Mike spent a sleepless night worrying and wondering; pondering over again and again what had happened. He became so frustrated he threw a drinking glass and smashed it against the wall around three in the morning, then went to lie down to give sleeping another try.
"I just knew something would go wrong!" he said aloud, "I knew everything that's happened to me was too good to be true! There had to be a- a catch someplace! I'm not so great after all. Why did this have to happen to me? Why couldn't I have just died, in the first place, like anybody else would have? I HATE myself!"
Mike hid his head underneath his pillow and sobbed until he drifted off into restless slumber. When he opened his eyes again, it was five a.m., and he discovered his notebook open on the floor containing a new sketch of the MLC.
"Oh, Bureaucrats!" he softly swore, and slid the open book across the table top. Thankfully it didn't fall on the floor, and Mike went to the shower, then dressed in a crisp new set of jeans and red plaid shirt. He didn't feel like seeing anyone that day. As a matter of fact, he didn't feel well at all. Looking in his shaving mirror it reflected his ghostly complexion and a disgusting mop of matted brown hair. It looked like the reflection of someone who had spent the whole night getting drunk!
"Oh, God!" Mike sighed, then went to gobble up three bowls of corn flakes and two cups of coffee. He hoped Dr. Horton would be able to explain something to him if he would ever see him again. It seemed every time he used his new powers for any length of time, his stomach became very upset. Sometimes this condition got so severe, Mike felt he wouldn't be able to keep anything down...but mysteriously enough, the worst never happened! This particular morning the condition was particularly disquieting, and he wished anything would happen to make the waves of nausea subside, and even more he wondered why he was plagued with it in the first place. Before the accident certain foods had bothered him, but now, because of one of Dr. Horton's tests that was to see if these allergies had improved, Mike found he could eat anything he pleased and not regret it. Was it a loss of psychic energy or power that made him feel sick? Eating always helped, some. It was a miracle in itself he could even LOOK at breakfast. He couldn't wait to know the answer...somehow. The feeling was entirely different than when he was bothered by the sun.
"Guess I'll have to stay home today. What have I got to loose?" Mike thought, still feeling sorry for himself. "A day's pay? Big deal!" He shrugged and went to the front