Black Mask Detective (Vol. 35, No. 2 — November, 1950)

Hell Is What You Make It by Robert Turner

Laurie was bound to her handsome heel of a husband by a ring of guilt instead of gold...

She came out of the dream with perspiration cold all over her. Her heart was slugging against her ribs as though it would split. She lay there, stiff and cold, not moving, listening for the city sounds, the hotel sounds of other nights when she’d awakened like this from the same nightmare. But tonight those sounds were missing. The night was quiet, heavy with the silence, as only a country night can be. And she remembered. She was home. For the first time in seven years, she was home, sleeping again in the bed where she’d slept for eighteen years.

Pale moonlight flooded the room from the windows. She looked at the dim outline of the dresser, the chairs, the desk in the corner where she used to do her homework. Nothing had been changed. The folks had taken down the college pennants from the walls and the pictures of movie stars, but otherwise it was the same room. The old brass-ended bed even had the same lumpy mattress. Roy had complained about that tonight.

She shivered and raised up onto one elbow. She looked down on Roy’s sleeping face, marveling at how young he looked.

Even in the bright sunlight, Roy Willis never looked more than twenty-five. Now, with the moonglow softening his features, he looked boyish. His long black lashes lay shadowy against his check. There wasn’t a line in his face. His short-cropped unruly hair was touseled about his high forehead. If she ever told anybody that Roy was thirty-eight, they’d have laughed at her. If she told them that two nights ago she’d seen Roy kill a man in cold blood, they’d have shrieked with mirth. And if she told them how she and Roy made their money, all their money...

“Roy?” they’d say. “Oh, no, not Roy Willis.”

Not lovable, laughing, handsome Roy. Laurie, maybe. She always was a wild one. But not Roy!

She looked down on the man sleeping beside her like a baby. Roy, the miracle man, who could drink all night long and never get hung-over. Fabulous Roy who had broken all the commandments and just about every law there was, and still looked as naive as a choir boy. She didn’t get it. How could all that evilness not touch a man? It was crazy. It was like wallowing hip-deep through mud and coming out of it looking immaculate. It was super-human to be like that.

That was it, she decided. Roy wasn’t human. He was actually the devil, himself.

Some of the details of the nightmare that had awakened her began to sift through her mind. And now, awake, she realized that this time it hadn’t been that same recurring dream. Always before, the man Roy had killed had been faceless. The background had been nowhere in particular and there had been no ending to the dream; it had been just a fragment, without beginning, without end. But not tonight. That was because, tonight, it wasn’t a dream really. It had been a subconscious review, photographically clear, of something that had actually happened. And they said that dreams didn’t really come true.

Somewhere, far off, a hound dog bayed at the moon, a lonesome and eerie sound. Out in the yard a cat prowled, and the guinea hens perched in the trees set up their infernal racket. The old familiar night sounds that she’d known all her life up until seven years ago. But tonight they held terror. They seemed to sharpen that sense of ominous dread that had been building up in her for months.

She lay flat on the bed once more, staring at the wooden ceiling of the old farmhouse bedroom. The guinea hens quieted, and in the other room, Laurie heard the old man’s snore. Across the hall, her kid sister, Gin, chattered schoolgirl stuff in her sleep. Then there was the complete, dead, country quiet again, and the pictures of the dream that had really happened slid once again across the screen of Laurie’s brain.

Mr. Woodward was this man’s name. “Just call me Woody, baby.” It was funny how they ran to types. This one was fat, bald and cherubic, with twinkling eyes and Santa Claus cheeks. The boisterous, fun-loving Rover boy type that Laurie hated, could never quite feel sorry for like some of the others.

Mr. Woodward ran true to form. He drank too much and he got loud, and later up in the hotel suite the going was rougher than usual. Laurie thought that Roy would never show up.

Roy always enjoyed the payoff scene with the “call-me-Woody” boys. They always looked like punctured balloons, Roy said. The huff-and-puff went out of them fast and they never gave any trouble.

Roy would come out of the other room, winding the film on the little motion picture camera. He’d grin at Laurie and say:

“That does it, baby. That washes you up. I’ve been trying to get the goods on you for weeks and tonight you tucked it right into the bag for me. That little romp with your playmate, here, run off on a screen before a judge, will show what a cheap, two-timing little heel you are.”

