He had been certain that the red flash erupting from the muzzle of the gun, the impact of the bullet and the distant, muffled sound of the shot, would be the last sensations he would ever know. So, in the first moments of returning consciousness-following a kaleidoscope of half-images and unidentified voices, of bits and pieces of figures and sounds and movement hovering over and around him, alternating with periods of black, empty, nothingness-when the first face he recognized was his mother’s, he had the vague feeling of being reborn.
For a few minutes-as his vision gradually cleared and his ears began to assimilate the sounds from outside the room; and he became aware of the catheter inserted in his right nostril, and the tubes attached to his arms, and the constraints of the bandages that seemed to encircle the entire upper half of his body; and, feeling pain, realized he was still alive-he was afraid to move for fear of upsetting the precarious balance that still held him on the near side of death. But; as the contour of the light fixture attached to the ceiling, and the planes and angles of the room slowly assumed their proper shape and perspective; he soon felt enough confidence to move his head to inspect his surroundings. As he rolled it to the right, he saw Grace sitting in an armchair a few feet away, her face turned to the window. Even in his semi-conscious condition he was struck by how youthful her profile seemed outlined against the gray, rain-lashed panes. He lay still, admiring her, feeling the life returning to his body, remembering.
She had not been the type of mother that most of his boyhood friends had seemed to have
- always busy cooking or washing or cleaning; smelling of bread or soap or furniture polish
- whose voices could be heard in the crisp, evening air calling their wandering sons home for dinner. She and Bobby-at least, until Bobby’s later years-had always seemed more interested in themselves and their own pursuits than they were in their children. Which is not to say that they neglected him, or his sisters or brother, or did not love or take care of them. On the contrary. If they were not lavishly affectionate or dotingly protective of their offspring, they were tolerant, trusting, and eminently fair with all of them in the distribution of their time and favors. Only Paul, the youngest, had achieved a sort of ‘favorite’ status during the last years of his father’s life and, by that time, he and his sisters were mature enough to feel no more than a vicarious amusement on seeing them together.
But Grace had treated them all-and still did-with an intelligence, deference and understanding that had allowed each of them the opportunity-if not the license-to develop their own abilities, talents and lifestyle. The fact that for Sheila and Claire this enlightened upbringing led to no more than a highly successful marriage for each of them, and a plethora of grandchildren for Grace, was of no import. They were satisfied, and happy, and so was she. And Paul; after he recovered from the shock and grief of his father’s death; had gone on to make an excellent record in college, and was now just beginning what was expected to be abrilliant career with the large electronics firm that had recruited him upon his graduation.
He knew that if there was any major cause for concern at this point in Grace’s life, he was it. He was sure-although she never said so in so many words-that she thought he could have-and should have-done better both in his professional and private life. When he had returned from his tour of duty with the Army in Europe, with no plans; and no inclination to make any; and had begun disappearing without explanation, he knew that she and Bobby had believed-or, at least, hoped-that he was searching for a meaningful way of life for himself. But, in fact, the truth was so banal that; whenever he looked back on it now; he felt only a rueful sense of loss for the time he had wasted. For, the truth was, that he had been doing little more than sight-seeing.
Even though the world had been relatively peaceful at the time-after Korea and before Vietnam became more than just a new name for a part of what had been known as IndoChina-the prospect of another massively destructive and annihilating war had seemed inevitable. As a solitary human being, he had felt powerless to prevent or avoid it but, in his natural insularity, he also had found it impossible to join any of the well-meaning organizations dedicated to that purpose. He had, therefore, simply decided to see as much of the world as time-and the trust fund from his grandfather’s estate-permitted.
