We'll Meet Again

76

“Molly, before I leave I’m going to give you a sedative that will ensure that you sleep tonight,” Dr. Daniels told Molly.

“If you like, Doctor,” Molly said indifferently.

They were in the family room. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” Dr. Daniels said. He stood to go into the kitchen.

Molly thought of the bottle of sleeping pills she’d left out on the counter there. “The bar sink is closer, Doctor,” she said quickly.

She knew he was watching her closely as she put the pill in her mouth and swallowed it with water. “I’m really all right,” she said, as she put the glass down.

“You’ll be more all right after you have a good sleep. You go right upstairs to bed.”

“I will.” She walked with him to the front door. “It’s past nine. I’m sorry. I certainly have ruined your evenings this week, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t ruined anything. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Remember. Straight upstairs to bed, Molly. You’re going to start feeling groggy pretty soon.”

Molly waited until she was sure he was driving away before she double locked the door and stepped on the foot bolt. This time the sound it made-something between a click and a snap-seemed to be familiar and nonthreatening.

I made it all up, she thought dully-that sound, the feeling that someone was in the house that night. I remember it that way because that’s the way I wanted it to be.

Had she turned off all the lights in the study? She couldn’t remember. The door to the study was closed. She opened it and leaned inside, reaching for the light switch. As light flooded the room, something caught her eye. Something was moving outside the front window. Was someone out there? Yes. In the glow from the study light, she could see Wally Barry, standing on the lawn, just a few feet from the window, staring in at her. With a startled cry she turned away.

And suddenly the study was different. It was paneled again, as it had been… before… And Gary was there, his back to her, at his desk-he was slumped over, his head soaked in blood.

Blood was running down from the deep gash in his head, soaking his back, pooling on the desk, dripping onto the floor.

Molly tried to scream but could not. She turned back and looked beseechingly to Wally for help, but he was gone. The blood was on her hands, her face, her clothes.

Dazed by terror, she staggered out of the room, up the stairs, and fell into bed.

When she awoke twelve hours later, still groggy from the sleeping pill, she knew that the vivid, bloody horror she had remembered was only part of the unendurable nightmare that her life had become.