopped. He turned the pack all around, examining it carefully, then said, "Alan," and tossed it to his friend. "That pack. Where'd you get it?"
    "What are you talking about?" Alan said, glancing down at it. "I brought it from home, the carton's in the—" And he stopped, gazing down at what he was holding. "What the hell . . ."
    "It's not there," Woody said.
    “Jesus." Alan turned the pack over and over, as if it were a stubborn Rubik's Cube.
    "What are you looking at?" Frank asked.
    "The warning label," Alan said. "It's gone. There's no goddam warning label on this pack." Alan laughed in disbelief. " Wait'll I show them this at the office. What a hoot! We've been trying to get these bastards off for years, and now a printer's error or something—" Suddenly he blanched. "Shit, I wonder how many of these got out."
    "Not many," Woody said. "In fact, it's probably one of a kind."
    Yeah, Woody thought, trying to keep down his excitement, his thought that something very strange, very incredible was happening, something that Woody, even as he yearned for it, couldn't bear to think about.
    He looked at his friends through the dim haze of smoke, saw Curly standing, talking to Diane, noticed that he didn't seem as bald as he had before. It was as if a brush of hair was pushing its way out of his scalp like spring grass, too slowly for the eye to see. And Sharla's hair too, cut short and conservatively, seemed bushier, the patches of gray on the sides lost in blackness.
    They haven't noticed yet, he thought. We look like we expect each other to look. Unless you watch for it, like I am, you never notice anything changing, not until it's almost complete.
    Complete.
    And what would completeness be? he wondered. How far would it go?
    "Look at each other," Woody said loudly enough for everyone to hear him. Their conversations stopped as they turned toward him.
    "Look at each other's face, hair. Look close."
    They did, and around the room, hands went up to touch hair, faces. Others felt their stomachs or hips. Still others examined the backs of their hands, touching gingerly as if expecting the skin to flake off.
    Woody stepped between Diane and Sharla . "There are fewer lines," he said, his gaze lying like lead on Diane's features.
    "My hair," Curly said softly, running his palm slowly over his head. He gave a queer laugh. "It's coming back."
    "You're right, Woody," said Eddie. "I can't see it happening, but it is. Slowly. Like the minute hand of a clock. Jesus, I feel younger."
    "Maybe," said Frank, his voice shaking, "what we feel is stoned."
    "No, Frank," Judy said. "I don't know what's happening, but something is. Look at my hand." She held it up in front of his face. "I haven't had my wedding ring off since the day we got married, and look . There's not even a pale spot where it used to be. If the ring was ever there, it's not now, and hasn't been for weeks."
    "My wedding ring's gone too," said Diane.
    " So's mine," said Alan, and Curly indicated that his was also missing.
    "Where's yours, Frank?" Judy said.
    Frank looked at his hand. Woody saw the fingers tremble. "Probably at home on the dresser, that's all."
    "Look at the clock now," said Curly, his voice tense with excitement. The clock's second hand, a thin, dark line against white, was moving not with the usual speed of a second hand, but far more slowly, creeping at a pace that allowed them only to sense the indication of movement rather than see it. "What the fuck is happening here?" Curly said.
    "There's something wrong with it, that's all," said Frank.
    "Yeah," said Sharla , patting her afro as if it were