By the time he had returned home following his father’s death, he had come to realize how pointless and empty his life had become, and that he could no longer use the instability of the world’s future as an excuse for ignoring his own. Learning that the man who had given him life had been dead for two months before he even knew about it, had been the catalyst that had shocked him into awareness of the value of his own life. When he decided to follow in his father’s footsteps, it had been-as Elise had guessed-a vague, indefinable attempt to atone for his past neglect, and, while Grace had had some obvious misgivings about his decision, she had been moderately pleased and considerably relieved to see him settle down, and succeed.
Her misgivings about his marriage had been even more apparent although, at first, she had seemed genuinely fond of Marie. Even following the debacle of the wedding reception, she had continued to make every effort to remain friendly with her. But, as Marie had begun to gradually withdraw from him, she had also rejected Grace’s attempts to maintain their relationship, as tenuous as it was. Finally, Grace reluctantly had recognized the increasing futility of trying to cope with her daughter-in-law’s moods and tantrums and, during the last few years, the only time she had seen him, or Cassandra, was when he brought the child to visit her at her apartment in the city.
Now, as he studied her in his first moments of fully returned consciousness, he thought that she was the antithesis of the careworn, gray-haired, self-sacrificing mother of song and story. But, he was not sorry, because she was instead a lovely, considerate, intelligent woman of taste and refinement. It was only too bad that Marie was not.
Marie! My God, Marie!
The full, remembered horror of what had happened flooded over him. “Mother!” he called, the sound of his voice a shock to both of them in the silence of the room.
She whirled to face him and rose quickly to move to the side of his bed, grasping his hand.
“Mark dear! Good heavens, you startled me! Have you been awake long?”
“A couple of minutes. Mother. Marie. Is she.?” He was unable to complete the question.
Her pained expression gave him his answer before she spoke. “Yes, Mark. She’s.she’s dead. She was dead when Mr. Adamson found you.”
A demoniac roaring filled his brain, as if all the devils in hell were taunting him. “Marie is dead-and you killed her! Marie is dead-and you killed her, Marie is dead-and you killed her! Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!”
And they were right. He was his wife’s murderer-as surely as if he had pulled the trigger of Bucheck’s pearl-handled revolver himself. Except, that he actually had loaded the gun on the day he first spoke to her, and pulled the trigger on the day they were married. It had taken the intervening years for the bullet to reach her and penetrate a vital organ. And, all the time it was in flight he had stood by and watched, and made no effort to deflect it, or her, from its fatal path.
Grace was saying something about not blaming himself for what had happened. But, who else could he blame? Bucheck? Bentley? They had come to the house to kill him, not her. But, she was dead and he was alive. She was dead! Dead! Dead! And-oh, my God! He was not sorry! He was not sorry!
Like a large gray, snarling rat crawling through the sewers of his mind, he saw it and shrunk from it-but, he could not deny its existence. He was sorry for the tragic waste of her death, because she was still young and had sacrificed herself for a husband who no longer loved her-if he ever had-and, in all probability, for a reason that she neither knew nor cared about. And, he was sorry for the guilt he could not deny and would have to learn to live with. But-God help him! He was not sorry for the fact of her death.
From the moment he had first seen Elise, he had wished to be free of Marie. Their marriage had become meaningless and their life together, for all intents and purposes, had already ended. Even preoccupied as he had been with the investigation, he had been consciously anticipating the severing of his ties to Marie and looking forward to the forging of new ones with Elise. And, while death was not the instrument of dissolution he had contemplated, he accepted the realization that-no matter how much he might wish it otherwise-it was effective, final and permanent. And, the practicality and ease which enabled him to arrive at this conclusion rose up like bile in his throat, choking and blinding him-and, for the first time in almost thirty years he reached out for the comfort and consolation of his mother’s arms.
When he awoke again later, the transition to consciousness was more rapid and he was instantly aware of where he was and why. But-as he turned his head on the pillow and saw his mother still sitting in the same armchair, her chin propped on her hand, a book open on her cross-legged lap-he thought for a moment that his earlier awakening had been only part of a continuing delirium. Except that the certainty of Marie’s death and his acceptance of it was more vivid and frightening than anything his imagination could have conjured up.
