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she Had never worn. Well, it wasn't "virgin silk" she assumed that
meant silk that had never been dyed or made into a garment but it
would have to do. She rolled the nasty little bag into the scarf, making
a packet less than two inches square, then found in her handbag a
small plastic tube she had used for a while to keep vitamin pills in. It
was probably about as airtight as anything else she could find. She
thrust in the silk-wrapped charm, forced the cap back on, and finally
sealed it with adhesive tape from her medicine cabinet
There, If the whole damn thing is suggestion, I'll try some
countersuggestion. But I wish Jamie would get home.
She sat down on the bed again, trying to control the shaking of her
hands, but in a very few minutes she heard the apartment doorbell
ringing, Jamie's special ring. Two short rings: a code signal to save
him the trouble of using his key if his mother or Barbara were home.
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Thank God, thank God! The endless day was over, and Jamie was here.
The apartment was hers again; she was no longer trapped by hostile
presences. She would go to him, wrap herself in his sanity and
strength, and then show him the charm, persuade him that the danger
was real.
She got up off the bed.
She did not. Her trembling, strengthless knees refused to obey her;
strength seemed to drain out of her with every breath. She felt herself
struggling as if against invisible bonds, tried to raise herself on her
hands, trembled and fell back against the mattress. She lay there, her
heart pounding, knowing in numb horror that now she had no
defense against anything they wanted to say about her.
Jamie had to repeat his ring before the door opened; he had to
conceal his irritation when Dana's fair face appeared through the
crack in the door.
"Oh, Jamie," she said, in quick, low concern, "I'm glad you're here.
There's trouble."
Oh, God, what now? He almost groaned aloud. "What is it this time,
Dana? More phone calls?"
"Worse than that," said Dana, her sweet face troubled with a frown.
"Ifs Barbara, Jamie. She's locked herself in her room and she won't
come out. She hasn't even come out to eat all day. I went into her
room to help her make her bed this morning, and she acted as if she
didn't know me."
"Yes," his mother put in over her shoulder. "If Dana hadn't been here,
I'd have been frightened to death there was a bloodstained knife in
the kitchen this morning. And you know how Jerry& "
Jamie felt his throat close in sudden fear. Barbara! Were the
mysterious they threatening Barbara as they had done with Bess? Or
had all this terrible business cracked her balance? He would have
sworn Barbara was completely stable, completely free of neurosis.
After Jerry's death she had consulted a psychiatrist. "If we're going to
have kids, it might be a good idea to make sure it's nothing in the
family," she'd said cheerfully. But the psychiatrist had pronounced
her completely healthy, completely free of neurotic tendencies.
But could anyone really know?
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He listened to his mother with half an ear. "I'll talk to her," he said,
and went to the door of the room.
Turning the handle, he encountered pressure against the door.
"Barbara!" he called, raising Ms voice. "It's me. What's wrong with
the door?"
Her voice sounded strange through the closed door. "Is it really you,
Jamie?"
"Who in hell do you think it is Santa Clans?" he snapped, suddenly
angry. "Come on, Barb, stop play-ing games. Open this door like a
good girl! What's got-ten into you, trying to scare hell out of us all?"
There was time for him to hear his own heart thumping
uncomfortably in the silence, to become conscious of Dana's face and
his mother's behind him., to wonder if Barbara were unconscious or
asleep or actually hiding in the bathroom, before he heard a queer
sound like moving furniture. Then the handle turned and the door
opened a cautious inch or two and Barbara's face, or a narrow slit of it,
appeared in the narrow space.
"Come in," she said in a whisper.
"No, damn it, you come out. I'm not feeling like a lot of nonsense
tonight, Barbara. I want a drink, and I want my dinner. I've had
enough trouble for one day. Come on" he pleaded, "don't you start!
What's the matter, Barbara, sick?"
Behind him in the silence he heard his mother whisper, "Just like her
poor brother. I told Jamie& " and it made him irrationally angry at
Barbara for giving Ms mother this kind of opening for her spite.
Barbara heard it too, and her face hardened. She came into the living
room, and Jamie realized that she did, indeed, look sick: she had too
much makeup on or something, and her hair was disheveled, and she
looked as if she had grabbed something out of the closet at a
moment's notice and hauled it on. Her hands were shaking, and he
saw her look quickly at Dana and his mother and turn just as quickly
away. She said, "Give me a drink. Let's all have a drink. But don't
expect me to eat anything they've cooked up for me!"
"Why, Barbara, darling," Mrs. Melford said, and
Jamie scowled. He went to the cupboard, then hesitated.
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Dana said, "Barbara, I wouldn't drink anything if you're not feeling"
she hesitated "all right."
"What would you care?" Barbara spat out the words, and Dana
flinched. Jamie said, "Oh, come now," hardly knowing what he said.
He had the usual masculine loathing of scenes, and he was realizing,
slowly, that something was going on that could not be smoothed over.
Barbara went and poured herself a stiff drink from the bottle of
Scotch. Her hands were shaking, and she spilled some; Jamie went
and took the glass from her. He said clumsily, "Look, sweetheart  
"
Barbara dropped the glass. The liquid splashed and the glass,
miraculously unbroken, clattered and rolled away. She said, in a high,
hysterical voice, "Jamie, I don't want her here. I don't want them here.
I'm, I'm .  ." She gripped her hands tightly together, struggling with
herself. She said, her lips white, "I'm sorry. I know I sound like an
hysterical idiot I'm trying not to but Jamie, Jamie please, can't I
talk to you alone?"
"Poor Barbara," said Mrs. Melford sweetly, coming to pick up the
glass. She rubbed with her lace handkerchief at the splashed liquid on
the red dress. "You've made a stain on your pretty dress; it may never
come out. Can't you try to pull yourself together, dear? Why don't you
go and lie down, and let me make you a nice hot cup of tea, or some
soup, and you just rest a little."
Barbara struck at the hand containing the handkerchief. She didn't
actually touch it, but Mrs.
Melford shrieked and drew her hand back. Barbara said, high and
gasping, "Let me alone, don't touch me. Jamie, can't you see what
they're doing? They're trying to make you think I'm crazy." She fell
against him, clutching at him with her hands. "Oh, Jamie, Jamie. I'm
not crazy, am I?"
He felt her trembling, rigid under his hands, and a chill of horror ran
through him. He had to overcome his revulsion, a sort of sick flash of
Jerry cowering in his room a week before he had shot himself, before
he could put his arm around his wife, and say very gently, "Of course
not, Barbara. You're sick, and I think you're a little hysterical. No one
wants to hurt you."
"She does" Barbara said violently, "she does! No. No. I won't say it. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]