To the man, Roy would say: “Sorry you’re going to be dragged into this, fella, but maybe it’ll be a lesson to you. Next time you want to make like Romeo, you’d better check first whether or not the gal’s got a hubby who’s after divorce evidence.”

The old badger game brought up to date. Why not? Roy said. Why take a chance experimenting with a new gimmick when a tried-and-true old one worked so well? That was the trouble with most of the smart boys — they tried to get too fancy. They neglected the good, old-fashioned ingredients of a beautiful girl, a few drinks and a rich old duffer with a late crop of wild oats to sow.

And Roy was right. It had worked like a charm for seven years. The sucker had a reputable business in Oshkosh or somewhere. He had a wife and a house full of kids back there. After a little negotiation he always decided to make it worth Roy’s while to destroy the roll of film and give weeping Laurie another chance. Worth Roy’s while to the tune of from $500 up, depending on how big a butter-and-egg man the fall guy was.

There was never any boomerang to the thing. Laurie was Roy’s wife. Sometimes if a victim were stubborn they’d follow the thing through. That was the beauty of it. Roy was prepared to go all the way. What the hell, he told Laurie. If we have to, I can even go ahead and divorce you. We can always get married again. But it never had to go that far.

But with this Woodward character the thing hadn’t come off. Right from the moment Roy stepped out of the other room with the camera, Laurie had sensed that this was going to turn sour. Woodward didn’t react right. He listened to Roy’s speeches and he watched Laurie’s crying act. And then he laughed.

“I’ve got news for you two con artists,” he told them. “Big hotels in convention cities are my working grounds, too. Only I got a nice, clean, wholesome racket compared to yours. My dice and card games pick them just as clean but they don’t leave any bad smell afterward. This job of yours stinks. I don’t like it and I don’t like you — either of you.”

Laurie had stood there in her black satin negligee, her ash blonde hair disheveled, her makeup smeared, and she had gotten scared, really scared. Fearfully, she watched the grin freeze on Roy’s handsome and youthful face.

“I first spotted tall and sultry, here,” Woodward nodded, at Laurie, “in Sea City. With the big buffoon in the ten gallon hat. Remember him? I watched her play. It was okay. Then I spotted you together next time, in Metropolis. And then here in this burg. I couldn’t believe anybody was still working this mossy old racket.”

“Look, mister,” Roy said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t care who you are. All you are to me is a face in a film that’s going to make a court see a divorce action my way. If you stop trying to be a wise guy, maybe it won’t be necessary to drag you into it. But you’d better scram out of here fast before I change my mind!”

Woodward’s fat face sneered. “You look,” he said. “My name’s not Woodward. I ain’t in the pickle business out West like I told this doll. I don’t have any wife or any kids. You haven’t got anything to put on the squeeze with. You can show that film on the biggest screen in Times Square if you want to. It don’t bother me.”

Roy jerked his thumb toward the door. “Get out!” he said.

“Sure,” the fat boy said. “But I’m going out richer than when I came in. My time is valuable. This is going to cost you two a grand. You know why? Because there’s a convention going on here right now that should keep you two busy for a couple of weeks. But not if the house dick puts the evil eye on you. And if I write a letter to the hotel associations there won’t be a spot in the country where you can operate. You know what I mean? One grand. Get it up.” He pushed out his plump hand.

Laurie thought Roy had lost his mind then. She saw him reach to the radio next to him and switch it on, turn up the volume. Hot jazz swelled loudly through the room. He set down the expensive little motion picture camera.

The fat man was sharper than Laurie. He got it right away. Fear suddenly pulled his flabby features apart. He put out the palm of his hand, took a hesitant backward step.

“Now wait a minute, handsome,” he shrilled over the din of the music. “Take it easy. Let’s talk this over. We’re both smart people.”

Laurie didn’t hear the rest. She was watching Roy reach for the small, twenty-five caliber revolver in his pocket, and she was standing there screaming, “No, Roy, no!”

Roy didn’t waste any time. No hesitation, not a lost movement. He took out the .25 and fired it all in one motion. There was a spurting flash and a sharp report — hardly louder than an exploding paper bag above the blaring radio. There was a little smoke. There was the heavy thud of the fat man falling to the floor, and then there was just the sound of the music again. Dixieland jazz. Laurie knew she’d never be able to hear it again without living through that scene.

