Chapter III

Nancy sipped her coffee and kept her eyes on his. The gun lay in her lap. The big kitchen was a place for coffee, brown and black, wood ceiling and iron stove and pans. Collins sat across the twelve square feet of table from her, and nursed the smoking mug.

“Sam, I want you to take whatever comfort you can from the fact that I don’t think the same thing about you as the rest of Waraxe.”

“What does the rest of the town think about me?”

“They think you are a pathological degenerate who should be lynched. But I don’t believe that.”

“Thanks. That’s a big comfort.”

“I know what you were after when you tore Mom’s dress.”

In spite of himself, Collins felt his face warming in a blush.

“You were only seeking the mother love you missed as a boy,” the girl said.

Collins chewed on his lip a moment, and considered the idea. Slowly he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Then what do you think?”

“I think old Doc Candle made me do it. He said he was going to bury me. Getting me lynched would be one good way to do it. Ed Michaels almost blew my head off with his shotgun. It was close. Doc Candle almost made it. He didn’t miss by far with you and that target pistol either.”

“Sam--I may call you ‘Sam’?--just try to think calmly and reasonably for a minute. How could Dr. Candle, the undertaker, possibly make you do a thing like you did in Mr. Michaels’ hardware store?”

“Well ... he said he was a superhuman alien from outer space.”

“If he said that, do you believe him, Sam?”

“Something made me do that. It just wasn’t my own idea.”

“It’s easier that way, isn’t it, Sam?” Nancy asked. “It’s easy to say. ‘It wasn’t me; some space monster made me do it.’ But you really know better, don’t you, Sam? Don’t take the easy way out! You’ll only get deeper and deeper into your makebelieve world. It will be like quicksand. Admit your mistakes--face up to them--lick them.”

Collins stood up, and came around the end of the table.

“You’re too pretty to be so serious all the time,” he said.

“Sam, I want to help you. Please don’t spoil it by misinterpreting my intentions.”

“You should get a little fun out of life,” Collins listened to himself say.

He came on around the big table towards her.

The first time he hadn’t realized what was happening, but this time he knew. Somebody was pulling strings and making him jump. He had as much control as Charlie McCarthy.

“Don’t come any closer, Sam.”

Nancy managed to keep her voice steady, but he could tell she was frightened.

He took another step.

She threw her coffee in his face.

The liquid was only lukewarm but the sudden dash had given him some awareness of his own body again, like the first sound of the alarm faintly pressing through deep layers of sleep.

“Sam, Sam, please don’t make me do it! Please, Sam, don’t!”

Nancy had the gun in her hand, rising from her chair.

His hands wanted to grab her clothes and tear.

But that’s suicide, he screamed at his body.

As his hand went up with the intention of ripping, he deflected it just enough to shove the barrel of the gun away from him.

The shot went off, but he knew instantly that it had not hit him.

The gun fell to the floor, and with its fall, something else dropped away and he was in command of himself again.

Nancy sighed, and slumped against him, the left side of her breast suddenly glossy with blood.

Ed Michaels stared at him. Both eyes unblinking, just staring at him. He had only taken one look at the girl lying on the floor, blood all over her chest. He hadn’t looked back.

“I didn’t know who else to call, Ed.” Collins said. “Sheriff Thurston being out of town and all.”

“It’s okay, Sam. Mike swore me in as a special deputy a couple years back. The badge is at the store.”

“They’ll hang me for this, won’t they, Ed?”

Michaels put his hand on Collins’ shoulder. “No, they won’t do that to you, boy. We know you around here. They’ll just put you away for a while.”

“The asylum at Hannah, huh?”

“Damn it, yes! What did you expect? A marksman medal?”

“Okay, Ed, okay. Did you call Doc Van der Lies like I told you when I phoned?”

Michaels took a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his square-jawed face. “You sure are taking this calm, Sam. I’m telling you, Sam, it would look better for you if you at least acted like you were sorry ... Doc Van der Lies is up in Wisconsin with Mike. I called Doc Candle.”

“He’s an undertaker,” Collins whispered.

“Don’t you expect we need one?” Michaels asked. Then as if he wasn’t sure of the answer to his own question, he said, “Did you examine her to see if she was dead? I--I don’t know much about women. I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

It didn’t sound like a very good excuse to Collins.

“I guess she’s dead,” Collins said. “That’s the way he must have wanted it.”

“He? Wait a minute, Sam. You mean you’ve got one of those split personalities like that girl on TV the other night? There’s somebody else inside you that takes over and makes you do things?”

“I never thought of it just like that before. I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

The knock shook the back door before Michaels could say anything. The door opened and Doc Candle slithered in disjointedly, a rolled-up stretcher over his shoulder.