by Ed Gorman
"Good night, Mr. Edmonds."
He chuckled. "Don't make me feel any older than I am. How about just calling me Carleton."
"OK—Carleton. G'night."
"Good night, Jamie."
2
"So where do you get them?"
"Get what?"
"You know."
"Huh-uh. I don't know."
"The one-hundred-dollar bills. The crisp onehundred-dollar bills."
"You mean the ones I bring here?"
"Uh-huh."
"I just get them, is all."
They were still in bed. Bethel was playful. "You just find them by the side of the road?"
"Naw."
"They just fall down out of the sky?"
He giggled. He felt like a little kid again, like his bigger cousin was tickling him or something. "You know better than that."
"Then where do you get them?"
"Why's that so important?"
She paused and looked at him. She smelled wonderfully of perfume and hairspray and just faintly of sweet female sweat. There was a breeze outside, and the wind made music in the leaves. For One Eye, this moment was the equivalent of dying and going to heaven.
"Don't you want to be friends?" she asked again.
"Sure."
"Then why won't you tell me?"
He thought about it. He started to bite his lip. While he was doing this she gently, gently moved her hand down his belly to his sex.
"If I told you I could get in trouble."
"With whom?"
"If I told you that, you'd know everything." She looked at him and smiled. "I'll give you one thing."
"What's that?"
"For somebody to give you four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills a month, it must be important."
By now One Eye was almost giddy. For years he'd kept his secret frozen in his heart along with so many other things—the pain of being called names by the townspeople, the fear of being someday committed—and now he felt some of his reticence begin to melt away and a terrible sense of freedom swept over him. He was like a slave suddenly freed but not knowing in which direction to flee.
"I want to be your friend," she said.
"You just want to know about the money."
"You tryin' to hurt my feelings?"
"You used to turn me down."
"That's 'cause you didn't clean off. A gal doesn't like a man who doesn't clean off."
They were silent again. There was more music in the trees, more scent of her filling him. He felt his cock begin to stir.
"You know what I was thinking about the other day?"
"What?" she said.
"The Viet Nam War."
"Oh, really."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I've just been kind of thinking about my whole life, I guess."
"That's 'cause you're lonely."
"I suppose that's true."
"You need to share your secrets."
He looked at her. "I guess I do." He paused. Then, "But if I tell you, you'll know something that could get you killed."
He saw her eyes take on a strange shine. "I've been with violent guys before. I know how to handle them."
He glanced out the window at the full moon and the trailing clouds. He was glad they were in the darkness. In the darkness it was easier to talk. In the darkness it was easier to say things you could never say in the light.
"You promise you won't tell anybody?"
"I promise."
"You believe in God?"
"Sure? Who doesn't?"
"Then swear on the Holy Bible."
"I don't have a Bible."
"Then swear on God's name."
"All right."
"Say it."
"Say I swear on God's name not to tell?"
"Yes."
"I promise on God's name not to tell."
"All right."
"You really going to tell me?"
"You're my friend, aren't you?"
"You bet. You bet I am."
"Will you start calling me Richard?"
"That your real name?"
"Yes."
"Sure I will. Of course I will. 'Richard.' That's a good name. You going to tell me now."
"Say 'Richard' once more."
He hadn't heard his name spoken aloud for so many years—always "One Eye, One Eye" —that he thought he might weep.
"Richard," she said. "Richard."
Then he told her his terrible secret.
3
Hanratty sat in his room, staring at the hotel across the street. He was on his second pack of Winstons for the night. The room smelled of furniture polish. On the air was the chill scent of impending rain. He felt very alone and, for some reason he couldn't identify, scared. He'd been that way ever since kicking cocaine. He'd just be walking along the street and for no reason at all some terrible sinking sense of doom would come over him. He'd want to run—but where? Or call out for help—but to whom? He had another cigarette and a few more sips of his Diet Pepsi and then went back to waiting. He figured in another hour he'd go over there and find out just what was in the attic.
4
Forty-five minutes later, Sally said, "This must have been quite a place in its heyday."
"We even had a movie star stay here once. I was about ten years old. Tony Curtis."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. He had relatives not too far from here, so rather than impose on them, he stayed here for a weekend." Carleton Edmonds lit a cigarette and smiled. "I didn't stop talking about that for years afterward."
They were on the screened-in porch again. Every once in a while, he'd refill her glass with wine from the carafe. A storm was coming up. The temperature was cold enough to give her goose bumps. But they were nice ones.
She was looking up at the moon when it happened, before she could say or do anything.
So quietly that she didn't even hear him, he leaned over in his chair and kissed her on the lips.
Her first reaction was panic—she seemed overwhelmed for a moment. Her second reaction was pleasure. She felt like grinning.
He sat back down. The rainy wind was sweet with the scent of flowers.
"I don't suppose I should have done that."
She said nothing.