She and Roy stood there, staring at each other across the gun. And Roy was smiling. He’d never looked more young and innocent and charming...

Next to her, on the lumpy, rickety bed where Laurie had slept since she was big enough to take out of a cradle, Roy Willis turned in his sleep and touched her. Laurie jumped as though a hot iron had seared her flesh. She rolled away and tumbled out of the bed. The floor was cool to her bare feet. She padded toward one of the big windows and stood there, looking out into the night.

The big yard was white with moon rays. She could see the mule shed clearly, and the smoke house. They looked beautiful tonight. There was the fig tree she used to climb. There was the wood pile and the chopping block where, when she was ten and chopping kindling with a sharp axe, she had accidentally killed her pet mallard.

Two nights ago she’d remembered that incident. She’d looked down onto the face of the fat man, and his staring dead eyes had held the same expression of shock and surprise as the mallard’s.

Roy had turned the radio off. He’d talked to her quietly. “I had to do it. That guy was dangerous.”

“But they’ll get you, Roy,” she said. “You can’t get away with this. You killed him. That’s murder, Roy!”

He went over to her and flicked his finger stinging hard against her cheek. “Don’t keep saying you, baby,” he said. “Get that we in there. We killed him. You’re in this right up to your cute ears. But don’t worry about it. We’ve already gotten away with it. If anybody had heard the shot, they’d have been here banging on the door already. Nobody knows what’s happened here except you and me.”

“But when they find him here, Roy, they’ll—”

“Not here,” he cut in. He stooped and dug into the fat man’s pockets. He brought out a room key with the big plastic tag attached to it. “Later, about four a.m. when everything’s quiet, you and I’ll lug him down to his room. It’s only two floors below. We’ll use the service stairs. If nobody seess us, fine. If they do, we’re just helping a drunk back to his room. You understand?”

That’s the way it worked out. Nobody saw them. The next morning when the chambermaid found the corpse, they were long gone. They were way down south of Mason-Dixon, in the land of corn pones, ham-hocks and turnip greens.

Laurie had fought it with everything she had. She thought about what would happen if the law did get on their trail. The shock and the shame of it would kill her folks.

Roy had laughed off that objection. “Safest place in the world! Who’s going to look for city-boy Roy Willis on a tobacco farm deep in the Carolina red clay country?”

When she didn’t answer, his voice sharpened, hacked at her: “All right,” he said. “I’m your husband. They’re my in-laws. I’ll go there alone, then. What’s the matter — you ashamed for me to meet your folks, to see the kind of place you came from?”

But it wasn’t that she was ashamed of the place or the folks. That wasn’t why she hadn’t been back once in the seven years she’d been away. It was because of Roy. She knew Roy would turn on the charm and they’d fall for it, and then somehow, some way, Roy would figure an angle to use that worship for his own purposes. Roy wasn’t happy about somebody liking him unless it paid off.

Then there would be the admiration for their expensive clothes, the ostrich-skin luggage and the expensive convertible. Questions would be asked about what Roy did, how he made so much money. He’d lie glibby through it all, but Laurie was afraid she’d be trapped.

She’d never been very good at lying to her folks. When they’d get her to one side and tell her what a wonderful guy Roy was and how lucky she was to have married such a fine man, Laurie was afraid she might not be able to stand it. She might break and blurt out the truth.

Those were the reasons she’d never gone back and why she didn’t want to go back now. But when Roy said he’d go alone, she knew she was licked. He’d do it. Once again she’d lost to Roy. She had always lost, right from the beginning. Nobody bucked Roy Willis and got away with it.

Laurie began to feel suffocated, closed in by the walls of the bedroom. There was no air in the room. Roy had a phobia about sleeping in a room with an open window. Outside, through the glass, Laurie could see a night breeze rustling the leaves of the crepe myrtle and pecan trees. She suddenly had to get out there, feel the cool of the night on her feverish skin, freshen her lungs with the clean sweet air.

She turned and padded across the room to the door, eased it open, stepped out into the hall. She paused by the open door of her sister’s room. The kid was sleeping quietly now.

