nightmare. Edward's screams precluded sleep. They tried to get him into a hospital, but he refused. None of them dared defy him, even in his weakened, pitiful state.
"It's my punishment," he'd said." God's punishment."
But when Colin tried to pursue it, Edward looked at him with glazed eyes and declined to answer. After he was dead, Colin asked his mother what his father had meant.
"Ask Robin," she'd advised.
Colin did ask her. Robin Wise had been his father's nurse for twenty years and his mistress for seventeen.
It was after the funeral and he'd spoken to Robin that he'd had his first attack. Although it frightened him, he thought it was understandable considering the strain of that final week and the revelation of his father's affair. He dismissed it from his mind. Nothing like it happened again until after the murders of his family. Then the attacks became constant and relentless. When he'd finally faced that he couldn't go on that way, he'd left Chicago and gone to live with his mother. It was there he'd found Dr. Safier. The first six months he had his sessions on the telephone, afraid to leave his mother's house for fear of an attack. Eventually he was able to travel to Safier's office by car.
Here in Seaville he felt safe almost anywhere. If panic seized him he could always leave a room, a restaurant, a party. He was able to travel up and down the Fork, but the fear of becoming hysterical and causing a scene kept him from riding in a car with another person. Safier was in New Jersey, so he was back to having phone sessions; fortunately, he had one tonight.
But before that he had to write the goddamn story. The goddamn fucking story about murder.
He had forty-seven minutes.
LOOKING BACK —75 YEARS AGO
Jimmie Hand of Seaville and a young lady—it wouldn't be nice to mention her name—were thrown from their carriage while driving one night this week, by being run into by another vehicle. If the young man had looked after the ribbons instead of the waist, things might have been different. But then maybe it was worth it.
THIRTEEN
He couldn't believe how stupid and gullible they were. Or how easy this whole thing was going to be. He had nine more to go in this grouping. Then he'd start again.
He remembered all those years when he'd been planning it; he'd been scared. Now it just made him laugh. What the hell had he been afraid of, anyway? There was nothing to fear. I'm a steamroller, baby. And speaking of babies—that was a good one. He couldn't stop laughing. Laugh and laugh and laugh. It felt good to laugh. Some people didn't think so. Some people punished you if you laughed too much. Or too loud. Some damn people hit you if you laughed. But not Mommy and Daddy. They never hit.
So two down, nine to go! What a holiday weekend he was going to give them. One they wouldn't forget, for sure, for sure.
Damn fucks. Always asking him what he was thinking. Which ones were the worst? Maybe the ones when he was twelve. Always bugging him. Questions, questions, questions. They didn't even know how smart he was. Nobody knew that. It was hard to be so smart. Hard to have friends when you're so smart. People get jealous. Jealousy is the worst sin. Worse than anything, they told him. Told him that. Told him. You're just jealous, they said. Stupid. They were the ones who were jealous because he was so smart.
But you'd have to be smart to work this thing out. He'd been planning forever, it seemed. Planning and planning. Diagrams and names. Taking his time. But time is on my side cause this is the right time of year. Years and years of careful study. You can pull the wool over anybody's eyes if you have patience and cunning. Cunning. He'd heard that one, all right. What a cunning little boy he is.
So cunning they beat the shit out of him. Scars to prove it, buster.
You'd better believe it. Right. Yo. All right. Cat-o'-nine-tails. Fists. Belts. Razor strops. You name it, he'd had it. Didn't faze him. Not him.
"It's my punishment," he'd said." God's punishment."
But when Colin tried to pursue it, Edward looked at him with glazed eyes and declined to answer. After he was dead, Colin asked his mother what his father had meant.
"Ask Robin," she'd advised.
Colin did ask her. Robin Wise had been his father's nurse for twenty years and his mistress for seventeen.
It was after the funeral and he'd spoken to Robin that he'd had his first attack. Although it frightened him, he thought it was understandable considering the strain of that final week and the revelation of his father's affair. He dismissed it from his mind. Nothing like it happened again until after the murders of his family. Then the attacks became constant and relentless. When he'd finally faced that he couldn't go on that way, he'd left Chicago and gone to live with his mother. It was there he'd found Dr. Safier. The first six months he had his sessions on the telephone, afraid to leave his mother's house for fear of an attack. Eventually he was able to travel to Safier's office by car.
Here in Seaville he felt safe almost anywhere. If panic seized him he could always leave a room, a restaurant, a party. He was able to travel up and down the Fork, but the fear of becoming hysterical and causing a scene kept him from riding in a car with another person. Safier was in New Jersey, so he was back to having phone sessions; fortunately, he had one tonight.
But before that he had to write the goddamn story. The goddamn fucking story about murder.
He had forty-seven minutes.
LOOKING BACK —75 YEARS AGO
Jimmie Hand of Seaville and a young lady—it wouldn't be nice to mention her name—were thrown from their carriage while driving one night this week, by being run into by another vehicle. If the young man had looked after the ribbons instead of the waist, things might have been different. But then maybe it was worth it.
THIRTEEN
He couldn't believe how stupid and gullible they were. Or how easy this whole thing was going to be. He had nine more to go in this grouping. Then he'd start again.
He remembered all those years when he'd been planning it; he'd been scared. Now it just made him laugh. What the hell had he been afraid of, anyway? There was nothing to fear. I'm a steamroller, baby. And speaking of babies—that was a good one. He couldn't stop laughing. Laugh and laugh and laugh. It felt good to laugh. Some people didn't think so. Some people punished you if you laughed too much. Or too loud. Some damn people hit you if you laughed. But not Mommy and Daddy. They never hit.
So two down, nine to go! What a holiday weekend he was going to give them. One they wouldn't forget, for sure, for sure.
Damn fucks. Always asking him what he was thinking. Which ones were the worst? Maybe the ones when he was twelve. Always bugging him. Questions, questions, questions. They didn't even know how smart he was. Nobody knew that. It was hard to be so smart. Hard to have friends when you're so smart. People get jealous. Jealousy is the worst sin. Worse than anything, they told him. Told him that. Told him. You're just jealous, they said. Stupid. They were the ones who were jealous because he was so smart.
But you'd have to be smart to work this thing out. He'd been planning forever, it seemed. Planning and planning. Diagrams and names. Taking his time. But time is on my side cause this is the right time of year. Years and years of careful study. You can pull the wool over anybody's eyes if you have patience and cunning. Cunning. He'd heard that one, all right. What a cunning little boy he is.
So cunning they beat the shit out of him. Scars to prove it, buster.
You'd better believe it. Right. Yo. All right. Cat-o'-nine-tails. Fists. Belts. Razor strops. You name it, he'd had it. Didn't faze him. Not him.
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