As they approached the house, whose front lights still burned, she began, "I hope you aren't-"
"Ssss." Tony pulled her to a standstill.
"What-"
"Quiet. Listen."
Karen could hear nothing except the normal night noises. After a moment Tony said in a low voice, "Walk on. Past the house."
His hand moved her forward. The sound of their footsteps echoed with abnormal loudness. Karen was afraid to speak. Not until they had gone some distance at the same leisurely pace did she venture to whisper, "What is it?"
"Probably nothing." Tony's voice was equally inaudible. "I thought I heard something-a muffled thump- from the back of the house. Probably a shutter or a door banging. Turn the corner… Okay. There's no alley behind the house, is there? How do you get into the back yard?"
"A side gate." Karen explained its location.
"Right. You stay here. I'll double back and have a look."
"I'm not staying here alone!"
"Quiet. Okay, come on, but don't make a sound."
He moved with a speed that left Karen hard-pressed to obey his orders. When they reached the wooden gate opening onto the passage toward the back, his hands were quick to find the bolt that held it closed, even in the dark. Karen crouched behind him, dry-mouthed and tense.
Tony started to ease the gate open. Despite his care the rusted hinges gave a squawk of protest that shattered the silence as loudly as a scream. Tony swore. "That's done it. Stay here."
He plunged into the darkness of the passage. Karen only hesitated for a moment; there were cobwebs lacing the narrow place from side to side, they felt like ghostly fingers on her face. The gate at the far end burst open under Tony's charge; for a moment she saw him, silhouetted against the lighter shape of the opening. Then he shouted and ran forward.
Karen ran too, but by the time she reached the garden it was all over. She caught only a glimpse of something moving among the tangled limbs of the maple overhanging the wall. Inside the house Alexander was barking madly. Lights flashed on in the kitchen.
All other impressions faded into insignificance under the impact of the white form thrashing and writhing on the ground not far from the garden shed. The muffled, breathless voice that came from it was Tony's.
THERE was a nightmarish feeling of deja vu as they ministered to another injured man. Tony's language was hot enough to blister their ears, but most of his concern was for his suit. The jacket was certainly a total loss, not only bloodstained but slashed in parallel cuts.
"You've got to go to the emergency room," Cheryl said. "I think I've got the bleeding stopped, but-"
"I should hope to God you've stopped it, you've used enough bandages to wrap a mummy," Tony snarled, contemplating his arm with disgust. "Goddamn that son of a bitch! This suit cost me-"
"Oh, who cares about your suit?" There was blood on Cheryl's nightgown too. Most of it had come from a single deep cut in the arm Tony had thrown up to protect his face; the others were superficial.
Cheryl had rushed downstairs when she heard the racket in the back yard, without stopping to put on a robe. The thin fabric of her gown clung to her body in a way that would have distracted a man much closer to death than Tony. When Cheryl repeated, "You've got to go to the hospital," he let out a roar.
"I've got to call in, that's what I've got to do, and I can tell you I'm not looking forward to hearing what the lieutenant is going to say. Falling for a stunt like that! 'Sorry, Lieutenant, I got tangled in a bed sheet!' Oh, Christ!"
"He threw it over you," Karen said. "You couldn't help it."
"He did throw it over me and I could have helped it. Mark was right, damn his eyes; not only was the sheet a perfect disguise but it was so damned weird it got me off base for a second or two, just long enough… Cheryl, I told you to cut that out. Where's the goddamned phone?"
"If it makes you feel better to swear every other word," Cheryl began.
"It does make me feel better. Not much better, but some." Tony pushed her hand away and stood up. Then he sat down, more suddenly than he had intended, almost missing the chair. Cheryl swooped on him and steadied him. "There, you see, you shouldn't go jumping around like that. Just sit still and let me-"
Tony took a deep breath. His lips moved; Karen imagined he was counting under his breath. At "ten," some of the color came back to his face. "I am going to use the telephone," he said quietly. "I am going to use the extension in the hall, not this one, because I do not want you to hear what I am going to say. Stay here. Both of you."
This time he stayed on his feet. Swaying slightly, he walked to the door. Then he turned.
"See?" he said to Karen. "I told you it wouldn't work."
"What is he talking about?" Cheryl demanded, as the door closed behind him.
Karen looked at her. Her hair was aureoled by the light, and the rounded curves of her body pushed distractingly at her thin garment. She was pale with concern-the same concern she had demonstrated a few days earlier when it was her brother who required her care. All at once Karen wanted to stamp her foot and yell at the top of her lungs-anything to penetrate the shell of sacrificial celibacy in which Cheryl had swathed herself. It wasn't Cheryl's fault. A woman is not obliged to love a man just because he wants her to. But Tony was so worthy of love. A half-step more and Karen would have been over the brink herself.
And the reason that she couldn't take that half-step was as hopelessly sentimental and absurd as Cheryl's reasons. Pots and kettles, she thought wryly. Not to mention people who live in glass houses.
Her eyes kept returning to the objects on the table-ordinary household items, harmless in their origin and function, now ominously suggestive-a crumpled, bloodstained sheet and a knife, its blade dulled and sticky. The sheet was double-sized, a polyester-and-cotton blend; at a rough guess, several hundred thousand of its duplicates presently existed in linen closets and on store shelves throughout the area. It had been roughly tailored-the trailing corners hacked off, a narrow slit ripped away so the wearer could see where he was going. The knife was almost as undistinguished-a Solingen steel-bladed carving knife, eight inches long. There was one almost like it in the rack next to the sink.
Cheryl dismissed her own question with a grumble. "Men act so silly. Here's Tony worrying about what his boss will say to him, like some kid whose mother forgot to write him an excuse, when he ought to go to the-"
Karen's resolution about staying out of other people's business vanished in a puff of smoke. "Damn it, Cheryl, are you really that insensitive? Can't you see how he feels? He went rushing out there to rescue us poor defenseless females from a maniac, and ended with us untangling him from a sheet. He feels like a fool."
Cheryl's jaw dropped. "He did not! Look like a fool, I mean."
"You may not think so and I certainly don't think so, but I have a nasty feeling the lieutenant will think so. His friends will never let Tony hear the end of this one. His theories have been knocked into a cocked hat; he'll be hearing oblique references to bed sheets for months to come; and worst of all, he has to sit here and be interviewed by the police, like any other helpless victim of crime. For a cop, a professional, that's the crowning humiliation. Compared to all that, a knife wound doesn't even hurt!"
"I never thought-"
"Maybe it's time you did, then. He's just as vulnerable as anyone else under that tough exterior, and you're ripping him to shreds emotionally. Give the guy a break."
Someone else had said that recently, Karen remembered. Tony-to her. About Mark. "Oh, Lord," she said wearily, "what's the use? I'm a fine one to talk."