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“I'm not being childish, darling,” he said to Selena. “It's just that I love you so, and I want to know every single thing about you.”

“Then couldn't you wait until I'm ready to tell you?” she asked.

“Of course, darling,” said Tim. “There's no hurry. We have the rest of our lives to talk and find out about each other.”

After every such argument, things went well between them for a short time, but then, invariably, Tim would begin again, and what hurt Selena most of all was that he usually chose a time immediately after they had finished making love.

“What did you and Carter do during all the years you were such dear, good friends?” he asked.

“Just what most other kids do,” she replied, and prayed silently that he would stop the slightly twisted smile from appearing on the mouth she had just kissed.

“We went to school, and to dances and talked about getting married someday. Just kid stuff.”

“Didn't you ever neck?”

“Yes,” said Selena.

“Ah. Now the truth begins to emerge. Was he good at it?”

“Tim,” she asked quietly, “what does it do for you to hear about such things? Do you get a big bang out of thinking of me kissing someone else?”

“Just answer my question,” he ordered.

“I don't know,” she said. “Ted was the only boy I ever kissed while I was growing up so I really have no basis for comparison.”

“Do you mean to say that in a town like Peyton Place kids don't play kissing games?” he demanded, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Of course they do,” she replied wearily.

“And you, of course, being so pure and virginal, refused to participate in these games. Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

Selena jumped up from the bed and pulled a robe around her.

“For God's sake, Tim,” she cried, “will you cut it out. You're just like a goddamned peeping Tom.”

“Well, did you or didn't you?”

“Did I or didn't I what?”

“Join in the kissing games.”

“Of course I did. Every kid does.”

“Then you lied to me about Carter being the only boy you ever kissed.”

“For God's sake,” Selena shouted, “how can I remember every boy who was at every party I ever went to.”

“If you'd lie about kissing, Heaven only knows what else you'd lie about.”

“You're sick!” Selena yelled.

“Don't shout, darling,” he said with maddening patience. “And I'm not the one who's sick. People who lie to others and to themselves are the sick ones.”

“I don't lie,” said Selena evenly. “I never have and I'm not about to start now.”

She began to dress, keeping her head averted so that he wouldn't see the tears that she couldn't keep from rolling down her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I'm getting dressed,” she replied. “I'm going home.”

He was at her side at once. He turned her around to face him and kissed the tears away from her face.

“Darling,” he said contritely, “I am an absolute heel. I didn't mean to make you cry. Please forgive me.”

“Forget it,” said Selena. “I just want to go home.”

His arms went around her, holding her tightly against him.

“Don't say that,” he said and his voice was harsh with fear. “Don't ever say that. If I lost you I couldn't bear it.”

“I have to go,” said Selena wearily. “I can't take any more arguing, or sarcasm, or your terrible accusations. I'm all punched out, Tim. I just can't stand it any more.”

“Please,” he begged, and now tears rolled down his cheeks. “Please, darling. Forgive me just this once more. I'll never do it again.”

And then, unknowing and uncaring, Selena gave him one last hostage. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed against his cheek.

“You don't even have to ask me,” she said. “Of course, I forgive you. I could never leave you and we both know it. The idea of living without you is something I can't even begin to imagine. I'll never, never leave you.”

And again it was better for a while, but now Selena found herself waiting for the quarrels to come. She was constantly tense, watching for the signs that would warn her of the approaching storm. At night she often lay awake, wondering why Tim's constant probing and prying affected her as it did, but the only conclusion she could come to was that she had never been a dweller in the past and that not being so was the only way she had managed to survive at all. She knew, too, that there had been times when she could not remain in complete control of her thinking and then she would have terrible nightmares about her mother, Nellie, in which she saw her mother hanging, dead, a corpse with a black face and congested eyes that moved on the end of a silken cord with every breath Selena drew. At other times she dreamed of running while a gigantic all-powerful Lucas chased her and then she would scream in her sleep until Joey came into her room and shook her awake.

“Time,” Matthew Swain had said. “It may be a cliché, but it's true that it heals all wounds.”

It happened the way the doctor had said it would. As the years passed, Selena's bad dreams recurred less and less frequently until at last they ceased altogether and the only time she gave in to fear was once every year on the day of the first snow. Until she had fallen in love with Tim Randlett. Now the nightmares were back, the fear, the sleepless nights. For Selena knew that soon now, Tim would get around to asking her about Lucas and Nellie and the trial and that she would have to dredge up the buried ugliness and show it to him in detail.

I won't think about it, she told herself as she tossed in her bed. I won't talk about it, and if Tim wants to get ugly about it, I'll leave him.

But she knew she would not leave him, no matter what he asked of her, and the sleepless nights grew longer and Selena gagged at the sight of food, and her brother Joey said, “What's the matter Selena?” and she had no answer for him.

I'll be calm, she thought. I won't let myself become upset about anything. Tim loves me. He's not cruel.

And that much was true. Tim Randlett did love her, in his fashion, and he was not a cruel man. It was just that now he fancied himself in the role of psychiatrist and had convinced himself that the dark secrets which festered in Selena's mind were like a poison that coursed through her body and that would end up by destroying her and, therefore, him. He saw himself as a great healer and believed that the feeling of accomplishment he got from fitting one small piece of information after another into the puzzle of Selena's background was the joy of a scientist on the brink of discovery, and he never admitted to himself that there was something unlovely and perverse in his excitement.

“I only want what's good for you,” he told her.

And Selena believed him because there was nothing else she could do.

They were on the couch in the living room of his cottage one sunny afternoon at the end of August, he sitting up and Selena lying down with her head in his lap. He stroked her hair gently away from her forehead, and Selena had the wonderful floating feeling she always had after they had made love and were quiet and close together. She was on the very edge of sleep when he spoke.

