She gave Aubrey a last look. “Goodbye, Aubrey. Be a good boy.”
Gordon soon lost his own delicate taste for food, feeding Aubrey, watching him slobber over every spoonful, wiping the drool off his chin. Whatever sympathy for him existing in Gordon’s emotions was soon dissipated as weeks went by, as he watched Aubrey whine greedily when his food was brought in, when he washed and toweled that limp white body or wheeled it down the road in that strong, oversize baby buggy and cleaned up the messes resulting from feeding.
Cousin Grey Ellis’s will was studiedly tantalizing. It hinted of a rosy future for Gordon after Cousin Aubrey passed on. Until such time the purse strings were held in check by the local bank. Only enough money was doled out to provide for their immediate needs and, according to the terms of the will, Gordon could not foist Aubrey off on some paid attendant, either. No, he had to take care of him personally.
Esther’s letters alone kept Gordon at his task. The thought that someday Aubrey would die, and then they could be married and live happily ever after helped. But Aubrey was just seventeen. His doctor informed Gordon he might live a long, long time. By then the money wouldn’t matter.
Feeding Aubrey was the worst. Gordon approached each succeeding meal with reluctance and horror. Let Aubrey whine. Let him starve…
Why not?
Why not assist Aubrey out of his futile existence? He was no good to himself, no good to anyone—alive. He was a repulsive burden. Dead he would render Gordon a beautiful service, he would make it possible for Gordon to marry Esther and live happily ever after.
It was easy. Gordon didn’t even have to change his routine. He simply chose the day after the grocery truck delivered the week’s provisions to get himself locked in the cellar. Nobody visited the Ellis house except Nellie Fawcett, and she only occasionally. The old fashioned cellar with the big refrigerator in it had a stout oak door, and on this door was a heavy snap-lock. If someone forgot to unsnap the lock when they went down the wind from the hall window might easily blow the door shut and lock that someone in the cellar. There was only one window, high up, and it was barred against roving animals and burglars. There were no cutting tools in the cellar, they were kept in the old carriage house.
Gordon was very careless that day. He went down in the cellar to fetch some fruit to tempt Aubrey’s appetite and he forgot to unsnap the lock. The door blew shut. Gordon was locked in the cellar for five whole days. There was plenty for him to eat down there, but when Nellie Fawcett let him out they found Cousin Aubrey still sitting by the oval dining room table where Gordon had left him; with a plate of five-day-old beef casserole in front of him, quite dead.
Gordon performed beautifully at the inquest. He was the object of much commiseration, not to mention well-concealed envy on his good fortune. Gordon promptly went back to Denver and married Esther. They were in Honolulu, on their honeymoon, when—
It came like a shadow, it leaped down like a super-imposition on a projected slide. They were dining fashionably late on the hotel terrace. Everything had been ordered with the utmost care, and the waiter was given to understand that Gordon was a very particular diner. The breast of guinea hen would go back if it wasn’t just right.
The hotel orchestra was playing a sugary waltz. Gordon lingered a moment before applying his knife and fork. He was lifting a succulent morsel of guinea hen to his lips and smiling across the table at Esther as if the food were nothing.
The shadow came down.
Gordon blinked and set down his fork. Why, for a minute Esther wasn’t Esther. She was—
“What is it, darling?” Esther’s voice lilted reassuringly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Gordon made his lips form a smile. “Because I love you so much,” he said gallantly.
He picked up his fork and was touching his lips with it when the shadow came down again. It wasn’t Esther sitting there across from him. It was Aubrey, Cousin Aubrey. He was drooling, begging for his dinner.
“From that moment on,” Gordon told Dr. Folliger, “my life has been a living hell.” I can’t eat, Doctor! Every time I start to take even one mouthful I see Cousin Aubrey, staring at my food and mouthing. Don’t you see? When he was alive the only thing that he responded to was—food. I starved him to death, Doctor! He’s come back! He won’t let me eat because I starved him!”
“I see.” Dr. Folliger paced the room and stroked his bald spot. He turned. “You must realize, Mr. Keel, that this apparition exists only in your mind. You blame yourself for what happened. Oh, perhaps,” he waved his pudgy hand, “perhaps subconsciously there were moments when you wished him dead. It’s understandable. It’s perfectly human in such circumstances. But you must not blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault. The wind blew the cellar door shut. You couldn’t get out. There was nothing down there you could use to batter the door down. It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Keel!”
“Cousin Aubrey thinks so,” Gordon whimpered. “He won’t let me eat because he’s still hungry.”
Dr. Folliger shook his head. Then he went to work on Gordon’s mind. Within three weeks his daily sessions with Gordon reproved his wizardry at hypnotic suggestion. Gordon ate again. He ate like a horse.
Soon Gordon stepped on the bus with a contented stomach and the slightly drunken joy which the realization that he was on his way to resume his interrupted honeymoon produced. He was glad now that he hadn’t allowed Esther to visit him at the hospital. He hadn’t wanted her to see him all skin and bones. After all, they were hardly man and wife in actuality. He took out her letter and reread it.
“Darling, I know you wanted me to go back to Denver until you got well, but I had a better idea. You know how we talked of fixing up Cousin Grey Ellis’s country house? Well, I’ve done it, darling! Wait until you see it now. You won’t know the old place!”
Gordon sighed at the idea of spending his honeymoon in that house. And yet, why not? Even Dr. Folliger thought it might be good for him. It would cast out his mental delusions forever. To reassure himself he recited the little ritual Dr. Folliger had taught him, jokingly referring to it as a litany of exorcism.
It wasn’t my fault. The wind blew the door shut. I only thought I did it because once in a while I wished Cousin Aubrey dead. My guilt complex made me think I planned it, but it wasn’t my fault!
What Esther said about him not knowing the old place was true. This couldn’t be! Stepping through a rose-trellised gate, Gordon blinked at the delightfully rambling house with the red roof and didn’t know it. Gone was the baroque veranda and the slanted tower. A cobblestone path led up to a modern porch and a white door with a shiny brass knocker on it. Halfway down the path the door burst open and Esther ran into his arms.
“I’ve fixed a wonderful dinner for you, darling!” Esther crooned from the kitchen, “I thought it would be nice to be all alone our first night. Comfortable, darling?”
“Wonderful, wonderful.” He yawned and looked around the room. Every thing was new and shining. Then Esther began setting the table.