Chapter 11
Despite his momentary immobility due to the shock and surprise of Alice's noisy entry into the office, John's mind was racing. That she was out of her mind, he didn't doubt for an instant. The look in her eyes and her unsteadiness on her feet sparked the sensation of double alarms in John's intensified awarness of danger ... Alice had probably drunk herself into a state of heroic desperation. Further, he had no doubt that she was entirely capable of carrying out her threat to murder both Frankie and himself.
Forcing himself to casual action, he leaned forward to steady himself with an arm on his desk. As he moved, his finger opened the intercom switch which would carry the conversation in his office to all the other outlets in the club. His hope was that someone would hear what was being said inside the office and provide a diversion by knocking on the door.
"You can't kill us, Alice," John said, calmly but in a penetrating voice. "Everyone will hear the sound of a shot and be in here at once...."
John tensed as Alice waved the weapon, impatiently. "I don't care about that," she said with an inflection of contempt. "You ruined our marriage; you've ruined my life. I don't have anything left to live for...."
"Listen, Alice," John interrupted her, still speaking calmly, "you're making too much of this. Things will work out, Alice ... but you can't accomplish anything by this-nothing." As he was speaking, he moved around to the front of the desk and lounged against it, his arms folded on his chest.
Frankie was frozen, not having moved since Alice had burst into the room and the stripper, totally nude, had her eyes locked on the pistol in Alice's hand, staring at it, wide-eyed. John kept his own eyes on Alice's, holding her gaze and looking for any move toward carrying out her threat. Somehow, he knew, he had to get that gun out of her hand.
"Alice-sit down and let's talk this over...."
"No!" The word burst from her, angrily and John tensed as he saw her eyes flick angrily to the naked Frankie and back to him. "I came here to talk to you, hoping there would be something ... some way we could put things back together. I thought, maybe, you had been telling me the truth-maybe you didn't play around with the women you hire, but it's true, John ... it is true, isn't it?"
"Look, Alice-you wouldn't believe anything I said, right now, would you?" he asked, desperate to divert her attention from the present situation.
"I've thought about it the entire day," Alice went on, as though John hadn't spoken. "All day long, I've sat in that damn, lonely house and thought. The longer I thought, the more I knew there was no chance for me. Not with all these naked bitches throwing themselves at you...." Her eyes snapped back to Frankie, filming with hate as the gun seemed to grow heavy in her hand. She wavered on her feet as John leaped forward with all the speed he could muster.
But Alice lifted the gun toward Frankie, her face twisting in rage and, as John's hands fastened around her arm, the pistol exploded and Frankie screamed and dropped.
John couldn't believe this wild, maddened creature was the wife he'd lived with for five years. She struggled with a strength he'd never thought possible in a woman and as she plunged and writhed to turn the gun on him, eyes filled with hate and a fleck of foam at her lips, he felt a surge of nausea when he remembered the times they'd shared in their bed. Now, suddenly, she had become something driven by hate-an evil thing which he could only touch with revulsion and a desperate need to force into helplessness. This wasn't really Alice, he thought, this is an insane woman-an animal obsessed with the need to kill....
The gun fired again and, as her free hand clawed at his eyes, he heard a third explosion. Twisting on her arm, with all his strength, he smashed his body against hers, scarcely feeling the shock as their feet flew from beneath them and they thudded to the floor. The pistol fired once more, a muffled, dull sound which jarred him with its concussion. At the same time, he felt Alice's body arch beneath his and go limp and motionless. For moments, John hung onto the arm he held, pain from the continued tension of his grasp spreading up his arms and into the straining shoulders. When he took in the fact that she was no longer struggling to kill him he moved, painfully to a sitting position, every muscle in his body trembling as with an ague. He dropped his aching head onto the support of arms crossed over his knees as the door burst open and a crowd of people rushed in, their voices excited, most of what they said unintelligible to John through the roaring in his head. He finally heard someone say, clearly:
"She's dead...." John jerked his head upward, trying to focus his eyes on Alice's body. Then he realized it was Alice they were talking about. He saw the blood and knew, instinctively, he must have twisted her arm, as they fell, so that Alice's insensate urge to kill sent that last bullet into her own body, apparently killing her instantly. Dumb, shocked he sat, looking at Alice's still form and then he began to rock and cry softly as the full impact of the tragedy struck home. All he could feel or sense was that it was all his fault ... all his ... Then he blacked out.
