those promises come true, for both of us.
“I am your friend, Eddie. Believe that. I’m the only friend you ever had. You can trust me. You must trust me. You will trust me.”
It was like something you hear in a dream, something you hear when you’re under ether, something you hear when you’re under hypnosis. Hypnosis. Those slitted eyes of his, staring and staring at me... “You’ll have everything,” droned the voice. “I’ll stay in the background and you’ll get the glory, the fame, the money, the power. That’s the way it’s going to be. Never doubt it for an instant. You’re Judson Roberts, remember? And I’m just...nobody.”
I shook off the voice, shook off the stare, and looked at nobody, sitting there in the chair. His head was like a skull, and then it changed. Maybe it was the slitted eyes and the slitted mouth. Maybe it was something else. But all of a sudden, it hit me. For the first time I realized that Professor Hermann looked like the Devil.
He sat there, and his pudgy hands closed over a shadow. It was only a shadow, but he held it tightly now and I knew he would never let it go.
He held my soul...
The inquest was a routine thing. I didn’t even have to get up on the stand. Lorna was there, of course, and she saved the day. She’d learned something about acting all right, and she gave the performance of her life. She sobbed and gasped and murmured at all the right times; she trembled and quivered in all the right places.
After she finished her testimony, it was in the bag. Mr. Himberg said a few words, and so did the Professor, but the verdict was already set. Accidental death. Of course, as the Professor reminded me, a coroner’s inquest verdict can always be set aside, pending the introduction of new evidence. But there wouldn’t be any new evidence, as long as I was a good boy.
By common consent, we scattered as soon as we got outside. Himberg escorted his starlet through the newspaper gauntlet, and Lorna did an encore of her performance. The Professor drove off with Miss Bauer, after arranging to meet me at his office in the morning. We were going to get started and he suggested I get a good night’s sleep.
As for me, I teetered on the edge of the curb for a moment—and then
The dusty, battered convertible slid to a halt alongside me and she said, “Oh, dear! I’m late again—it’s all over, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “That’s right, Ellen.”
“Well, I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry. I missed it on purpose, you know. I—I didn’t want to hear about it.” She shivered, slightly. “The whole thing just makes me sick. People like Lorna and Mike, ruining their lives. But who am I to talk?” She shivered again. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”
“Just on my way home,” I told her.
“Climb in.”
I did so, murmuring my address. She made a U-turn at the corner. She drove expertly, and today the apricot scent came through untainted by alcohol.
“If you came late on purpose,” I said, “why did you bother to stop by at all?”
“Please, Mr. Roberts. You shame me.” But she wasn’t ashamed as she continued. “You know why I came. It was to see you and to apologize for my rudeness the other night.”
I blinked. It had been a long time since I’d heard any straight answers.
“You were very kind and patient with me,” she continued. “I appreciate that.”
“And I appreciate your frankness, Ellen. I’m not used to honesty lately.”
“You mean your friend, the Professor?”
She caught me off guard for a moment. “The Professor? What do you know about him?”
“Oh, nothing, really. Except that my uncle tells me he used to run some kind of fake mail-order health cult until the postal authorities cracked down on him. Are you working for him?”
“No. He’s just...advising me.”
“I see.” She smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“All right.” I lit a cigarette and leaned back. I could sense her nearness, could sense how it would be if she were even nearer. She wouldn’t be like Lorna, full of gasp and frenzy; her love would not be blind—blind eyes, blind mouth, blind body groping for frantic fulfilment. No, she’d be soft and warm and steady and sure. I could feel the kindness and the comfort here, and I wanted it very badly. I needed it very badly.
But it was not mine to take. So I puffed on my cigarette and moved away while she threaded through the traffic.
“You could say you’re glad to see me, you know,” she said.
“I could. But I won’t.”
“Oh. And why not?”
“Because if I did, you’d believe me. And of course, I’d ask you to dinner tonight. And we’d go somewhere and talk. And because you’re honest, I’d want to be honest too. And so I’d tell you all about myself. Then you’d hate me.”
“Are you that bad, Mr. Roberts?”
“Worse.”
“I must say you administer a very subtle brush-off.”
I half-turned in my seat, facing her. “Believe me, Ellen, it’s not that. I wish I could explain, but I can’t. If I could only have met you three months ago, before all this happened; if you had only slid under my door instead of that hundred-dollar bill—”
She was staring at me curiously, and I didn’t blame her. I’d said too much already.
“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
I started a laugh, but it came out as a grunt.
“Trouble? It all depends what you call trouble. Right now I’m getting ready to take my place sitting on top of the world. The throne has already been built. But it’s not going to be an easy seat. And there’s only room for one.”
“I see.”
She didn’t, of course. All she saw was that she’d made another mistake—come crawling to a guy she hoped would be kind, and found out that he was just a conceited heel. I wondered if she’d get drunk again tonight. I knew I probably would, meeting or no meeting.
We drove on in silence. It was the worst strain I’d ever felt in all my life. I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to confess, tell her everything. Something about her hypnotized me. It was the same reaction I had to the Professor. If she told me to jump out of the car and kill myself, I’d probably do it. She wouldn’t even have to tell me—just a look would be enough.
A horrid thought crawled out and leered. Suddenly I was back three months ago, sitting in Larry Rickert’s office and trying to stare down Professor Hermann’s eyes. Had it been hypnosis then? Had Professor Hermann communicated with me through extra-sensory perception that afternoon, had he planted the seed, told me to go home and kill myself? I’d always wondered why I’d had that inexplicable impulse, and now everything was falling into place.
He never did anything without a purpose. He left nothing to chance. He’d arranged it all: even timed it so that he’d show up and stop me with that hundred-dollar bill. Yes, he knew how to choose his man. Professor Hermann found me open to the power of suggestion, the power of darkness. He was the Devil, and he had work for idle hands to do.
I opened my mouth. I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to say, “Ellen, don’t stop at my place. Just keep on driving. We can be in Mexicali, you and I, before midnight. We can get married down there and just keep right on going. You need me. I need you. What do you say?”
I opened my mouth, but the Professor closed it for me. What had he said? “You will do just as I say, and not plan anything rash, like running away.”
So I didn’t tell Ellen. I didn’t take her in my arms and bury my face in the apricot fragrance of her hair, seek the ripeness of her lips, enjoy the rich harvest of her body.
She drove silently, swiftly, surely, with never a word or a glance for me. And then came the screech of brakes