"Are you angry?"
"Please," she said, "could we just sit here?"
"Sure."
He waited a moment and said, "I'm sorry if I made you mad. Or frightened you."
"The wind smells so fresh."
He smoked his cigarette in silence. It was obvious he was waiting for her to speak.
"I always wondered how it would happen."
"How what would happen?"
"How a man would kiss me—the first man after my husband died."
"I shouldn't have been so forward."
Then she did something she'd done only once before in her life, on an eighth-grade hayride with Ken Pierce, the boy all the girls liked—leaned over and took a man in her arms and kissed him.
Carleton seemed stunned.
As did Sally herself.
5
Jamie went to sleep right away.
Just after her mother left, leaving the TV on low, locking the door carefully behind her, blowing her daughter a kiss, Jamie was afraid she wouldn't be able to get to sleep. Strange hotel, strange room. Maybe she'd start thinking about Freddie in "Nightmare On Elm Street," and then she'd get all tensed up and it would sort of feel like her period coming on, cramps and a kind of sweaty feeling, and then she'd start thinking of her dad again there in the ground and wondering if there really was life after death and. . .
But she went right to sleep. There was a "Full House" rerun on, and she watched it a little, maybe thirty or forty seconds or so, and then went to sleep. Right there on top of the covers.
Her mother traveled with a portable alarm, one of those jobbies that didn't need to be plugged in. When Jamie woke up she was staring it right in the face: the luminous
numbers said 1:15.
Her first impulse was to reach over and pat her mother.
Which she did.
Or tried to.
But her mother wasn't there.
Her second impulse was to shake her head a little and make sure she was really awake. Sometimes she had very convincing nightmares.
But no, everything was real.
The TV glowed with an old movie. Rain cut against the windows. The suitcases stood open on the floor like sea creatures with huge jaws and mouths.
And her mother was gone.
6
"Any regrets?"
"I'm not sure."
"It was beautiful."
"Yes—yes, it was."
"I'd like to thank you."
She laughed. Here she lay in the bed of a man she'd known only briefly, after just making love on the wildest sort of impulse, and he was thanking her. "Well, then you'll understand if I thank you too."
He laughed. "Maybe we should shake hands."
He put out his hand. They shook.
They lay back down.
"Do you mind if I have a smoke?"
"No. Maybe I'll have a few puffs."
"You smoke?"
"Off and on, when I was in college. Once in a while I have a few puffs. I never inhale."
"I wish I could quit."
"I'm sure you could if you really wanted to."
She had just finished talking when she heard the thumping sound from upstairs. She froze.
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing. Probably just the wind." But he sounded curiously evasive.
She listened carefully. "Maybe I'd better get back upstairs and have a look at Jamie."
"I'm sure she's all right."
"I really had better check."
He pulled her to him. "You're really beautiful, you know that?"
She kissed him on the side of his face. She didn't want to get anything started again. "I need to say something."
"What?"
"I guess I need to prove to you I'm a good girl."
He laughed. "All right."
"I've been to bed with three men in my life: my college boyfriend, my husband, and now you. I don't want you to think I've ever done anything like this before, because I haven't."
"I believe you. You're a good girl."
This time she did kiss him on the mouth. Tenderly. "I like you very much."
"The feeling is mutual, believe me."
"I'll see you in the morning."
Then she heard the thumping noise again.
"You know," he said, "I wonder now if that really is the wind."
Fear seized her suddenly.
"I have to go," she said.
7
Help me.
When Jamie awoke this time, those two words were fixed in her mind.
Help me.
She drifted back into a half-sleep, and it was there she met the person who was calling to her.
The lovely blond girl wore her hair in ringlets. She wore a blue taffeta dress, white anklets, and shiny patent-leather shoes.
There was only one disturbing aspect to this whole mental picture.
In her hands the girl carried an ax with a long, curved handle and a wide blade.
Blood dripped from the ax, smearing the pretty blue taffeta.
The girl stared directly at Jamie.
Help me.
Jamie came fully awake again.
This time the TV set flickered with a pirate picture. Tall sailing ships exchanged cannon fire. A peg-legged man shouted orders.
Jamie got up and went to the bathroom. The seat was cold on her buttocks. She finished quickly and got a drink of water. She had tilted her head back, taking the water down her throat, when she noticed something odd in the mirror.
The girl in her dream. . .
She bore a startling resemblance to Jamie.
For several long moments Jamie stood there, transfixed, recalling the girl and the blue dress and the bloody ax.
What could it mean?
She was contemplating these things when she heard the hotel door fairly burst open and she heard her mother in a rather frantic voice cry "Jamie!"
Jamie sleepily poked her head out of the bathroom door and said, "In here, Mom!"
Her mother flew to her and embraced her as if Jamie had been kidnapped and was only now being released.
"God, Mom, are you all right?"