It was funny how she thought of Gin as a kid. She wasn’t really, anymore. She was seventeen but she was grownup. The long, gangly legs had filled out and taken on beautiful lines. Gin had really bloomed in seven years. When Laurie and Roy had arrived early this morning and Laurie had been unpacking, Gin had insisted on trying on one of Laurie’s gowns. In that gown, with the freshness of youth shining from her, Gin was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

Roy had let out a long, low whistle. “Hey,” he’d said. “Look at this kid! She’s a killer! Maybe I married the wrong sister, eh?”

Gin had gotten flustered and fled from the room. Roy had looked at Laurie and laughed.

Laurie had known what he meant. Sometimes, lately, she’d catch him studying her with narrowed eyes. He’d say: “What’s happening to you, Toots? You’re losing something.” He’d shake his head, impatient, a little puzzled. “You’d better do something about it, baby. Once that extra zip is gone, you won’t be worth a damn to me. These fat rich old suckers don’t want floozies. Hell, floozies are a penny a peck.”

He wasn’t telling Laurie anything she didn’t know. The seven years might have passed right over Roy but they’d hit her hard, left their indelible mark. Little touches around the eyes and the mouth, more in the expression than in the features themselves. Some would say that she’d taken on an air of worldliness, but Laurie knew that nothing had been added. It was like Roy had said — something had been lost.

It frightened her. In the smart clubs and hotel cafes that she and Roy worked, Laurie had seen other woman not much older than herself who were dulled completely, who in desperation were trying to recapture that lost something with too much paint and too much jewelry and too loud laughter. But it was all false flash and you could see through it.

What Roy meant was that when she got like that he’d take off.

The thought had panicked her at first. Evil grew on you; you became used to it, depended on it. She knew no other life. What would she do without Roy? How would she live? Then she’d gotten used to the idea and it was only the uncertainty of when it would happen that bothered her. The world didn’t end for women suddenly without husbands. She’d go on. She’d take care of herself somehow, maybe divorce Roy and try to start over, maybe marry again.

Now, though, the business of the fat man had changed all that. She was saddled with Roy for life, and he with her. She was the witness to his crime, the one who shared his guilt, and he’d have to stick with her.

Maybe it was a good thing, too. From the way Roy had looked at Gin today, Laurie knew that he wished he could swap her for the younger version. Turn her in for the 1950 model. And if it weren’t for the murder, Laurie knew that Roy would have no qualms about getting Gin to run off with him. A young hayseed like Gin, all full of wild, romantic notions, would be a setup for Roy’s fast, smooth talk — just as Laurie had been when she met him. But he would never try it the way things were.

Laurie moved away from the doorway of her sister’s room to the front door of the house. She unhooked the screen catch and stepped out onto the porch. She stood there, breathing deeply of the night’s sweetness. The soft hum of chicadas and tree toads was everywhere, muted, soothing.

After a few moments, Laurie moved off of the porch toward the driveway where the convertible was parked. Roy always carried a spare pack of cigarettes in the dashboard compartment. She would sit in the open front seat of the car and have a smoke and then go back inside to try to get some sleep. Maybe at the same time she could figure some way to get them away from the farm.

Roy had sworn to her that they’d only stay here a few days. But tonight before going to bed Roy had said: “You’ve got nice folks, honey. And this is a nice old stash, quiet, isolated. Maybe we ought to stretch out this vacation, hole up here for a month, give that fat-boy business a real chance to cool off before we try to operate again.”

Panic had leaped inside of her like a live thing. She remembered the tough time she’d had answering some of her mother’s questions. She remembered how Roy had taken young Gin out for a ride in the convertible “just to show her how smooth it rides,” and how flushed and excited the kid had been when they got back. Since then Gin had talked about nothing but what a wonderful man Roy was and how she envied Laurie and how sick she was of the farm and farmer’s sons and this whole neck of the woods.

Maybe Roy wouldn’t be dumb enough to run off with Gin, but he’d sure put a lot of silly notions in the kid’s head if they were here very long. They couldn’t stay here. She had to figure some way to get Roy away from here before he hurt somebody.

On the broad front seat of the convertible, she flicked on the dash lights, snapped open the glove compartment. She fished through a litter of maps and old gasoline and service station receipts, found an unopened package of cigarettes. She opened the pack, stuck a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. She inhaled deeply and tossed the cigarettes back into the compartment, and then something caught her eye. She held her breath as she pulled out a crumpled wad of handkerchief covered with lipstick smears.

