obligation to report what was occurring in that house? But what could she report? She could not put any order to her explanation. What was really going on in there? She imagined conversations with detectives in urine-smelling rooms.
'I think they're trying to kill each other.'
'How do you know?'
'I was inside. The entire inside is unsafe.'
'What were you doing inside?'
She was not afraid of being charged with anything. Or was she? Perhaps if she had talked to Oliver. Touched him. Was that really Oliver she had seen, that ravaged, zombielike figure? Surely not the man she had loved. Loved? The word repelled her now.
Yet even the mute, worn figure of Oliver conveyed less terror than the house itself. It had become alive, a chilling, bloodless monster. The memory of its brutality recalled her body's punishment. Their mutual hate had breathed life into it. A house? She detested it now. Her revulsion gave her the strength to rise from the bed.
She could not stay another minute in her room. She dressed and went downstairs. At the desk she found a message. It was from Eve. 'Please call me ASAP.'
It was early in the morning, but she called anyway, reaching the disgruntled camp director, who was unco- operative until Ann insisted it was a matter of the utmost urgency.
'I haven't heard from either Mom or Dad in three weeks. I'm scared, Ann.' There was an unmistakable note of hysteria in her voice. 'Josh is a nervous wreck. We're worried sick.'
'They're probably still on vacation.'
'I don't believe that. Why was the telephone disconnected? I even sent them a telegram. It came back stamped 'undeliverable.' But my mail doesn't come back.'
'There,' Ann said bravely. 'They didn't leave a forwarding address. That means they're not planning to be away long.'
'I called both grandmas. They haven't heard from them, either. They're worried also.'
'I really don't think there's anything to worry about. They just needed to get away and took separate vacations.'
'I don't believe that, Ann. I'm sorry.'
Ann's words hadn't carried much conviction and she knew it.
'I intend to come home and see for myself,' Eve continued.
'Now, that is really absurd.' Ann's lips could barely form the response.
'Well, then, why don't they call? Why haven't they written? Whatever the differences between them, we're still their children.' She began to cry as her voice teetered on the edge of panic. Ann felt her own sob begin in her chest. They mustn't, she begged.
'I'll make a deal,' she said hurriedly. 'I'll find out where they are and tell them that they have got to call because you're worried. I'll call at the end of the day. I promise.' She needed time to think. And she had to keep them away from that monstrous house.
There was a long pause. She heard Eve's sniffling.
The agony was real, compelling. She wanted to hold the girl in her arms, comfort her.
'All right,' Eve replied, the words carrying an implied ultimatum.
'Just don't do anything foolish,' Ann warned, instantly sorry for what she had said, knowing it would put Eve on alert. 'Please,' she added.
‘I’ll wait for your call,' Eve said, colder now. Ann lingered for some time in the phone booth, her hands shaking. She dreaded going back to that house.
She walked, moving counter to the rush-hour foot traffic, careless in the way she crossed the streets, ignoring the honking horns.
She had no plan. Again she debated calling the police. Had she the right to meddle? Her thoughts were confused. One thing was certain. She would not, ever again, enter that house.
It looked as innocent as ever, its white facade and black shutters glittering in the sunlight. Stepping up to the door, she banged the clapper. Her hands shook. Her heart pounded. As before, there was a long silence. This time she vowed not to be deterred. She persisted, banging at a rhythmic pace, shrilly urgent, a persistent staccato. Sooner or later, they would answer.
When no one answered after twenty minutes, she began to bang the door with her fists.
'Please,' she cried. 'It's about the children. Please.'
She raised her voice to a scream. Nothing stirred in the neighborhood, which was as quiet and serene as ever. No one ever became involved. Everyone was protected by a big house, walled in. Besides, many of the residents had gone away for the summer, and the buzz of the air conditioners of the occupied houses nearby assured auditory privacy. Everybody was living his own life, unaware of the pain or outrage of others. How little relationship rich people really have to each other, she thought. Every house was a private armored ship in which its occupants steered their own course.
She determined to be relentless. Not to falter. The palm of her hand became numb with pain.
'I know you're in there,' she cried.
Something flashed into her peripheral vision and she looked up suddenly. She saw his face in an upper window through an opening in the drapes. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she stepped backward.