Norma Blake was finishing a late snack when her phone rang. Her immediate thought was wondering who would be calling her at this hour.
She had gone to the office, as usual, after spending the night with John. Her own feelings in a turmoil, she soon determined she couldn't sit at that desk another moment. John had left her without any word-when she awoke, he was gone-and she had no idea of his reaction to the gift of herself in the night. Norma walked out of the club, got into her car and drove. Deep into the back country, she headed, away from the traffic of the busy, main highways. The roads she travelled were sparsely travelled, the hills and fields heavy with the bright heat of summer. As the countryside lulled her into a feeling of peace, she began to think more reasonably about what had happened between John and herself.
Norma knew-had known for a long time-that she loved John Carrol. But, she also knew, she wanted no part of breaking up anyone's marriage. Mentally, she lashed herself for doing what she had done, but, finally, as her thoughts quieted, she also recognized that, had John made any move to make love to her, she'd given herself just as surely. She accepted that what had happened, would have happened, sooner or later, the way she felt about John.
However, she was adamant about his marriage. She considered that the best thing she could do, feeling as she did, was to leave her job at the club. It was the only way, the only solution for Norma: get out before things became any more involved than they were....
The phone continued its ringing. Norma moved swiftly into the living room to answer it.
"Norma, this is Dave," said the caller and she could hear the excitement in his voice. "Something's happened here at the club and I thought...."
Something in his excitement made Norma's breath clog in her throat. "It's John...!" she gasped.
"Well, it's...."
"What happened, Dave? Is John alright?" Norma fought a sudden hysteria which attempted to seize her. She fell into the chair, gripping the phone with white-knuckled fingers.
"No, look, Norm ... John's alright. Well, he's in shock but he's not otherwise hurt. It's his wife. There was an accident ... with a gun ... and she's dead. I'm calling from County Hospital and I thought you'd oughta know...."
"What happened?" Norma gasped. Dave ignored the question.
"Look, Norm, they've got John here. He's unconscious but he rouses occasionally and, when he does, he keeps mumbling your name...."
"I'll be right there, Dave. Thanks...." She hung up, controlling her trembling with a tremendous effort, and seizing her purse from the coffee table, she hurried to the door....
Her mind was whirling as she drove. John needed her-was calling for her. Alice Carrol was dead! How? Dave had said it was an accident-with a gun. With a gun? What had happened to John-why was he in shock? Gun? Could he have...?
Guilt stabbed at her as she cried out at the thought. She might have triggered the tragic death of another human! The thought made her stiffen, her grip on the wheel making the car swerve, frighteningly.
Then she fought for calmness, realizing that her contribution to the situation between John and Alice was minimal and could have only occurred in the last twenty-four hours. But fear claimed her, nonetheless and she began to pray softly that her actions had nothing to do with what had happened. She knew it would be most difficult to live with herself if that were true. At the moment, she felt it would make any relationship between John and herself completely impossible.
By the time she reached the hospital and parked her car, she was on the verge of hysterics, despite her best efforts at control. She remembered little until, a door knob in her hand, she looked into the room where John Carrol lay unconscious or asleep in a hospital bed. The room was small and the antiseptic smell of it crept into her consciousness and helped her get a grip on her emotions. Somehow, the odor of a hospital had always had a sobering, quieting effect on Norma bringing with it, as it did, a foreboding and a feeling of things which must be coped with.
Closing the door, Norma moved to a chair beside the bed and sank into it, her eyes fixed on John's pale face. He made no response to the small rustle of her move and she concluded he was unaware of her presence.
Dave had been waiting for her in the lobby and, big hands under her elbows to steady her, had talked quietly, briefly to her before taking her to the floor nurse. Now she attempted to recall every word he had said as she had stood, fighting to control her urge to cry, while he tried to explain what had happened.
As the deep, regular breathing of the man in the bed reassured her, her feelings began to quiet and Dave's information came into focus, piece by piece. Alice, evidently, had sneaked the pistol from beneath the bar while Jim, the barman's, attention had been distracted. Then Alice had gone to John's office and attempted to shoot him and Frankie, who had been with him at the time. Norma put a quick squelch on the momentary stab of jealousy. She was here as a friend. All that existed between John and her was a mutual, tacit liking ... and that one night together in which she had given herself to him. There were no promises, there was no understanding between them which looked toward altering their relationship ... unless Norma wished to make further moves. After all, Norma reflected on the ground rules of morality involved, his wife had 'slept out' on John. There were probably few who would hold the opinion that an aggrieved husband did not have the same privilege.