It was a big handkerchief, she saw. The fine linen told her that it was one of Roy’s, and his initial in the corner removed all doubt. Held close to the dash light, the bright orange color of the lipstick told Laurie that it had come from Gin’s young mouth.

She sat there stunned for a moment, twisting the soiled handkerchief between her clenched fists. The ride this afternoon. The way Gin looked when they came back. Roy’s decision to stay here at least a month. It told the whole rotten story. Roy had moved fast. Snap-judgment, cocksure Roy. Move-right-in Roy.

She heard, then, the soft sound of the screen door shutting. There was the whisper of footsteps across the grass and somebody loomed in the dark beside the car.

The door opened and Roy shoved into the seat beside her. He had put on a pair of slacks over his pajamas. He wore shoes but no socks. He was carrying a small armful of clothes which he set down on the seat between them. He didn’t look as though he’d just awakened. Roy never did. His eyes were clear, his whole handsome face alert looking.

“You’re making an insomniac out of me too, baby,” he said, chuckling. “You see how I love you? You get up out of bed and I wake up, too. I got to come looking for you.”

Laurie closed her hand over the handkerchief. She stared at him, trying to hide the loathing in her eyes. She looked at his mouth and thought about that mouth kissing Gin, telling Gin things — lying, hypnotic things that made a girl forget everything else.

She said, “Why did you bring some of my clothes out here?” She pushed her hand through the little pile of clothing. There was a pair of slacks and a sweater and a pair of slippers.

“For you to put on, silly,” he said. “Get into them, Laurie. We’re going to take a little ride.”

Something cold seemed to slither through her stomach. “Are you crazy, Roy? At this time of night?”

“Sure, Laurie. Why not? We’ll find a juke joint open somewhere on the highway. We’ll have a couple of bottles of beer and talk a little. I want to talk to you. I don’t like the way you’ve been acting lately. I want to thrash things out.”

“What things? Why can’t we talk right here?”

He gestured toward the house. “Do you want to wake your family? Get those clothes on, take the car out of gear and release the handbrake. We can roll out of the driveway and down the road a little before you start the motor.”

She looked fearfully toward the house. He was right. A lot of talk might awaken one of them in there. She couldn’t stand that now.

And they did have something to talk about, something that Roy wasn’t expecting. She would straighten him out on the situation with Gin fast, before it had a chance to go any farther. She’d tell him that if he went near the kid again, she’d go to the police and tell them about the fat man and the hell with what happened to little Laurie.

Automatically she slipped into the slacks, pulled the sweater over her pajamas. She eased the car back the slight slope of the driveway, got it onto the dirt road and rolled down a few yards away from the house before she gunned the motor.

She drove in silence along the red clay road until they reached a narrow, rickety wooden bridge that crossed a small creek. Some boards were loose in the middle of the bridge, and Laurie slowed the ear so they wouldn’t hit the bridge at too high speed. But about fifty feet from the bridge, Roy suddenly reached out and switched off the ignition. He grabbed the handbrake and eased it up slowly but steadily, stopping the car close to the bridge. At the same time he put one hand on the wheel, forcing the car to the side of the road.

“Why are we stopping here?” Laurie’s voice sounded shrill.

“This is where we’re going to talk,” Roy said. “I don’t think we want any beer.”

Frozenly, she watched Roy open the glove compartment, run his hand through it, bring it out empty. He grinned at her, showing all of his beautiful, even white teeth.

“Your sister is a beautiful kid,” he said gently. “You don’t think that if I cared about you finding that handkerchief, I’d have put it in the compartment, do you?”

She called him a name, the worst she could think of. It didn’t bother Roy. His smile didn’t change.

“She hit me like a load of brick, Laurie. I made up my mind about her this afternoon. She’s young, just dumb enough to be pliable, just smart enough to grab at what she wants.”

“No, Roy!” The words seemed to choke in the back of her throat. “You’re not going to do it, Roy. You’re going to leave her alone — or you’re going to face the law about what happened in the hotel. I swear to that, Roy.”