The panes of the window behind Grace’s head were now black and streaked with the still falling rain and the only light in the room came from a reading lamp standing behind her chair. He was about to call her again when she raised her head and saw him looking at her. Closing the book, she laid it on the table next to the chair and rose to stand by the side of the bed. Looking down at him, she studied him carefully, the tense lines of fear in her face gradually softening to guarded relief.
“You’re looking better,” she said. “More alive than dead, instead of the other way around.”
“I think I feel more alive,” he replied. “How long have I been here?”
She glanced at a small platinum watch on her left wrist. “About thirty-six hours. It’s almost eleven o’clock, peeyem on Friday.”
“Good lord!” he murmured. “And how long have you been here?”
She shrugged, smiling faintly. “Only long enough to be sure you were going to be all right. It now appears that you will be so, if you would like to go back to sleep, I’ll be on my way.”
He realized that she looked tired, but there were too many questions in his reactivated mind to let go unanswered any longer.
“Stay a few minutes more and tell me what happened.”
She frowned. “Oh, my dear! It’s so late. Why not wait and let Dan tell you about it. He’s been in and out ever since they brought you here and will probably be back first thing in the morning.”
“Has he told you about what’s been happening-what I’ve been doing the past week?”
“Yes. He has. Although, I must admit, I can’t understand why you felt it necessary to get involved in such a terrible business.”
He closed his eyes and saw Marie standing in the open doorway. “At this point, I don’t know why I did either.”
“Well, I’m sure you only did what you thought was right,” she responded, lightly patting the back of his hand. The thought may have comforted her, but it did nothing to relieve the bitter taste of his own regret.
“You did say earlier, that it was Phil Adamson who found us?”
She sighed, seeing that he was determined to get at least some of the answers from her before letting her leave. She rested one fashionably clad, slender hip on the edge of his bed. Her becomingly-and naturally-gray-streaked auburn hair glinted softly in the dim light. Despite her long vigil by his side, only a few fine, barely noticeable lines radiating from the corners of her eyes and mouth betrayed her otherwise smooth and youthful appearing fifty-five year old complexion.
She nodded. “Yes, Phil and Sybil were in the studio at the back of the house. He told me of seeing you a little while before and.how concerned you were that Marie hadn’t been home since Tuesday. He said that when they heard the first shot-although, of course, they really didn’t know it was a shot right off-they walked to the front and looked out the window to see what it was. Naturally, they were both surprised, and concerned, when they saw Marie’s car and the sheriff’s in the driveway. Phil was about to call you to see if everything was all right when they heard the second shot, and then saw the sheriff and his deputy come running out and drive away. Phil ran across, found you-and Marie-and called the hospital. The ambulance arrived only a couple of minutes before Dan, and Dan called me after they hadbrought you here.”
She and Dan were old, and friendly acquaintances, going back to the early days of Bobby’s partnership with Joe Spencer, when Dan had been first getting started in the insurance business himself.
“What about Marie? Where is.. .her body?”
“At the Glen Park Funeral Home. She was taken there this evening.”
“What other arrangements have you made?”
She adjusted her position slightly and her eyes looked defensive as she replied, “The wake will be held tomorrow and Sunday, and a service is scheduled for ten a.m. Monday at Immaculate Conception. She’ll be.buried in the family plot at Holy Rosary Cemetery.”
It was the kind of obeisance to the dead-dictated by her Catholicism and Irish-ancestry-that he had always considered unnecessary and, somehow, unnatural. But, he was in no position to handle the arrangements himself or object to hers, if nobody else did.
“Has Marie’s mother been notified?”
“Yes. She’s at Julie Fay’s.”
“Did you discuss the funeral arrangements with her?”
She hesitated. “After they were made. Marie was your wife.”
“She was also her mother’s daughter.”
“Well-I’ve told her, and she has no objection.”
