The Voice of the Night

He hurried along Broadway toward Adams Avenue, but after only a few steps he stopped because he suddenly realized that he would have to undertake the last part of his journey with the same caution that had marked it thus far. Roy might intend to ambush him within a few feet of his front door. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was positive that’s what would happen. Roy would most likely lie in wait directly across the way from the Jacobs house; half that block was a pocket park with many hiding places from which he could observe the entire street. The instant he saw Colin approaching the house, he would move; he would move real fast. For just a moment, as if briefly cursed with a clairvoyant’s vision, Colin could see himself being clubbed to the ground, being stabbed, being left there in blood and pain to die within inches of safety, on the threshold of sanctuary.

He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, trembling. He stood there for quite a while.

— Got to move, kid.

Where?

— Call Weezy. Ask her to come get you.

She’ll tell me to walk. It’s only a few blocks.

— So tell her why you can’t walk.

Not on the phone.

— Tell her Roy’s out there, waiting to kill you.

I can’t make it sound right on the phone.

— Sure you can.

No. I’ve got to be there when I tell her. Otherwise, it won’t sound right, and she’ll think it’s a joke. She’ll be mad.

— You’ve got to try to do it on the phone so she’ll come get you. Then you’ll get home safely.

I can’t do it on the phone.

— What’s the alternative?

Finally he walked back to the service station near the dry creekbed. A telephone booth stood on one comer of the property. He dialed the number and listened to it ring a dozen times.

She wasn’t home yet.

Colin slammed down the receiver and left the booth without recovering his dime.

He stood on the sidewalk, hands fisted at his sides, shoulders hunched. He wanted to punch something.

— The bitch.

She’s your mother.

— Where the hell is she?

It’s business.

— What’s she doing?

It’s business.

— Who’s she with?

It’s just business.

— I’ll bet.

The service-station attendant started closing for the night. The banks of fluorescent lights above the pumps blinked out.

Colin walked west on Broadway, through the shopping district, just passing time. He looked in store windows, but he didn’t see anything.

At ten minutes past one, he went back to the telephone booth. He dialed his home number, let it ring fifteen times, then hung up.

— Business my ass.

She works hard.

— At what?

He stood there for several minutes, one hand on the receiver, as if he were expecting a call.

— She’s out screwing around.

It’s business. A business dinner.

— This late?

A long, late business dinner.

He tried the number again.

No answer.

He sat down on the floor of the booth, in the darkness, and hugged himself.

— She’s out screwing around when I need her.

You don’t know for sure.

— I know.

You can’t.

— Face it. She screws like everyone else.

Now you sound like Roy.

— Sometimes Roy makes sense.

He’s crazy.

— Maybe not about everything.

At one-thirty he stood up, popped a dime into the phone, and called home again. It rang twenty-two times before he hung up.

It might be safe to walk home now. Wasn’t it too late for Roy to keep a vigil? He was a killer, but he was also a fourteen-year-old boy; he couldn’t stay out all night. His folks would wonder where he was. They might even call the cops. Roy would be in terrible trouble if he stayed out all night, wouldn’t he?

Maybe. And maybe not.

Colin wasn’t sure that the Bordens really cared what Roy did or what happened to him. So far as Colin knew, they had never set down rules for their son, other than the one about staying away from his father’s trains. Roy did pretty much what he wanted, when he wanted.

Something was wrong with the Borden family. The relationships were curious, indefinable. Theirs was not a traditional parent-child arrangement. Colin had met Mr. and Mrs. Borden only twice; but both times he had sensed the strangeness in them, in their attitudes toward each other, and in their treatment of Roy. Mother, father, and son seemed like strangers. There was a peculiar stiffness in the way they talked among themselves, as if they were reciting lines from a script they hadn’t learned very well. They were so formal. They almost seemed… afraid of one another. Colin had been aware of a coldness in the center of the family, but he had never spent much time wondering about it. Now that he gave it some thought, however, he realized that the Bordens were like people living in a rooming house; they smiled and nodded when they passed in the hall; they said hello when they met in the kitchen; but otherwise they led separate, distant lives. He didn’t know why that was true. Something had happened to turn them away from one another. He couldn’t imagine what it might have been. But he was certain that Mr. and Mrs. Borden wouldn’t care very much if Roy stayed out until daybreak or even disappeared forever.

Therefore it wasn’t safe for him to walk home. Roy would be waiting.

Colin dialed the number again, and he was surprised when his mother answered on the second ring.

“Mom, you’ve got to come get me.”

“Skipper?”

“I’ll wait for you at-”

“I thought you were upstairs, asleep.”

“No. I’m over at-”

“I just got in. I thought you were home. What are you doing out at this hour?”

“It’s not my fault. I was-”

“Oh, my God, have you been hurt?”

“No, no. I just-”

“You’re hurt.”

“No, just a few scrapes and bruises. I need-”

“What happened? What’s happened to you?”

“If you’d shut up and listen, you’d find out,” Colin said impatiently.