He ignored the threat. “Gin talked a lot this afternoon. We parked for awhile by this bridge and she told me about this creek. You go swimming here on hot summer days. Good swimming, too. The water runs fast, and it’s deep, cold and deep. Very deep, Laurie.”

She edged along the seat away from him, her eyes on him, fascinated. She touched the door and her hand fumbled for the handle, shaking, panicky. Before her fingers found it, Roy reached across her and grabbed her wrist. With his other he grabbed her hair. He slammed her head forward with all of his might against the metal of the dashboard.

There was an explosion of flashing lights in Laurie’s eyes. She started to scream but she didn’t make it. Roy’s fingers tangled in her hair, whacked her head forward again.

This time the dazzling lights were fewer. Thoughts skittered through her brain like frightened chipmunks. Roy was way ahead of her. It would be a terrible tragedy. An accident. The car plunging off of the creek bridge. Everybody would feel sorry for poor Roy. They’d insist that he stay on at the farm and after a proper length of time he and Gin...

Dimly she became aware of Roy’s voice. “All rigged nicely, Laurie. Remember the night in Sea City when you woke up and left me a thoughtful little note saying that you’d gone out to get some cigarettes? I saved that note, Laurie. There was no date on it. They’ll find it—”

Her head was slammed against the dashboard again, and pain burst like a rocket inside her skull. Then all the flashing lights went out. The darkness was thick and wet, syrupy...

A few miles above the road the creek was swelled by freshets and cold springs. The water was icy. It shocked Laurie back to consciousness in a matter of seconds. Her lungs were bursting for air and she instinctively tried to swim toward the surface. She couldn’t move. One foot was caught in something and her ankle was torn with pain.

She reached down and felt the floor-board of the car. She fumbled down to her ankle and found that it was pinned beneath the brake pedal. She wrenched at the pedal but it didn’t budge. Nothing happened. She thought: The hell with it. What’s the use? They say drowning isn’t so bad...

Then water got into her mouth and she started to choke. Panic swept her and instinct took hold. Hardly realizing it, Laurie jerked her ankle with every bit of strength in her. She felt herself twist free in the swirling water.

The current twisted and pulled at her as she fought to the surface. She broke through into the air and gulped it in. She reached up and caught hold of rough wood. The only sound was the roar of the racing creek water and everything was inky black all around her. She realized that she had come up to the surface under the bridge.

For long moments she clung to the supporting beam of the bridge. Then she eased herself along, hand over hand, to the sandy shore beneath the bridge. She sprawled there, her legs still in the icy water, too weak to crawl any farther. She lay there, listening, but heard nothing above the noise of the torrent. She stayed without moving for what seethed like hours and then stiffly pulled herself to her feet, moved along the narrow strip of sand until she was out from under the bridge.

The moon was still bright and in its pale illumination she could see the jagged ends of the wrecked bridge railing where Roy had plunged the car through it. There was no sign of Roy. The bridge and the road were empty. Laurie found the path that led down to the edge of the water and painfully hobbled back up onto the road.

It was about three miles back to the house and it took Laurie about three hours to make it. It seemed longer. Several times she had to sit down and rest before she fell. The wet clothes clung to her, and the night breeze blowing through them set her to shivering. Her head throbbed as though it was split down the middle and her foot was swollen to double its size, but somehow she kept going. She made it just as milky streaks of dawn were beginning to filter through the night sky.

There were lights on in the big kitchen in the back of the house. She didn’t know whether Roy had awakened the folks or whether her father had just got up early. He often arose at dawn. It didn’t matter much which it was. Laurie knew what she was going to do.

The front screen door was still on the latch, and she managed to drag herself inside and shut it without making too much noise. Their bedroom door was open and she pushed into the room, saw that it was empty. She fumbled through the compartments of Roy’s suitcase and found the little .25 caliber revolver. She checked the chambers and then started toward the lights in the kitchen.

She stood quietly in the doorway for a second, the light hurting her eyes. She had forgotten how she must look, with her stringy hair and her half-wet clothes and dried blood and river-silt all over her face, until her mother accidently glanced toward the doorway and saw her standing there. Her mother’s eyes went round with horror.

