mind and made him shudder.
Vince.
Quickly he moved into the living room, hearing Jane say something inaudible, then Vince again.
“I’ll shoot you if you don’t! You think I care if I shoot you?”
With a gasp, Stan backed into the bedroom. The phone, quickly, the phone! He backed across the dark room, eyes fastened on the living room. He bumped into Jane’s bed and fell onto it with a start. Hurriedly, he pushed up and moved for the phone on the bedside table. He jerked up the receiver and reached for the dial.
“Where’s Stan?” Vince asked, entering the living room.
Stan’s heart jolted and, with shaking fingers, he quickly put down the receiver. If Vince had a gun he mustn’t be found calling for help. He knew what Vince was like.
God in heaven
, he thought,
how did he get out?
Quickly he sank down on his bed and threw up his legs.
I’ll pretend that I’m asleep
, his mind planned.
Maybe Vince won’t do anything then. Maybe I’ll get a chance to call the police
.
“I told you he was asleep,” Jane said.
Stan’s legs twitched on the sheet. Maybe it was his imagination but she didn’t sound afraid. She had cried out, yes, but now there was almost that sound of disinterest in her voice again.
He kept his eyes tightly shut. There was a murmur in the living room, then Vince snarling.
“You fix it or I’ll
kill
you!”
“All right, all right,” she said quickly.
Stan twitched as the bedroom light was flicked on. He opened his eyes and started violently. It had been a long time since he’d seen Vince. He wasn’t prepared for the gaunt wildness of his face, the madness glittering in his dark eyes.
“Vince,” he said automatically. “What are you—”
“Get up,” said Vince. “My arm is hurt.”
Stan sat up and let his legs hang over the edge of the mattress. He saw that Vince kept his left arm stuck in the pocket of a black raincoat and he saw the strange, dark wetness of the sleeve.
Stan stood up quickly, looking at Vince, not knowing what to say or do. He saw Jane walk into the bathroom and heard her turn on the light. Then he heard her rummaging around in the medicine cabinet as his eyes moved back to Vince.
He twitched at Vince’s sudden words.
“Hurry up!” There was a break in Vince’s voice. He stood there weaving a little, his eyes glazed with pain and fright.
“Sit down, Vince,” Stan said nervously. “Why don’t—”
His voice broke off and he stood silent as Vince’s eyes jerked over and peered at him. He saw Vince’s teeth grit together.
“I can stand,” Vince said, tensely. “Don’t think I can’t, either.”
Stan swallowed. “Sure,” he said, “sure you can stand, Vince. If you want to.” He felt a tightening in his throat. He couldn’t be sure how to talk to Vince. He never
had
been.
They stood looking at each other and, abruptly, a nervous, rasping laugh hovered in Vince’s throat.
“Broke out,” he said. “Guess you never thought I’d—”
He stopped and pressed his white lips together, then drew in a shaking breath.
“Hurry up!” he yelled at Jane. “I swear to God I’ll shoot you if you don’t!”
“I can’t find any gauze,” Jane answered quickly.
“In back, in back,” Stan said.
He turned back to Vince again and stood there awkwardly looking at him. There was no sound but that of Jane in the bathroom. Stan’s hands twitched at his sides. He put them behind his body and they bumped into the bedside table.
At the feel of the smooth wood, he remembered the gun in the drawer. He forced his lips together suddenly because he felt them begin to tremble. He mustn’t act nervous. If he could only pull open the drawer and…
“H-how are you, Vince?” he asked in a hollow voice. Vince didn’t answer right away. His thin throat moved convulsively as he swallowed. The heavy pistol in his hand slowly began to lower.
“She’ll b-be right out,” Stan said hurriedly, “She’s getting it, isn’t she?” His throat
Vince.
Quickly he moved into the living room, hearing Jane say something inaudible, then Vince again.
“I’ll shoot you if you don’t! You think I care if I shoot you?”
With a gasp, Stan backed into the bedroom. The phone, quickly, the phone! He backed across the dark room, eyes fastened on the living room. He bumped into Jane’s bed and fell onto it with a start. Hurriedly, he pushed up and moved for the phone on the bedside table. He jerked up the receiver and reached for the dial.
“Where’s Stan?” Vince asked, entering the living room.
Stan’s heart jolted and, with shaking fingers, he quickly put down the receiver. If Vince had a gun he mustn’t be found calling for help. He knew what Vince was like.
God in heaven
, he thought,
how did he get out?
Quickly he sank down on his bed and threw up his legs.
I’ll pretend that I’m asleep
, his mind planned.
Maybe Vince won’t do anything then. Maybe I’ll get a chance to call the police
.
“I told you he was asleep,” Jane said.
Stan’s legs twitched on the sheet. Maybe it was his imagination but she didn’t sound afraid. She had cried out, yes, but now there was almost that sound of disinterest in her voice again.
He kept his eyes tightly shut. There was a murmur in the living room, then Vince snarling.
“You fix it or I’ll
kill
you!”
“All right, all right,” she said quickly.
Stan twitched as the bedroom light was flicked on. He opened his eyes and started violently. It had been a long time since he’d seen Vince. He wasn’t prepared for the gaunt wildness of his face, the madness glittering in his dark eyes.
“Vince,” he said automatically. “What are you—”
“Get up,” said Vince. “My arm is hurt.”
Stan sat up and let his legs hang over the edge of the mattress. He saw that Vince kept his left arm stuck in the pocket of a black raincoat and he saw the strange, dark wetness of the sleeve.
Stan stood up quickly, looking at Vince, not knowing what to say or do. He saw Jane walk into the bathroom and heard her turn on the light. Then he heard her rummaging around in the medicine cabinet as his eyes moved back to Vince.
He twitched at Vince’s sudden words.
“Hurry up!” There was a break in Vince’s voice. He stood there weaving a little, his eyes glazed with pain and fright.
“Sit down, Vince,” Stan said nervously. “Why don’t—”
His voice broke off and he stood silent as Vince’s eyes jerked over and peered at him. He saw Vince’s teeth grit together.
“I can stand,” Vince said, tensely. “Don’t think I can’t, either.”
Stan swallowed. “Sure,” he said, “sure you can stand, Vince. If you want to.” He felt a tightening in his throat. He couldn’t be sure how to talk to Vince. He never
had
been.
They stood looking at each other and, abruptly, a nervous, rasping laugh hovered in Vince’s throat.
“Broke out,” he said. “Guess you never thought I’d—”
He stopped and pressed his white lips together, then drew in a shaking breath.
“Hurry up!” he yelled at Jane. “I swear to God I’ll shoot you if you don’t!”
“I can’t find any gauze,” Jane answered quickly.
“In back, in back,” Stan said.
He turned back to Vince again and stood there awkwardly looking at him. There was no sound but that of Jane in the bathroom. Stan’s hands twitched at his sides. He put them behind his body and they bumped into the bedside table.
At the feel of the smooth wood, he remembered the gun in the drawer. He forced his lips together suddenly because he felt them begin to tremble. He mustn’t act nervous. If he could only pull open the drawer and…
“H-how are you, Vince?” he asked in a hollow voice. Vince didn’t answer right away. His thin throat moved convulsively as he swallowed. The heavy pistol in his hand slowly began to lower.
“She’ll b-be right out,” Stan said hurriedly, “She’s getting it, isn’t she?” His throat
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