Read Online Color Him Dead by Charles Runyon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Runyon
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your fair white body?” He shook his head. “No, Edith. I’ve been there and back. I can’t make the scene again.”
His hands resumed unwrapping the package, but his eyes held hers. She saw that he was telling the truth; he didn’t desire her, he didn’t even look at her as a female. Suddenly she felt ashamed of her own nakedness; her body seemed pulpy, obscene … defenseless.
“Goddamn you!” she cried, feeling the tears burn behind her eyelids. “You come on like an old lover, but I can’t remember!”
“You aren’t trying,” he said softly. “Think of me without the beard. Think of me as a married man with a wife and a kid and a family. You destroyed it, Edith. You wiped me clean and fixed it so I could never begin again. Remember?”
The wrappings were gone, and in his lap lay a leather case four inches square. He pressed the catch and opened the case. She glimpsed the oily gleam of blue steel—
She moved without plan, leaping up and sprinting for her boat. She thought she was clear, but he caught her ankle and twisted. She fell with a jolting thump. The landscape tilted and the sky darkened. When her vision cleared, he was on his knees beside her holding the tiny gun in his hand.
“You see it, Edith?” His voice was a hard rasp which pinned her to the ground. “I brought it all the way from Billings, just so I could send a lump of lead right into the center of your heart.”
She gasped. “You can’t—”
“Get away with it?” He shrugged. “I think I can, but it doesn’t matter. I swam out here, and nobody knows I came. Doxie thinks I’ve skipped out. There’s a white shark who visits these waters every evening, and he’ll take care of you. They’ll find your boat tied up, figure you went for a swim and got caught. Simple?”
In despair she thought: This is no impulse; he brought the gun such a great distance, and planned so perfectly …
“I am …” she began, then swallowed a lump which felt like a live coal sliding down her throat. “I am not the woman you think I am.”
“Don’t, Edith,” he said sadly. “Don’t tell me that.”
“But it’s true! I couldn’t have done … what you said. At least tell me where … when it was.”
His lips pulled back from his teeth. “You can’t have forgotten, Edith. We lived together for nearly six months. You wanted to marry me, but there was this problem of your husband. Then one night your husband was murdered. You told the jury it was me—”
“But … I’ve never been married before!”
“Hell. And I suppose you never had a baby.”
His hand snaked out and seized her leg, flipping her onto her side. She. felt his fingers tracing the faint lines on her hips and buttocks. “And what are these marks?” Suddenly she was on her back again, and his face was so close she could see the separate granules of salt in his beard. “You were in labor twelve hours, Edith. But you were only fifteen and you didn’t know how to stop the marks. Later you had me rub oil on them. Remember?”
“They told me …” she licked her lips. “They told me I’d once had a baby. But I don’t rem—”
His hand was a blur, seizing her hair. “If you say that once more …”
“Fool! It’s true!” She jerked free and sat up, yelling through a veil of hair. “Ask anyone here what’s the matter with Edith Barrington. They’ll tell you what happened two years ago. Ask Doctor Ainslee, he’ll tell you. Ask my husband, he’ll tell you.”
“You tell me, Edith.”
“I flipped, that’s what happened. I went kooky, I wigged out. They hauled me away and shot me full of electricity. Every time I started screaming, they gave me another jolt. Finally I shut up because I forgot what the hell I was screaming about.” She paused to let the vague horror of the treatment rooms fade, then went on. “And by that time I’d forgotten everything else. Now I’m blank. People come up to me on the street and say hello Edith, and I say hello
His hands resumed unwrapping the package, but his eyes held hers. She saw that he was telling the truth; he didn’t desire her, he didn’t even look at her as a female. Suddenly she felt ashamed of her own nakedness; her body seemed pulpy, obscene … defenseless.
“Goddamn you!” she cried, feeling the tears burn behind her eyelids. “You come on like an old lover, but I can’t remember!”
“You aren’t trying,” he said softly. “Think of me without the beard. Think of me as a married man with a wife and a kid and a family. You destroyed it, Edith. You wiped me clean and fixed it so I could never begin again. Remember?”
The wrappings were gone, and in his lap lay a leather case four inches square. He pressed the catch and opened the case. She glimpsed the oily gleam of blue steel—
She moved without plan, leaping up and sprinting for her boat. She thought she was clear, but he caught her ankle and twisted. She fell with a jolting thump. The landscape tilted and the sky darkened. When her vision cleared, he was on his knees beside her holding the tiny gun in his hand.
“You see it, Edith?” His voice was a hard rasp which pinned her to the ground. “I brought it all the way from Billings, just so I could send a lump of lead right into the center of your heart.”
She gasped. “You can’t—”
“Get away with it?” He shrugged. “I think I can, but it doesn’t matter. I swam out here, and nobody knows I came. Doxie thinks I’ve skipped out. There’s a white shark who visits these waters every evening, and he’ll take care of you. They’ll find your boat tied up, figure you went for a swim and got caught. Simple?”
In despair she thought: This is no impulse; he brought the gun such a great distance, and planned so perfectly …
“I am …” she began, then swallowed a lump which felt like a live coal sliding down her throat. “I am not the woman you think I am.”
“Don’t, Edith,” he said sadly. “Don’t tell me that.”
“But it’s true! I couldn’t have done … what you said. At least tell me where … when it was.”
His lips pulled back from his teeth. “You can’t have forgotten, Edith. We lived together for nearly six months. You wanted to marry me, but there was this problem of your husband. Then one night your husband was murdered. You told the jury it was me—”
“But … I’ve never been married before!”
“Hell. And I suppose you never had a baby.”
His hand snaked out and seized her leg, flipping her onto her side. She. felt his fingers tracing the faint lines on her hips and buttocks. “And what are these marks?” Suddenly she was on her back again, and his face was so close she could see the separate granules of salt in his beard. “You were in labor twelve hours, Edith. But you were only fifteen and you didn’t know how to stop the marks. Later you had me rub oil on them. Remember?”
“They told me …” she licked her lips. “They told me I’d once had a baby. But I don’t rem—”
His hand was a blur, seizing her hair. “If you say that once more …”
“Fool! It’s true!” She jerked free and sat up, yelling through a veil of hair. “Ask anyone here what’s the matter with Edith Barrington. They’ll tell you what happened two years ago. Ask Doctor Ainslee, he’ll tell you. Ask my husband, he’ll tell you.”
“You tell me, Edith.”
“I flipped, that’s what happened. I went kooky, I wigged out. They hauled me away and shot me full of electricity. Every time I started screaming, they gave me another jolt. Finally I shut up because I forgot what the hell I was screaming about.” She paused to let the vague horror of the treatment rooms fade, then went on. “And by that time I’d forgotten everything else. Now I’m blank. People come up to me on the street and say hello Edith, and I say hello
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