That night, when Roy was in bed, Steve came into the bedroom after locking up. Roy had kept out of the way all day, but now, face to face once more with Steve, he decided to take the initiative before his brother slanged him.
‘You watch your fists, you big hick,’ he said, scowling. ‘The next time you start something like that you’ll pick lead out of your belly.’
‘Then keep your hands off the girl,’ Steve said, sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘Can’t you see she’s not normal? That bang on the head’s done something to her. She’s like a kid. So lay off, Roy. There can be no fun in fooling around with a girl in her mental state.’
‘Can’t there?’ Roy grinned. ‘All cats are grey in the dark whether they’re nuts or normal. She’s just a woman to me, and I like women.’
‘Lay off or we’ll have a show-down,’ Steve said, his face grim.
‘You’ve some hopes,’ Roy said. ‘What’s to stop me knocking you off? No one would find you here for months, and by that time I’d be miles away. You watch your step. I can do what I like here, and the sooner you realize it the better.’
Steve kicked off his shoes, began to undress.
‘I’m telling you. Keep your hands off Carol.’
‘She likes me. She let me kiss her, didn’t she? You can’t kid me a girl with her stack-up doesn’t like being kissed. If you hadn’t shoved your oar in we’d have got along fine together.’
‘I shan’t tell you again,’ Steve said quietly. ‘If I have to take you, I’ll take you, gun or no gun.’
The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Roy’s eyes were the first to give ground.
‘Aw, nuts to you,’ he said, rolled over.
Steve got into bed.
‘What are you scared of?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Who’s after you?’
Roy whipped round, half sat up.
‘Shut your mouth. I’m not scared of anyone.’
‘But you are. You’re as jumpy as a flea. Who are you running away from — the police?’
Roy jerked up the ugly blunt-nosed automatic.
‘I’ll blast a hole in you if you don’t shut up,’ he snarled, his face white and twitching. ‘Why I haven’t knocked you off before—’
‘Because you’re afraid to be left alone,’ Steve said quietly. ‘You want me behind you when what you’re expecting to happen happens.’
Roy dropped back on his pillow, slid the gun out of sight.
‘You’re crazy,’ he said, turned off the light. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to sleep.’
But he didn’t. He lay awake for hours, listening to Steve’s heavy breathing, seeing the moonlight on the big pine trees through the open window.
The night was quiet and still. A soft breeze rustled in the trees and the water swirled gently round the jetty.
Roy thought of Carol, wondered if he could leave the room without waking his brother. If he could get into Carol’s room, the rest would be easy; he was sure of that. The idea of holding Carol once more in his arms suddenly galvanized him into action. He half raised himself, looked across at Steve. As he did so a movement outside the cabin caught his eye. His desires drained from him and he sat up, his heart racing.
A shadow crossed the open window: a gliding, silent shadow that had come and gone before his eyes had scarcely time to register it.
Fear gripped him and he lay transfixed in bed, staring at the window.
A light step sounded on the verandah, then another. A board creaked. The sound came nearer.
Roy grabbed hold of Steve, shook him violently.
Steve woke instantly, sat up, feeling Roy’s frenzied fingers digging into his arm. He stared at Roy’s white face, sensed immediately that something was wrong.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘Someone’s outside,’ Roy said. His voice was shaking. ‘Listen.’
Somewhere down by the lake Spot began to howl mournfully.
Steve swung his legs out of bed, paused as he saw the shadow once more at the window. He leaned forward.
‘It’s Carol, you fool,’ he said. ‘Pull yourself together.’
The breath whistled through Roy’s clenched teeth.
‘Carol? What’s she doing out there? You sure?’
‘I can see her,’ Steve said, crept to the window.
After a moment’s hesitation Roy joined him. Carol was pacing up and down the verandah. She had on Steve’s cut-down pyjamas and her feet were bare.
‘Damn her,’ Roy said softly. ‘She scared the pants off me. What’s she doing?’
‘Quiet,’ Steve whispered. ‘Maybe she’s walking in her sleep.’
Roy grunted. Now he had recovered from his fright the picture Carol made, bare-footed, in the white silk pyjamas, her red hair loose on her shoulders, fired his blood.
‘She’s a looker, isn’t she?’ he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘What a shape she’s got!’
Steve made an impatient movement. He was puzzled, wondering what the girl was doing, pacing up and down out there.
Suddenly Carol paused, looked in their direction as if sensing she was being watched. The moonlight fell directly on her face, and both men saw a change in her expression that startled them. The muscles in her face seemed to tighten, the lines contort, giving her a sly look of animal cunning. There was a nervous tic at the side of her mouth and her eyes were like pieces of glass and as soulless. Steve scarcely recognized her.
Spot howled miserably from his hiding-place across the yard, and Carol turned swiftly to look in that direction. Her whole bearing was as quick and lithe as the movements of a jungle cat, and as dangerous. Then, as Spot howled again, she disappeared through the open window of her room.
‘What the hell do you make of that?’ Roy asked uneasily. ‘Did you see the way she looked? Did you see that expression?’
‘Yes,’ Steve said, worried. ‘I’d better find out what she’s doing.’
‘Take care she doesn’t scratch your eyes out,’ Roy said with an uneasy laugh. ‘She could do anything the way she looked just now.’
Steve pulled on a dressing-gown, took an electric torch and went down the passage to Carol’s room. He opened the door quietly.
Carol was in bed, her eyes closed, the moonlight on her face. She looked as lovely and as serene as she always did, and when Steve called to her, she didn’t move.
He stood for a moment watching her, then quietly shut the door and returned to his room.
He slept as badly as Roy that night.
Sam Garland and Joe were cleaning an ambulance in the big garage at the rear of Glenview Mental Sanatorium.
‘Don’t look now,’ Sam said, polishing away, ‘but that news hawk’s heading this way.’
Joe showed his two gold teeth.
‘I like that guy. He’s persistent. Think we could bite his ear for a few potatoes?’
‘Idea,’ Sam said, stood back to admire the glittering chromium headlamps.
Phil Magarth, lean, tall, carelessly dressed, sauntered up to them. He had been around for the past week trying to get some worthwhile information about the patient who had escaped from the sanatorium, but apart from a short, useless statement from Dr. Travers and a curt ‘Get the hell out of here’ from Sheriff Kamp, he had got nowhere.
Magarth, the local reporter for the district as well as a special correspondent for a number of Mid-West newspapers, had an instinct for news, and he was sure there was a big story behind the escape if he could get at it. Having tried every other avenue for further information without success, he decided to see what he could learn from Garland and Joe.