him.
He unlocked the door and opened it.
“Stan, what is it?”
Bob stood in the doorway looking at Stan, white and trembling.
He moved forward.
“Stan, what—”
Then, suddenly, he leaped to the side with a gasp as the door was slammed shut from behind and he saw Vince’s glaring face before him.
Stan backed away, shuddering, his eyes wide and staring. Vince leaned against the door, his chattering teeth jammed together, the gun wavering in his hand.
“
Vince
,” was all Bob could say as he stood there, paralyzed with sudden fear.
“Get inside,” Vince said.
He forced a calmness through himself. Bob was here now, in his hands. There was no use ending it right away. Bob would pay; but slowly.
“Vince, you—”
“I said get inside!” Vince ordered, his thin voice ringing out shrilly in the hallway.
Bob backed into Stan as he retreated.
“Bob, I’m sorry,” Stan murmured in a weak voice. “Please don’t hold it against—”
“If you don’t get in there,” Vince’s voice was low and menacing, “I swear to God, I’ll…”
They backed into the living room, their eyes never leaving Vince’s white, twisted face.
As they entered the living room Stan heard a groan and, turning suddenly, he saw Jane sitting up, holding her forehead with her hand, blood trickling between her white fingers.
“Jane,” he muttered, brokenly.
“Leave her alone,” Vince said.
But, for some reason, Stan didn’t listen. Maybe it was because he felt dead already. He helped his wife up.
“Let go of me,” she muttered hoarsely, in a voice that bordered on hysteria. “I don’t want—”
“Be quiet,” he said, quietly firm. “You haven’t helped any either.”
Jane sank down on the couch, wordless. She looked at Bob, then at Vince. Her teeth dug into her lower lip.
“I’m going to wash off her forehead,” she heard Stan say to Vince.
Vince said nothing. He backed over to where he could watch Stan in the kitchen. Stan might try for a knife. He kept looking from Stan to Bob, the gun held tightly in his hand.
Why didn’t I stop Stan from going in there?
he wondered. And then he realized that he was afraid of Stan. You couldn’t trust Stan’s kind, they were unpredictable. One minute they would be blubbering for pity, the next minute they would come lunging at you, eagle-clawed, eyes like fire. He had seen that at the asylum. The little man who coughed, he was like that. Cry, cry, cry and then, suddenly, with a shriek and a gibber, he would leap at you.
Bob stood in the middle of the room looking first at Jane, then at Vince.
“How did you get out?” he asked weakly.
“Never mind that,” Vince said carefully. “Do you want to know
why
I came out?”
Bob stared at him, his throat moving, still numbed from the shock of seeing Vince.
“I came to kill you,” Vince said.
Bob started as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. He stood there, his face petrified. Vince liked that. It gave him confidence again, confidence that he’d been losing when first Jane, then Stan, had defied him. He needed constant obedience to his words or he became unnerved.
“Ki—” Bob’s voice broke off. He drew in a harsh breath. “
Kill?
” he said, his voice flat and unbelieving.
“I’m going to blow your brains out,” Vince said, his voice a low, throaty sound. His eyes were like glowing coals.
“But—but I haven’t done anything to—”
“Shut up!”
A bubbling chuckle filled Vince’s throat and his nostrils flared in scorn.
“
Yellow
,” he said. “You’re afraid to die, aren’t you?”
Bob’s throat moved convulsively.
“Aren’t you?”
“Vince, don’t be crazy,” Bob heard himself saying. “You don’t want to kill anyone. You know you—”
Vince’s laughter stopped him, made him shudder.
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Vince mocked. Then his face flinted.
“I’ve killed
two
men to get to you. Do you really think I’m not going to…”
He broke off suddenly
He unlocked the door and opened it.
“Stan, what is it?”
Bob stood in the doorway looking at Stan, white and trembling.
He moved forward.
“Stan, what—”
Then, suddenly, he leaped to the side with a gasp as the door was slammed shut from behind and he saw Vince’s glaring face before him.
Stan backed away, shuddering, his eyes wide and staring. Vince leaned against the door, his chattering teeth jammed together, the gun wavering in his hand.
“
Vince
,” was all Bob could say as he stood there, paralyzed with sudden fear.
“Get inside,” Vince said.
He forced a calmness through himself. Bob was here now, in his hands. There was no use ending it right away. Bob would pay; but slowly.
“Vince, you—”
“I said get inside!” Vince ordered, his thin voice ringing out shrilly in the hallway.
Bob backed into Stan as he retreated.
“Bob, I’m sorry,” Stan murmured in a weak voice. “Please don’t hold it against—”
“If you don’t get in there,” Vince’s voice was low and menacing, “I swear to God, I’ll…”
They backed into the living room, their eyes never leaving Vince’s white, twisted face.
As they entered the living room Stan heard a groan and, turning suddenly, he saw Jane sitting up, holding her forehead with her hand, blood trickling between her white fingers.
“Jane,” he muttered, brokenly.
“Leave her alone,” Vince said.
But, for some reason, Stan didn’t listen. Maybe it was because he felt dead already. He helped his wife up.
“Let go of me,” she muttered hoarsely, in a voice that bordered on hysteria. “I don’t want—”
“Be quiet,” he said, quietly firm. “You haven’t helped any either.”
Jane sank down on the couch, wordless. She looked at Bob, then at Vince. Her teeth dug into her lower lip.
“I’m going to wash off her forehead,” she heard Stan say to Vince.
Vince said nothing. He backed over to where he could watch Stan in the kitchen. Stan might try for a knife. He kept looking from Stan to Bob, the gun held tightly in his hand.
Why didn’t I stop Stan from going in there?
he wondered. And then he realized that he was afraid of Stan. You couldn’t trust Stan’s kind, they were unpredictable. One minute they would be blubbering for pity, the next minute they would come lunging at you, eagle-clawed, eyes like fire. He had seen that at the asylum. The little man who coughed, he was like that. Cry, cry, cry and then, suddenly, with a shriek and a gibber, he would leap at you.
Bob stood in the middle of the room looking first at Jane, then at Vince.
“How did you get out?” he asked weakly.
“Never mind that,” Vince said carefully. “Do you want to know
why
I came out?”
Bob stared at him, his throat moving, still numbed from the shock of seeing Vince.
“I came to kill you,” Vince said.
Bob started as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. He stood there, his face petrified. Vince liked that. It gave him confidence again, confidence that he’d been losing when first Jane, then Stan, had defied him. He needed constant obedience to his words or he became unnerved.
“Ki—” Bob’s voice broke off. He drew in a harsh breath. “
Kill?
” he said, his voice flat and unbelieving.
“I’m going to blow your brains out,” Vince said, his voice a low, throaty sound. His eyes were like glowing coals.
“But—but I haven’t done anything to—”
“Shut up!”
A bubbling chuckle filled Vince’s throat and his nostrils flared in scorn.
“
Yellow
,” he said. “You’re afraid to die, aren’t you?”
Bob’s throat moved convulsively.
“Aren’t you?”
“Vince, don’t be crazy,” Bob heard himself saying. “You don’t want to kill anyone. You know you—”
Vince’s laughter stopped him, made him shudder.
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Vince mocked. Then his face flinted.
“I’ve killed
two
men to get to you. Do you really think I’m not going to…”
He broke off suddenly
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