"I'm not sure I follow you."
He continued to assess his reflection dispassionately. "Yes." The blond hair had receded so evenly from his forehead that his unlined face appeared disproportionately large, gaining an infantile quality, bland and cheery. "Hardly prepossessing." His shoulders slumped, almost perfectly rounded, and after years of starchy hospital food, his stomach had grown too soft to stay properly in his pants. "Who could be afraid?" He smiled harder, showing his teeth, revealing just a hint of the ferocity that his padding cushioned from the world.
"...nothing to be gained by refusing to cooperate. I'd hoped you'd be more..."
"Dr. Leland, I hope you won't mind my asking you a question."
She waved her cigarette dismissively. "I'm glad to see you've joined me."
He nodded an acknowledgment of her little joke. "For eight years, I've been a model patient here. What in my behavior first triggered your suspicion that all was not--so to speak--as it seemed?" The thin pitch deepened abruptly. "My motives in asking this, you understand, are purely academic."
Never before had she heard his true voice, and shock rippled across her features. He also seemed taller suddenly--as though through some internal adjustment--and she stiffened in her seat. "Well, if you must know, something in the way you've responded to therapy has been troubling me for some time now and I--"
"No, Doctor. I fear you're dissembling. Your suspicions are of fairly recent origin. Since the day you took up your position at this institution, your attitude has been as condescending and patronizing as those of your predecessors, those other good doctors whom I've allowed to believe were helping me." He laughed--a damp hiss--and her hand twitched toward the phone table beside her.
"You do seem awfully sure of that." She attempted a supercilious smile. "Interesting. Whatever could have given you the impression that the staff here were unaware of your true mental condition?" She shrugged with graceful disdain, as though reluctant to mention something petty and distasteful. "After all, you did kill your mother."
"Shock tactics, Doctor?" He blinked. "Hardly up to your usual standards of subtlety. Not that I can't comprehend your enthusiasm. Believe me, I do. You came into this room convinced you'd discovered the case history destined to establish your reputation. Surely you're expecting to get at least one book out of this?" He showed his teeth again. "No, I'll tell you when you noticed. A little over a month ago, was it not? Things changed then. You see, I've been involved in a little project."
"This hardly seems--"
"That's when I stopped putting all my energy into deception, you see. Though I must admit, you've demonstrated yourself more perceptive than I would have credited. I don't believe any of the others here have noticed a thing. Have they?" His smile crinkled kindly. "Such arrogance, Doctor, seeing me alone. Such foolish arrogance."
"Yes, well, we can discuss this further another time." Reaching for the phone, she succeeded in keeping most of the quaver from her voice. "Two of the orderlies will be here in a moment to help you move your things. Perhaps you'd like to get started with your packing?"
"The expression on your face...how shall I put this? It seems quite independent of your words."
He moved so quickly, she had no time to react. He jumped into her lap, crushing the air out of her, toppling the chair backward. The impact jarred a shattering pain through her skull.
On the floor, he sat on her chest, pinning her arms. "I don't believe you're being entirely truthful about those orderlies, Doctor. I believe you intended this as some sort of test to prove your theory, which of course you won't have mentioned to anyone else as yet. Wouldn't do to be wrong, would it? Yes, I believe you're just that egotistical. Luckily, for me. Yes, I believe you've only just now found sense enough to be afraid."
She hissed something against his weight. Beneath the fat, his muscles felt heavy as iron.
"Whether you're lying or not, dear Doctor, I can't afford to take the chance. You see nothing must be allowed to interfere with, well, with that project I mentioned." She writhed beneath him, twisting her torso, kicking at nothing. Her eyes began to bulge. "And, no, I'm afraid we won't be discussing it at a later date, because in a moment you will have ceased to exist." She opened her mouth wide.
He reached behind him, brought down the end table, and the crash dried the unspent cry within her. "Don't be afraid." He picked up the phone. "I won't hurt you," he cooed as though to a small child. "You know Daddy would never hurt you." With an indulgent smile, he removed his glasses and slid them carefully into his shirt pocket. "I loved my mother very much, Dr. Leland. Did I ever mention that?"
Tenderly, he began to twist the phone cord around her bulging windpipe.
He clutched the window frame. The circle of glass had steamed over again, and he wiped it clear with his forearm. Across the way, light had dimmed. How much longer did he need to wait? All the months of hiding and searching--even now the boy could be doing things to her that...
But he had to time this perfectly, because he knew how dangerous it could be. For her most of all.
Wrapping the blanket around his legs more tightly, he dragged the crate closer and resumed his post by the window.
XI
From the swirling chaos of his thoughts, one memory hardened into clarity: he recalled trying to reach the chair. Soaked with sweat, the boy twitched on the floor. His head thudded; muscles clenched in his throat, crushing his windpipe in anguished bulges. Slowly, the paroxysm ebbed, and the boy lay trembling, the chair an impossible distance across the room.
Tears and spittle streaked his face. He found he could barely move his fingers.
Time passed; he maintained some awareness of most of it. The linoleum felt lumpy on his back, and the stiffness in his shoulder finally forced him to twitch. Pain sang in his neck. As he writhed, a loud hum seemed to fill the room, vibrating across the ceiling. Sweat slicked his forehead, clammy, then hot as acid. Agony hollowed him.
The room went gray. He found himself in the chair.
He'd been on his way out--he remembered that much. His jacket still lay by the closet door, and he stared at it. Overhead light filled the kitchen cruelly, revealing the crusted dirt on the linoleum, the furring of dust on every surface.
got to clean
Stiffly, he rose, swaying.
never let them see
He almost fell back into the chair. I better check on her. With a grunt, he pulled himself erect and shuffled into the next room. She had a bad day. As he opened the door, the oblong of light swung across the mattress, unbalancing the room so that it seemed to tilt. Untied, she lay in the bed, clearly too exhausted to try anything, her mouth twitching in phantom grimaces. No moonlight penetrated the boarded window, but brightness from the doorway spilled across the jumble of laundry and blankets. Yellow locks stuck to her damp face, and through this tangled screen he saw the bruises that smeared her cheeks. Makes her look old. She'd cried so much the night before. Why couldn't she understand? Everything I do is for her. He listened to the flutter of her breath.
Perry felt a clenching pain in his stomach. Everything. Shutting the door on her whimpered sigh, he wandered back into the kitchen and found a gray rag under the sink, left by some summer tenant. He wet it, wiped down the table, then the counter. So much dirt. Shivering, he had to lean against the counter until the dizziness passed.
Groceries. He remembered why he'd been going out. They had nothing left in the apartment. And she always wakes up hungry in the morning. He threw the rag on the floor, thinking it would remind him to clean the room later, and grunting, stooped to retrieve his jacket. Her best blouse lay beside it on the floor, and he held it to his face, imbibing her scent. Still bending, he felt the second seizure begin.