“Neither do I, mother, But, Marie was not a Catholic and.”
“It’s all right, Mark,” she broke in calmly. “I know what you’re going to say. But, I prevailed on Monsignor O’Sullivan to give her conditional absolution. It can’t hurt her and-who knows-it may even help.”
Even the clergy was not impervious to her charm. It was only during the last few years that Grace had begun to resume and reaffirm her religion and had even made an occasional, but very timorous attempt to persuade him to do the same. Except for having had Cassandra baptized a Catholic and; in recent months since she had started school; attendance with her at Sunday Mass, he had had virtually no contact with the Church since his early teens. Grace and Bobby had been only intermittent Catholics at best, and had never tried to influence any of their children to be otherwise. Still, he remembered enough to know that ‘conditional absolution’ was administered under the presumption that the deceased would have wished it, and would have become a Catholic if given another opportunity to do so. He doubted that either ever would have been true in Marie’s case but, like his mother, he did not see that it could hurt her-now.
“How is her mother taking it?”
“Quite well, really. Of course, it was a terrible shock for her. But.. .she doesn’t blame you for what happened.” She paused. “Julie Fay is being very difficult though, I’m afraid”
“Julie Fay is difficult all the time. Try to ignore her.”
She arched her eyebrows. “That’s a little like telling someone to ignore a tiger when they’re locked in the same cage with it.”
He smiled-and wondered how much she blamed him herself. Probably not as much as he did. In her innate fairness she was undoubtedly withholding judgment until he was ready-and willing—to tell her the whole story. She was entitled to know it-everything-including his meeting and falling in love with Elise-and he was a little surprised at how easy it was for him to accept the realization that he should tell her. A few days ago, it would have been unthinkable for him to accept the fact that he should explain anything to anybody.
“Where’s Cassandra?” he asked her.
“With the Adamsons. They’ve been very helpful-a charming couple, really-and, of course, they do have Dana for Cassandra to play with. We decided it would be best to keep both of them home from school today though. There’s been quite a bit of publicity, as you might expect.”
“Does Cassandra know what’s happened?”
She seemed slightly intimidated by his steady gaze. “Well.not exactly. I told her that her mother had been.hurt, and had gone to live with.with the angels. I realize it.how foolish it is to.to avoid telling her the truth but I just.”
He grasped her hand. “It’s all right mother. I’ll tell her myself when she’s old enough to understand,” and hopefully, forgive me, he thought to himself.
“Oh, incidentally. Her teacher, Miss Young-a lovely girl-has been here both yesterday and today inquiring about you. Have you met her? She seemed quite concerned. I thought it was very.touching, really.”
Grace was nothing, if not astute, and she had undoubtedly found Elise’s concern more than just ‘touching’. Intriguing, was more like it. But, the conversation had tired him again and he felt too exhausted to try to satisfy her obvious curiosity just yet.
“Yes. We’ve met. She’s a very compassionate young woman.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I thought.” Then, apparently recognizing his exhaustion and aware that he was not going to provide any further explanation, she stood up. “I think that’s enough for now. You need to rest, Mark dear.”
He made no attempt to dissuade her and watched as she crossed the room and took her raincoat and umbrella from the closet, and then walked back to gather up her purse and book. She came back to the side of the bed and bent down to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she murmured and turned toward the door.
“Mother.” She stopped and looked back at him. “Did Dan tell you if they caught the sheriff and his deputy?”
She took a step back toward the bed. “He said that they were both killed in an auto accident, right after leaving the house. It happened at the same place where the truck driver was killed last Monday evening.”
He was too tired to be as astonished as he felt he should be. It was a fitting retribution, but he was mildly disappointed that they had escaped a more deserving punishment. And-with Bentley dead before he could talk-there probably was no hope of ever finding out who he took his orders from. The realization compounded his weariness and he slipped back into unconsciousness even before the door closed behind her as she left.