You Can Say That Again

‘They mustn’t know about us. You had better go.’

She put her hand on my arm.

‘For God’s sake, Jerry, don’t believe what that old bitch tells you. Don’t believe what Durant tells you. Believe what I am telling you!’

I looked into the haunted despair in her eyes. I thought of Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine.

‘Listen to me!’ she went on. ‘Don’t believe what anyone tells you, Jerry. Believe me!’

I moved her to the door.

‘Yes. Relax. I am on your side.’

She paused at the door.

‘For your sake, Jerry, remain on my side. Don’t let them persuade you. I’m warning you. That old bitch and Durant are evil, greedy devils. They could murder me, Jerry. They could murder you.’

There was this desperate, wild note in her voice that brought back all my old fears.

‘I’ll find a solution,’ I said and opened the door.

She peered out into the corridor, then whispered, ‘We have so little time, Jerry. I will come tomorrow night. Find the solution,’ then she moved swiftly and silently down the corridor.

Closing the door, I walked out onto the balcony. I stood looking down at the moon lit grounds. Mrs. Harriet had said Loretta was crazy. She had to be! Yet there was that warning! They could murder me! They could murder you!

I forced myself to face the frightening facts. I was sure they had murdered Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine.

Panic gripped me.

I sat down and tried to calm myself.

I thought of John Merrill Ferguson with his warm friendly smile. You are too valuable to lose.

I thought of Mrs. Harriet. The baby boy was miscarried. From that moment, Etta went mentally to pieces. She began having delusions.

The iron barred windows of the left wing was where Loretta was confined when she had her attacks, but according to her, it was where John Merrill Ferguson, mentally ill, was confined.

His room is above mine. I hear him walking up and down, up and down. He sounds like a caged animal.

Delusions?

I rubbed my sweating face with the back of my hand.

This morning, I had met and talked with John Merrill Ferguson in his office. The footfalls she claimed to have heard must be a delusion. Ferguson was certainly not locked in the left wing suite. Then I thought of Loretta’s haunted, despairing eyes as she told me. Was someone locked up there?

I had to find out!

Getting to my feet, I went into the living room and tried the door. It was still unlocked. Moving silently, I walked down the corridor to the head of the stairs. The light was on, but there was no guard. Mazzo had said that I was one of them now. It looked as if the guards had been removed. I paused for a long moment figuring out how I could reach the left wing. I retraced my way back to the main corridor, then walked down the left hand corridor which was dimly lit. I wished I knew the geography of this immense house. I remembered from seeing the outside, the barred windows were at the far end, so cautiously, moving silently, I kept on.

Ahead of me was a bend in the corridor. I paused and edged myself forward so I could look down the further stretch of corridor. There was no guard. No one was in sight. I moved forward again. There were four doors leading off the corridor: all would be on the front side of the house.

There had been three barred windows. I passed the first door, then edged up to the second door; the first room with barred windows. I gently tried the door handle, but the door was locked. I put my ear against the door panel and stood for a long moment, listening and hearing nothing. I moved further down the corridor to the third door. Again I tried the handle: the door was locked. Once again, I put my ear against the door panel.

What I heard made the short hairs on the nape of my neck bristle: the steady thump-thump sound of pacing footfalls.

Listening intently, I heard a man clear his throat.

There was a pause, then the sound of the footfalls continued.

I stepped away from the door.

Loretta hadn’t been imagining this sound. This was no delusion! There was a man in there, pacing, as she had said, like a caged animal!

It couldn’t be John Merrill Ferguson. I had met him only hours ago, smiling warmly, telling me I was too valuable to lose. So who could it be?

As I moved to the door again to listen, I felt something touch my leg.

The soft feeling against my leg nearly made me launch from the pad.

I jumped away and looked down.

Mrs. Harriet’s poodle sat back on its haunches and waved its paws at me.

* * *

I lay on the bed in the moon lit bedroom, unable to sleep, my mind churning.

Who was the man imprisoned behind the barred windows? One thing I was certain of he wasn’t John Merrill Ferguson as Loretta had claimed him to be.

Hadn’t I met Ferguson this morning? Hadn’t he given me a seven year contract, and had said I was too valuable to lose.

Who could this prisoner be?

I had returned to my rooms with the poodle following me. I had shut the door in its face. I was scared it would begin yapping, but it didn’t.

Now, on the bed, I thought of the man pacing up and down, of Loretta who said she would come again.

My nerves were stretched to breaking point. I tried to reassure myself that Loretta was crazy. I would tell Mrs. Harriet in the morning that Loretta was pestering me. Maybe it was time for her to be confined.

Through the open window I could see the moon was nearly full.

Confined?

I remembered Mrs. Harriet had said that the rooms with the iron bars were for Loretta when she got out of control.

The rooms with the iron bars already held a prisoner!

I got off the bed, knowing I wouldn’t sleep and I went into the living room and turned on the desk light.

This house was weighing down on me: I longed to get away. Something evil was going on: something far too complicated for me to solve.

I sat behind the desk.

There was a heavy oppressive silence in the house.

The only sound I could hear was the steady beating of my heart. The moon light made patterns on the carpet.

The desk clock showed 01.50.

I tried to reason with myself. This was no business of mine. I was now a member of the Ferguson staff. I had signed a contract for seven years to impersonate Ferguson when he was away at the staggering salary of one hundred thousand dollars a year.

Consider yourself lucky, I tried to tell myself. Not in your wildest dreams have you ever thought you would get such a job. How Lu Prentz would gape if he knew!

Go to bed! Go to sleep! What goes on here is nothing to do with you. In a few days, John Merrill Ferguson had told me, he would be back, and you would stay at the luxury cabin by the sea. You would take Sonia out to dinner: a few more days!

But the ghosts of Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine seemed close to me. The desperate eyes of Loretta haunted me. Mrs. Harriet and her poodle seemed to be in the room.

So I sat there, in utter silence, scared, feeling the silence pressing in on me.