The barking dogs woke him. He hadn’t really slept much during the night and he had dozed off only minutes before he heard them. Although they were far off and held on leashes, he thought they were dangerously close. He had lost his sense of perspective. Things that were solid looked liquid. Colors merged and faded. His hands and his feet seemed far away and growing farther and farther.
He forced himself into a standing position. Somewhere in the back of his brain, the last vestiges of sensible thoughts were emerging. He didn’t like where he was; he didn’t like the sounds coming from his right, and he was very uncomfortable.
He grunted and moved forward, feeling as though he were floating. The bottom part of his body was numb. He had to look down to be sure he was touching the ground. He could see the house, and he had enough consciousness left to know that he wanted to go to it. Despite his eagerness, he moved like one treading water. Gradually, he quickened his pace until he almost charged out of the bush. As he hurried along, he heard a strange, high-pitched cry and realized it was coming from him.
The dogs, chasing his scent, followed his earlier zigzagged journey and led Eddie Morris and two other patrolmen off to the left. He heard the barking diminish and felt a little safer, but he didn’t slow down. When he reached the house, he went to all fours and crawled to the opening. There was a police car parked in the front and two policemen standing beside it, but he didn’t see it or them and they didn’t hear or see him.
Breathing hard now, he struggled to get himself through the hole. He missed his footing on the stones, as he lowered himself through, and slid all the way to the basement floor, scraping his legs and stomach. He lay there for a few minutes, gasping and clawing the floor. Athough he felt pain, he didn’t cry. His throat was much too constricted and the heaviness in his chest made it difficult to do much more than inhale and exhale.
He didn’t think of Mary anymore. Indeed, he didn’t even remember that he had left her lying there, not far from where he himself lay now. Something triggered his memory, finally, and he turned and headed for the box. When he got there, he was disappointed that his blanket was gone, but he was much too tired and too weak to do anything about it. Instead, he slipped in and curled up as comfortably as he could.
Another memory returned and he embraced himself. He felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. It was good to close them and close out as much light as possible. Something nudged at him and he opened his eyes again to discover that he was jerking his legs up against his stomach. This convulsion frightened him, so he started to do his hum. He couldn’t control the volume and length of it, but it gave him some pleasure and some sense of security.
The convulsions grew more intense. It became impossible to hold the embrace on himself. His arms began moving on their own and his head started to bob spasmodically. He bit his tongue a few times and tasted the blood. His eyes rolled and he foamed at the mouth, nearly choking on his own sputum.
Then, just as suddenly as the convulsions had begun, they stopped. He felt a warm glow come over him and he settled into himself. He felt as though he were shrinking. The sides of the box grew larger, taller. He struggled to stop it, but he continued to diminish. The only thing that would slow it down was closing his eyes.
When he did so, a sound struggled to emerge from deep within. It wasn’t a familiar sound. At least, he couldn’t recall making it often. But when it came, he welcomed it. It made him extend his arms into the air above him. He wanted something very much. It was the touch of something, something like himself, something warm and secure, something that would end his fear.
But when he opened his eyes, he saw that there was nothing there. He brought his hands back to his body in disappointment and stroked himself softly. He tried for the hum, but even that was gone now. Gradually, his arms settled beside him on the bottom of the box. His closed eyes wouldn’t open and he felt a great, all-pervasive fatigue. He whimpered once and then surrendered to it.
He didn’t think of death and dying; he thought of something very cold crawling over his body. When it reached his face, he turned to it and, like a baby seeking its mother’s breast, he moved his lips and swallowed.
They found him with his eyes sewn closed, his lips pursed, and his arms holding his twisted little body.