didn't want to throw it out because it might come in handy
someday. Meantime, our janitors were using it as a gigantic sort of
wastebasket. When it was full of trash, they'd dump it into the back
of the truck on trash day and then fill it up again.
'I think it was the crate Badlinger's damned stuffed monster came
back from England in that put the idea in my head. I began to see
how your Tasmanian devil could be gotten rid of. And that started
me thinking about something else I wanted to be rid of. That I
wanted so badly to be rid of.
'I had my keys, of course. I let myself in and went downstairs. The
crate was there. It was a big, unwieldy thing, but the janitors' dolly
was down there as well. I dumped out the little bit of trash that was
in it and got the crate onto the dolly by standing it on end. I pulled
it upstairs and wheeled it straight across the mall and back to
Amberson.'
'You didn't take your car?'
'No, I left my car in my space in the English department parking
lot. I couldn't have gotten the crate in there, anyway.'
For Dex, new light began to break. Henry would have been driving
his MG, of course--an elderly sportscar that Wilma had always
called Henry's toy. And if Henry had the MG, then Wilma would
have had the Scout--a jeep with a fold-down back seat. Plenty of
storage space, as the ads said.
'I didn't meet anyone,' Henry said. 'At this time of year--and at no
other--the campus is quite deserted. The whole thing was almost
hellishly perfect. I didn't see so much as a pair of headlights. I got
back to Amberson Hall and took Badlinger's crate downstairs. I left
it sitting on the dolly with the open end facing under the stairs.
Then I went back upstairs to the janitors' closet and got that long
pole they use to open and close the windows. They only have those
poles in the old buildings now. I went back down and got ready to
hook the crate--your Paella crate--out from under the stairs. Then I
had a bad moment. I realized the top of Badlinger's crate was gone,
you see. I'd noticed it before, but now I realized it. In my guts.'
'What did you do?'
'Decided to take the chance,' Henry said. 'I took the window pole
and pulled the crate out. I eased it out, as if it were full of eggs. No
... as if it were full of Mason jars with nitroglycerine in them.'
Dex sat up, staring at Henry. 'What... what...'
Henry looked back somberly. 'It was my first good look at it,
remember. It was horrible.' He paused deliberately and then said it
again: 'It was horrible, Dex. It was splattered with blood, some of
it seemingly grimed right into tile wood. It made me think of... do
you remember those joke boxes they used to sell? You'd push a
little lever and tile box would grind and shake, and then a pale
green hand would come out of the top and push the lever back and
snap inside again. It made me think of that.
'I pulled it out--oh, so carefully--and I said I wouldn't look down
inside, no matter what. But I did, of course. And I saw...' His voice
dropped helplessly, seeming to lose all strength. 'I saw Wilma's
