turn up. Their hearts beat fast; their blood is spiked with anticipation of the kill.
Every morning and every evening I check up on the syringe in the drawer. We do not talk directly any more. The time for that is past, but whereas Edna was always most reluctant to reveal Andrewâs misdeeds to me, now she brings them to me like a dog and lays them at my feet.
Marjorie saw Edna bringing evidence after evidence of Andrewâs unworthiness to live, laying them at Claireâs feet. Edna was building up a case for her defense which would soon be tried before the judge and jury of her conscience.
Edna looks ill. She admits that her appetite is poor. âEverything stays here,â she complained so pathetically, resting her hand on her breast.
She says she isnât sleeping well either.
The shadows under her eyes, I noticed, are a deep purple.
It canât be long now. Edna has motive. I have given her means.
Andrew will certainly provide the opportunity.
One thing is sure, my subconscious believes that it wonât be long now because the other night when I awakened hearing someone at my desk, I instantly assumed it was Edna, sneaking back at last to lift the syringe. Of course, when I checked the next morning, I found the syringe in place. No, I didnât get up immediately to check; I waited. This might mean that I am understandably reluctant to totter and creep out of bed in the cold middle of the night, but it might mean that I intend to carry this through to the bitter end. To Andrewâs bitter end. Do I? I donât know. I do know that I wanted it to be Edna taking the syringe because actually I recognized the steps as Charlesâ. Part of me knewn damn well that it was only Charles poking around to see if I had a pack of cigarettes. When I found the syringe the next morning, I acknowledged that I had known it was Charles all the time. He is so improvident, even to getting his own butts. Itâs typical of Charles to run out.
There is no doubt that Edna has been in a state all day. When she brought my tray, her hand shook violently. Her eyes are wild and the rose-beige is gone; her skin is a dull, stormy gray. She hung around me as much as she could, as if my presence gave her comfort. She was just dawdling over putting my fresh nightgowns in my chest of drawers when a noise in the study made her jump. I said, âWhatâs come over you, Edna? Thatâs just Mr. Carter.â Lord, she was jittery! I called, âCharles, thatâs you in there, isnât it?â
He verified this. It was necessary for him to do so; Edna was acting as if it might be a ghost.
âThereâs no sense looking for any cigarettes, Charles, if thatâs what youâre doing. Iâm all out of them.â This was a fib, but I wanted to ask Charles if heâd pop out and buy us a carton. Ednaâs behavior had made me certain that something was up, and I wanted Charles out of the way. When Charles left, I got rid of Edna, too, and went to my desk. I opened the third drawer. Of course. The syringe which had been there that morning was gone. It was gone. Now I knew. I knew she would do it. Edna would kill her Andy. O.K. Hooray for our side, but enough is enough. The small emptiness in the third drawer spread inside me. Now that I done it, I had to undo it. I had to stop her. I called Edna in again. I spoke in a calm, even tone because sheâd have gone right off the handle, Iâm sure. Even before I said a word, her nerves were in a trigger state. I said, âEdna, the syringe is not in the desk. Please give it back to me.â
She acted absolutely stupid about the whole thing, as if she didnât know what syringe, what drawer. I imagine that my asking for it was a terrible shock. She must have expected that even if I did notice it was gone, I would keep mum, keep my trap shut. Edna canât know that Iâve been checking on it every day since I mentioned it to her, but
Every morning and every evening I check up on the syringe in the drawer. We do not talk directly any more. The time for that is past, but whereas Edna was always most reluctant to reveal Andrewâs misdeeds to me, now she brings them to me like a dog and lays them at my feet.
Marjorie saw Edna bringing evidence after evidence of Andrewâs unworthiness to live, laying them at Claireâs feet. Edna was building up a case for her defense which would soon be tried before the judge and jury of her conscience.
Edna looks ill. She admits that her appetite is poor. âEverything stays here,â she complained so pathetically, resting her hand on her breast.
She says she isnât sleeping well either.
The shadows under her eyes, I noticed, are a deep purple.
It canât be long now. Edna has motive. I have given her means.
Andrew will certainly provide the opportunity.
One thing is sure, my subconscious believes that it wonât be long now because the other night when I awakened hearing someone at my desk, I instantly assumed it was Edna, sneaking back at last to lift the syringe. Of course, when I checked the next morning, I found the syringe in place. No, I didnât get up immediately to check; I waited. This might mean that I am understandably reluctant to totter and creep out of bed in the cold middle of the night, but it might mean that I intend to carry this through to the bitter end. To Andrewâs bitter end. Do I? I donât know. I do know that I wanted it to be Edna taking the syringe because actually I recognized the steps as Charlesâ. Part of me knewn damn well that it was only Charles poking around to see if I had a pack of cigarettes. When I found the syringe the next morning, I acknowledged that I had known it was Charles all the time. He is so improvident, even to getting his own butts. Itâs typical of Charles to run out.
There is no doubt that Edna has been in a state all day. When she brought my tray, her hand shook violently. Her eyes are wild and the rose-beige is gone; her skin is a dull, stormy gray. She hung around me as much as she could, as if my presence gave her comfort. She was just dawdling over putting my fresh nightgowns in my chest of drawers when a noise in the study made her jump. I said, âWhatâs come over you, Edna? Thatâs just Mr. Carter.â Lord, she was jittery! I called, âCharles, thatâs you in there, isnât it?â
He verified this. It was necessary for him to do so; Edna was acting as if it might be a ghost.
âThereâs no sense looking for any cigarettes, Charles, if thatâs what youâre doing. Iâm all out of them.â This was a fib, but I wanted to ask Charles if heâd pop out and buy us a carton. Ednaâs behavior had made me certain that something was up, and I wanted Charles out of the way. When Charles left, I got rid of Edna, too, and went to my desk. I opened the third drawer. Of course. The syringe which had been there that morning was gone. It was gone. Now I knew. I knew she would do it. Edna would kill her Andy. O.K. Hooray for our side, but enough is enough. The small emptiness in the third drawer spread inside me. Now that I done it, I had to undo it. I had to stop her. I called Edna in again. I spoke in a calm, even tone because sheâd have gone right off the handle, Iâm sure. Even before I said a word, her nerves were in a trigger state. I said, âEdna, the syringe is not in the desk. Please give it back to me.â
She acted absolutely stupid about the whole thing, as if she didnât know what syringe, what drawer. I imagine that my asking for it was a terrible shock. She must have expected that even if I did notice it was gone, I would keep mum, keep my trap shut. Edna canât know that Iâve been checking on it every day since I mentioned it to her, but
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