There were three of them in the kitchen. Laurie’s mother in her faded wrapper, her hair up in metal curlers. Her father already in overalls, his tired, weathered face still sleepy looking. And Roy. Roy had taken off his slacks and shoes and was in his pajamas as though he’d just gotten up. He had his back to the door. He was saying:

“I know something’s wrong, Pop. It’s been nearly two hours since I awakened and found her gone and this note beside the bed. I don’t know; maybe if Laurie wasn’t such a rotten driver there’d be nothing to worry about. But I think we ought to go out and check. Even if she’s got a flat tire or motor trouble—”

Her mother’s scream chopped off his words. The old woman speared her finger toward the door and the two men spun around.

Laurie pointed the .25 at Roy. She said through puffy lips: “You slipped up, Roy. For once you slipped up. You — didn’t quite kill me.”

“Oh, lord-a-mighty, honey, what happened?” Laurie’s father cried.

“Ask him,” Laurie said. “Ask Roy. He tried to kill me.”

“She’s hurt!” Roy broke in. “She’s had an accident, got hurt in the head. Pop, get that gun away from her before she hurts somebody!”

Laurie shook her head. She felt very tired. She spoke slowly, blurredly, not to anybody in particular. “I’m not crazy. Don’t let him try to sell you that I’m crazy. There wasn’t even any wreck.” Simply, plainly, she went on to tell them what had happened.

She was halfway through when Roy started toward her. She stopped, gripped her gun tighter.

“Stay away, Roy! I don’t want to shoot you. I don’t want it that way but I’ll do it if you don’t keep away from me. It’s all over, Roy. Everything’s all over.” She suddenly realized that her voice had given way on her. She was only whispering. Then it cleared and she shouted: “Roy, do you hear me? Roy!”

Her vision swam but she saw his blurred figure rushing toward her and she felt her finger tighten on the trigger of the gun. Then for one terrible second her eyes cleared and she saw that Roy was almost upon her. She saw emotion on that handsome face of his for the first time — fear, rage, desperation.

She didn’t know that the .25 had been fired until she saw three black holes appear in the front of Roy’s silk pajama tops. She watched his hand clutch at the holes, covering them, and then she seemed to hear the sound of the shots.

Roy looked toward her as he fell and she saw that suddenly he was no longer good looking, nor young. His face was twisted and ugly, and all that was inside of him was there on the surface. It was a terrible thing to see. She remembered Roy laughing about a movie called The Picture of Dorian Gray and saying that no such thing could happen. And now it was happening to Roy.

Then the lights began to dim. For the second time that night, Laurie Willis found herself falling into smothering darkness...

When she came out of it, she was in her sister’s bed. Gin was there, with her mother and father. They were all sitting around the bed. The sheets felt cool and crisp and clean. She felt her head and it was wrapped in thick bandages. Her mother was holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be all right.

The doctor had come and gone, and the sheriff too. Laurie’s father told her that technically she was under arrest and would have to appear at the inquest, but it was just a formality. Laurie figured that was probably so, her family being what it was around these parts and the law being what it was, and with the story she had to tell. That bothered her, though. Just how much of that story should she tell? Then her father spoke up.

“Why did he do it, Laurie?” he asked gently. “Why did he try to kill you? For insurance, was it? Did he have a lot on you?”

For a moment she didn’t answer. There was some insurance on her. Not too much. About ten thousand, but with double indemnity. And she could cook up some yarn about Roy being in a financial jam. That would probably do it. That way the family wouldn’t have to know the rest of the sordid details of her life with Roy. They had been hurt and shocked enough as it was.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I guess it was for the insurance. I don’t know what else it could be.”

She forced herself to look at Gin’s tight and horrified young face. She didn’t think they’d ever have to worry about Gin anymore. This little affair had completely deglamorized the big sister who had run off to the big city and married a rich and handsome man. Now some local boy would soon be getting himself a sensible young wife. So there was something good had come of this.

Laurie closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the soft pillow. “I... I’m tired now,” she said. “I want to sleep. I’ll talk to you again in the morning.”

She listened to them tiptoing out of the room. There alone in the big white bed, she suddenly felt very small and young again, and thankful for a family and a home. It was the way she used to feel as a kid after a bad sickness. When the crisis was over and she knew she was going to get well, only more so.

Seven years was a long time to be sick. But it was all over now. The disease had burned itself out, and she was going to get well...