“Tell me about Lucas,” he said.

For a moment, Selena was absolutely still; calmness filled her the way it sometimes will when someone has been terribly shocked and thinks, Now the worst has happened, whatever comes after this can't help but be better. But then her heart began to pound and she began to tremble.

“Stop it, Tim,” she cried. “I don't want to talk about Lucas or anything connected with him.”

“You have to, darling,” he said gently. “It's the only way you'll ever get rid of it.”

She tried to get up, but he had twisted her long hair around his hand and she was held fast.

“Let go of me,” she demanded.

“Darling, don't be afraid,” he said softly. “Believe me, I only want what's good for you. You have to talk about it, darling. You can't go the rest of your life with all that hatred bottled up inside you.”

“I don't hate Lucas any more,” she said. “I stopped hating him the second he died.”

“That's not true,” said Tim.

This time she pulled away from him with such a wrench that he let go of her hair in surprise. She stood up and faced him, her eyes blazing with anger and pain.

“What the hell do you know about it?” she cried. “You with your insulated childhood and your playacting and your games of psychiatrist and patient. You don't know anything about anything real. All right. I'll tell you about Lucas. Maybe that'll shatter your sickening smugness.”

“Don't shout, darling,” Tim said in the patient, conciliatory tone that maddened her.

“I'll shout all I want,” cried Selena. “You want to hear about Lucas. Well, I'll tell you. He was a pig, a drunk and the worst son-of-a-bitch that ever lived. When I was fourteen he knocked me unconscious and tore my clothes off and raped me. And after that, I don't even remember how many times, he'd send my brother Joey out and he'd lock the door and he'd beat me before he got on top of me.”

She was standing in front of him, bent forward, with her fists clenched while she screamed. He took her wrists and tried to pull her down next to him on the couch.

“Please, darling,” he said, almost frightened at the change in her.

She pulled away from him and kicked his shin when he tried to stand up.

“Sit down,” she shouted. “You wanted to hear it and now you'll sit still until I finish. The times when Lucas knocked me out weren't the worst times, you know. It was when I was only stunned and before I could pick myself up off the floor he grabbed me and tied me to the bed and then did it to me. Then I'd be awake and aware of every second and I'd feel him hurting me and smell his sweat and his breath and hear him grunting like a rooting pig. Those were the worst times. What's the matter, Tim? Don't you like the grubby details? My mother knew. I don't know how, but she knew. I'd catch her looking at me and I knew she knew. And Lucas was careful, too. Careful as could be. He'd wait until she was out working before he'd get to me. He was big, Tim. Bigger than you. And most of the time I'd bleed before he got through with me. Lucas didn't bleed though. He got me pregnant and I had an abortion.”

Her whole body was shaking now and her breath hurt in her throat.

“I didn't really have to, you know,” she said, and her voice was softer now with an almost weird hush. “Have an abortion, I mean. Lucas wasn't my flesh-and-blood father. The baby would probably have been all right. Not an idiot or anything. Lucas used to say that while he was on top of me. That I wasn't his own daughter. It seemed to excite him, as if I were a stranger. No. I didn't really have to have the abortion, but I did. I bled then, too, but not Lucas. Lucas never bled at all until I killed him. And then he bled. Oh, how he bled. Blood gushed from him like a fountain, and I kept on hitting him.”

Selena's eyes gleamed and her mouth was like a cut in her white face.

“I killed him,” she whispered. “I hit him over the head, and I hit him and hit him and hit him until he was dead, and I enjoyed every minute of it. When I was finished his head was like an egg that had been shattered and I was happy for the first time in years. Lucas was dead, like my mother. Like my baby.”

She stopped and stood still, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her dark hair falling over the side of her face.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” she asked at last, not looking at him.

Tim came to her and she could hear the heavy sound of his breath. He was almost panting and when she did look up she could hardly believe what she saw. His eyes were gleaming and his hands trembled as he reached for her.

“Darling,” he whispered hoarsely.

And when he pulled her close to him she could feel his excitement. Too late, she tried to turn and run from him but he held her tightly.

“So you do remember,” he said. “You remember how big and strong he was, like a bull. You've never forgotten him.”

Selena beat against his chest and tried to bring her knee up, but she could not move.

“A girl always remembers her first lover,” he said softly. “Especially if she's been raped.”

His hands were hard on her, hurting her through the thin material of her summer dress, and when he kissed her his mouth was heavy and wet and merciless. She twisted and pushed against him and panic was a sickness that threatened to engulf her.

“That's what you've wanted all along,” Tim said. “To be raped, the way Lucas raped you. Every time I took you in my stupid, gentle way, you were remembering him and how big and brutal he was. Well, I can be that way too. Like this.”

But when he tried to push her down on the floor she managed to break away from him. She ran around the table in front of the fireplace and her hands found the fire tongs as if they had been waiting for her.

“I'll kill you!” she screamed as he started for her. “Don't move, or I'll kill you!”

But Tim was beyond listening or caring. He crept closer to her, and when he was close enough she swung the tongs in a great arc and struck him. If he had not moved at the last second, the tongs would have struck him on the side of the head. But he did move, so that only his shoulder was hit, and he staggered backward and fell over the table and landed against the stone floor in front of the fireplace.

For a moment he was still, and in those few seconds Selena looked down at her hand and saw it clutched around the tongs. She watched in horror as her arm started to raise itself to strike again, and just then Tim groaned and sat up. Selena stared at him and then back at the weapon in her hand.

Almost! screamed a voice inside her head. Almost! I almost killed him!

And she turned and ran out of the cottage. She ran through the woods, dappled green and yellow in the summer sun, and she ran to the highway that led to Peyton Place.