Then she gave over the effort of sorting the situation out and let her eyes freely study John's face .... somewhat pale, more than a little drawn in the aftermath of the tremendous emotional experience he'd had. Norma felt the swell of tenderness inside her as she gave herself over to the tremendous affection for him; reminding herself, needlessly, how long she had loved him-silently. Here was a man who could possibly be hers, if circumstances and time played into her hands. No matter what else was true, Norma knew this was her chance. John would need someone....
Then she curbed the run of thought in that direction with the realization that it would involve her, completely. Norma was incapable of partial participation, where John was concerned. Then she realized that it was not her own involvement she feared. That she wanted. It was John she wondered about. Knowing him as well-possibly better-than a mistress or a wife could, she knew John was not involved with the female talent at the club. Perhaps, lately, he had stepped over the line, but knowing John as she did, she sensed it could be only a temporary thing with him, perhaps induced by the shock of discovering Alice's infidelity.
John was not a scalp-hunter-it was one of the first things about him which attracted Norma's attention to the man.
Another disturbing conjecture flashed into her mind, then. It was very possible that John, after his experience with his wife, might be just as averse to another involvement as he'd been to the conditions which led to the rift between Alice and him. She reviewed the possibility with a stab of fear....
John broke in on her reverie with a moan as Norma straightened and turned toward him. As she put out a hand to touch his shoulder, he writhed in a sudden spasm, sitting up, eyes wide but unseeing. His mouth opened, and hung open, trembling, as Norma, startled leaped to her feet, reaching out to restrain him. A loud, hoarse cry burst from him and he fell back against the pillows, shuddering, as the nurse came quickly into the room....
John sensed he was in some strange place-some place which was totally alien to him and somehow disquieting-a place which might hold great danger for him. He didn't remember how he came to be there nor how he had arrived. Nothing was clear to his view; the only sound he could identify was voices which said nothing he could make out, clearly. He could sense hands touching him, feel their pressure on his upper arm and, shortly afterward, the blackness moved in.
Out of the coal sack fog which billowed around him, he would have brief periods of sight but all he felt was horror. All these brief, lurid pictures had to do with Alice ... Alice destroying herself, one way or another. Once, she placed the muzzle of the revolver between her red lips to pull the trigger. At the shot, her head dissolved from view, the hatefully smiling lips the last to vanish, after they'd viciously snapped: "It's all your fault...!" Then she stood before him, headless, blood covering her body as her arms reached out to embrace him.
It was then he yelled in horror, dimly aware of a white figure coming swiftly to the door, as he fell back on the bed. This time, he felt his arm sting minutely as he was conscious of a voice, soothing, unintelligible, low. Moving his head, back and forth on the pillow as he felt himself slipping away, once more, he was conscious of a familiar figure standing at the other side of the bed. Norma! He knew it was Norma and attempted to reach out to her as consciousness slid away from him again....
Somehow the comfort of knowing Norma was somewhere close to him softened the turmoil which had tortured him. Now and again, he roused from his existence in unreality to see Norma bending over him and felt the soft, cool touch of her fingers on his forehead. Once, on awakening, he found the strength to reach for her, feeling her come into his arms warmly and gently. For no reason he could explain, he felt himself burst into tears, wondering why he should be crying like a child....
Seldom did he awake without finding Norma in the room with him. When he found himself alone, the depression and the feeling of guilt swept in on him at once; but when Norma was there, everything seemed right and good....
John didn't know that this went on for over a week as he teetered on the brink of a nervous break-down. His emerging on the safe side of the line was largely the result of expert medical care ... aided and abetted by the, to John, blessed presence of Norma. She was the buffer off which the guilt and depression bounced, unable to reach him. It was she who drove him home the morning they discharged him from the hospital.
It was a beautiful morning and, as Norma headed for her apartment, John looked at her questioningly. "I'm taking you home with me," she announced in a quiet, no-argument tone of voice. John felt a surge of elation, too weak to argue had he wanted to. The night before, he'd been worried and nervous at the thought of going back to the house and the club. Things were in Norma's hands-and he felt a great and expanding relief inside himself....