somewhere else. I’ve been watching you and Daddy. You look at each other. Mum’s silly, and she doesn’t know, but I do! And that’s another reason you’ve got to fall down there, and die.”
Alice’s eyes were blue circles of light as she looked up at the monstrous child. There was no use in arguing with him; he had no concept of right and wrong to which to appeal.
The girl’s body swung gently. “Do you want me to get a stone and hammer your hand away?” asked Angelo reasonably.
“If you do, they’ll find the marks. The police are very good,” said Alice. She was growing weak. But she had a thought. She must keep him occupied so he would not see. Stealthily, her left hand crept to her wide leather belt. It was too large for her; she had intended to cut off the extra inches this morning, but had forgotten. She thanked God for that forgetfulness now. Tears slid along her eyelids.
“Yes,” she said, “the police always suspect everybody in an—accident. They search; they look; they always find clues.”
“But I’m just a dear little boy,” said Angelo, grinning down at her. “I’ll be hysterical; I’ll get a fever; Mum will have to put me to bed and call the doctor. The police won’t even think of me, I’ll be so sick.”
He reached down and then rose again and showed her a jagged stone. “It’s sharp,” he said, looking at it with critical approval. “And I can kneel down and push my hand, with the stone in it, through one of the slits in the logs.”
“And the police will find fragments of it in my flesh,” said Alice. “Don’t think for a minute that the police won’t search. And they’re on to children like you, these days. They think of them first now; they’ll especially think of you, when they know we were alone. And they’ll go through the woods, and they’ll find Petti. The police never let up. And they’ll talk to people who know you, the schools you went to, the neighbors’ children who won’t play with you. And then you’ll be taken away and you’ll never see your mother again.” She dared not glance down into the giddy nothingness below her.
Torturous movement by movement, she had undone the belt. Now it was free in her trembling hand. It was heavy leather, not plastic; it would hold. Angelo’s face had changed during the time she had been speaking. It had darkened; he held the rock tentatively.
“They’ll put you away with your kind,” said Alice. “They know all about you! You’ll be in a dark place, behind iron doors and bars. You’ll walk in a concrete yard. You’ll never be free again, for the doctors know you. They won’t dare let you free, to kill. There isn’t any cure for you, and they understand that.”
Astonishingly, the boy began to cry, but his tears and his sobs only made his face appear more wicked and more terrible. He beat the stone on the top of the fence, frenziedly. “I hate you!” he screamed. “I remember when you hit me when I was little, just because I wet myself! I hate your ugly face, I hate the sight of you! If you hadn’t come on Friday night you wouldn’t be hanging there, and this wouldn’t have happened, and you wouldn’t have found Petti! It’s all your fault, it’s all your fault! It isn’t MY fault!”
She had diverted his attention; he laid his head on the fence and gave himself up to convulsions of sobs. Alice closed her eyes and prayed for a little extra strength. She had one chance, and one only. She looked up at the strong but narrow stake, which her right hand, now so swollen and red and purpling, clutched so desperately. Then she swung the belt up, holding it by the buckle. The belt curled about the stake, and she sobbed in thanksgiving. She pushed up on the stiff leather, and the end dropped down toward her. Now, with the fingers of her left hand she must clasp the ends together, and somehow, with the help of God, get her head, and then her neck and then her shoulders through the large loop. One
Alice’s eyes were blue circles of light as she looked up at the monstrous child. There was no use in arguing with him; he had no concept of right and wrong to which to appeal.
The girl’s body swung gently. “Do you want me to get a stone and hammer your hand away?” asked Angelo reasonably.
“If you do, they’ll find the marks. The police are very good,” said Alice. She was growing weak. But she had a thought. She must keep him occupied so he would not see. Stealthily, her left hand crept to her wide leather belt. It was too large for her; she had intended to cut off the extra inches this morning, but had forgotten. She thanked God for that forgetfulness now. Tears slid along her eyelids.
“Yes,” she said, “the police always suspect everybody in an—accident. They search; they look; they always find clues.”
“But I’m just a dear little boy,” said Angelo, grinning down at her. “I’ll be hysterical; I’ll get a fever; Mum will have to put me to bed and call the doctor. The police won’t even think of me, I’ll be so sick.”
He reached down and then rose again and showed her a jagged stone. “It’s sharp,” he said, looking at it with critical approval. “And I can kneel down and push my hand, with the stone in it, through one of the slits in the logs.”
“And the police will find fragments of it in my flesh,” said Alice. “Don’t think for a minute that the police won’t search. And they’re on to children like you, these days. They think of them first now; they’ll especially think of you, when they know we were alone. And they’ll go through the woods, and they’ll find Petti. The police never let up. And they’ll talk to people who know you, the schools you went to, the neighbors’ children who won’t play with you. And then you’ll be taken away and you’ll never see your mother again.” She dared not glance down into the giddy nothingness below her.
Torturous movement by movement, she had undone the belt. Now it was free in her trembling hand. It was heavy leather, not plastic; it would hold. Angelo’s face had changed during the time she had been speaking. It had darkened; he held the rock tentatively.
“They’ll put you away with your kind,” said Alice. “They know all about you! You’ll be in a dark place, behind iron doors and bars. You’ll walk in a concrete yard. You’ll never be free again, for the doctors know you. They won’t dare let you free, to kill. There isn’t any cure for you, and they understand that.”
Astonishingly, the boy began to cry, but his tears and his sobs only made his face appear more wicked and more terrible. He beat the stone on the top of the fence, frenziedly. “I hate you!” he screamed. “I remember when you hit me when I was little, just because I wet myself! I hate your ugly face, I hate the sight of you! If you hadn’t come on Friday night you wouldn’t be hanging there, and this wouldn’t have happened, and you wouldn’t have found Petti! It’s all your fault, it’s all your fault! It isn’t MY fault!”
She had diverted his attention; he laid his head on the fence and gave himself up to convulsions of sobs. Alice closed her eyes and prayed for a little extra strength. She had one chance, and one only. She looked up at the strong but narrow stake, which her right hand, now so swollen and red and purpling, clutched so desperately. Then she swung the belt up, holding it by the buckle. The belt curled about the stake, and she sobbed in thanksgiving. She pushed up on the stiff leather, and the end dropped down toward her. Now, with the fingers of her left hand she must clasp the ends together, and somehow, with the help of God, get her head, and then her neck and then her shoulders through the large loop. One
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