"Oh, yes, honey. I'm all right. I—I just suddenly had this strange feeling about you." Her mother held her at arm's length and looked at her proudly. "But you're all right, aren't you?"
"I was the last time I looked."
Then Jamie noticed Carleton Edmonds standing in the doorway watching all this. He sure was a good-looking guy, Jamie thought, kind of like Sawyer from “Lost” but with shorter hair.
"I'm glad everything's fine, Sally."
"Oh, Carleton, I nearly forgot."
Now Sally went over to him. "Thanks so much for such a nice evening."
"It was my pleasure, believe me." Carleton looked over at Jamie. "I'm known to make some mean pancakes, young lady. How do those sound for breakfast?"
"Great," Jamie said.
"Good. I'll see you in the morning, then." He left them.
Jamie glanced over at the clock. "Boy, you two must have had a good time."
For just a second, she saw her mother become flustered. Jamie knew then that her mother probably had something to hide and Jamie could guess what it was. A few girls in her class had "gone to bed" with boys (though actually, the act had taken place in cars) and Jamie guessed that something very much like that had taken place tonight.
"You must really like him, huh, Mom?"
Sally nodded. "I do, honey. He's very nice."
She squeezed her mother. "I like him, too. He does seem nice." Jamie yawned. "Boy, I'm falling asleep.
"Let me tuck you in."
"Aw, Mom."
"Come on. It'll make me happy."
They had a running battle about being tucked in. Jamie said it made her feel like a six-year-old. Sally always said it made her happy. Only rarely did Sally get her way. But she did tonight. She first fluffed Jamie's pillow, then helped Jamie in bed almost as if she were an invalid. Then she sat on the side of the bed holding her young daughter's hand and stroking her hair.
"I love you so much, Jamie," Sally said.
Jamie heard the loneliness in her mother's voice. She got that way a lot since Jamie's father died.
"I know you do. And I love you."
For a moment, an image of the young girl with the ax filled Jamie's mind. She was about to tell her mother of her strange dream but decided it would only upset her.
"He really is a nice guy. Except for his name."
Sally grinned. "You're permitted to think such things but not to say them out loud." She kissed Jamie on the forehead. "'Night."
"'Night."
Jamie was asleep in three minutes.
8
This time the young girl in the blue dress did not have an ax.
She simply stood in a vast darkness and beckoned for Jamie to come join her.
No, I shouldn't go with you. You'll hurt me.
I need a friend. I want you to be my friend. The young girl beckoned again.
No.
Moments later the ax had appeared in the girl's hands again.
The bloody ax.
I need a friend, she said. And you are going to be that friend.
Several times, Sally stirred, thinking she'd heard her daughter come awake.
She looked over at her, but Jamie slept comfortably, snoring lightly.
Sally, still glowing from her time with Carleton Edmonds, fell back asleep.
Two hours later, in the deepest part of the night, Jamie got out of bed.
She was unable to completely separate herself from sleep, so she walked about in a daze, gently bumping into furniture with her knees and hands.
She assumed that she'd
awakened so she could go to the bathroom again. She'd had way too many Cokes last night.
But then she realized vaguely that she did not need to go to the bathroom.
In fact, she found herself headed in the opposite direction.
For some reason, she stood at the hotel door, twisting the knob.
She opened the door and went into the hallway. The place smelled of the musty rug with its trapped summer heat and cigarette smoke.
The EXIT sign at the far end of the hall burned brilliantly in the gloom.
But it was the other end of the hall she was going to.
She reached behind her, closed the door to the room where her mother slept, and started down the hall.
When she reached the two doors where she'd been earlier in the evening, she stopped.
What was she doing here?
The image of the young girl in the blue taffeta dress burned vividly in her mind. Obviously, it had something to do with that—but what?
Now she began to wonder if she weren't dreaming. There was an unreality to all this that she couldn't escape.
She saw her hand, almost in close up, the way it would be in a movie, reach out and take the door knob and start to turn it.
She was certain it would be locked.
But it wasn't.
She turned the knob and opened the door.
There in the moonlight rose a steep stairway leading to what was obviously, from the dusty odor, an attic.
Cobwebs silvered the walls on the sides of the stairway, giving them a shimmering aspect.
Then she heard the phone from upstairs in the attic.
Once, twice, three times it rang.
I want you to be my friend.
Jamie looked behind her. An urge to run back and jump into bed with her mother overwhelmed her momentarily.
But then the phone started ringing again, even more loudly than before.
She looked at the stairs leading almost straight up in the silvery moonlight.
Something waited for her up there. She did not know what or who it would be, or why it waited; she knew only that she was being summoned.
And that she had absolutely no choice but to go.
CHAPTER SEVEN
1
Hanratty grasped the silver key tightly in his hand. Finally, he was ready to cross the street from his rooming house, go into the hotel, and find out what he'd been waiting to find out these past months.