The Flesh of The Orchid (9 page)

For a long moment of time Roy crouched against the wall, scarcely breathing, his face livid, sweat soaking the bandage across his eyes.

Then:

“Steve!” he screamed wildly. “Quick, Steve! Save me!”

“He can’t help you,” Max said, crossing his legs. “Frank’s watching him. Nothing nor nobody can help you now. We’ve come to take care of you.”

“You wouldn’t kill a blind man,” Roy implored. “I’m blind! Look at me. I’m through . . . can’t you see I’m through? I’m no use to anyone.”

Max was staring at the bandage across Roy’s eyes.

“Take that rag off,” he said. “I don’t believe you’re blind.”

“I am,” Roy said, beating his clenched fists together. “I can’t take it off . . . my eyes will bleed.”

Max grinned, reached out, hooked his fingers under the bandage and jerked.

“Then let ‘em bleed,” he said.

Roy screamed.

“Enjoy yourself,” Frank called from the verandah.

Max was gaping at the ruin of Roy’s eyes.

“Hey, Frank,” he said. “Look at this punk’s mug. He’s had his eyes scratched out.”

“That’s fine,” Frank said languidly. “Saves us doing it.”

“You should see him,” Max urged. “It’s a sight for sore eyes,” and he laughed.

“Can’t be bothered,” Frank returned. “Me and my pal are comfortable out here.”

“Well, he’s sure in a mess,” Max said, tapped Roy’s shoulder. “How did it happen, ol’ man?”

Roy caught at the gloved hand, but Max shoved him off.

“She did it. She’s crazy and . . . a lunatic.”

“Who is?” Max asked, his dead eyes coming to life.

“The girl. . . Carol . . . we found her up on the hill. There’d been a truck smash . . . Steve nursed her . . . and she turned on me.”

Max leaned forward.

“What’s she like to look at?”

“A redhead,” Roy gasped. His face was a shiny mask of blood: blood ran into his mouth, stained his teeth. He looked inhuman. When he spoke he sprayed blood into Max’s face.

Max gave a little sigh, wiped his face with the back of his glove, went out on to the verandah.

“You’re taking your time, ain’t you?” Frank asked, surprised.

“That nut with the six million bucks,” Max said tersely. “The one the barman told us about: she’s here.”

Frank gave a sharp giggle.

“Don’t we get all the luck,” he said, poked Steve with his gun. “Pal, if only you knew what lucky guys we are. Where is she? Where have you hidden her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, bewildered.

“Yes, you do. The redhead . . . Carol, isn’t that her name? Where is she?”

“She’s run off. I was looking for her when you arrived.”

“Did she scratch him up like that?” Max asked.

Steve nodded.

“But she’s not mad. She was scared. . . .”

“O.K., so she’s not mad,” Max said, winked at Frank. “But we’d better find her.” He looked across the lake at the distant mountains. “Six million dollars is a lot of do-ra-me to be roaming around those peaks.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, “but first things first. What about the punk?”

“Sure; I haven’t forgotten him. We’ll fix him now. How shall we do it?”

“Little Bernie wanted it nice and slow,” Frank said. “Nothing fast and easy. We could drown him in the lake.”

Max shook his head.

“You’ve got drowning on the brain,” he said. “You always get wet when you drown anyone. When will you learn? Remember that twist we surprised in her bath? That was your idea: flooded the god-damn bathroom, spoilt a nice-looking ceiling and I got a cold. It hung around for weeks. No drowning forme.”

“I forgot,” Frank said apologetically. “Suppose we open his veins?”

“Too easy for him; besides, it’s messy. I thought if we got rid of these two we might stay here for a few days. I like it up here. We don’t want to mess up the cabin.”

“Keep the redhead until the fourteen days are up, is that what you mean?” Frank asked.

“That’s the idea. Then we could look after her—and her dough.”

Frank brooded for an inspiration.

“We could shove his face in a bucket of molasses. He’d suffocate slow that way,” he said at last, looked enquiringly at Steve. “Got any molasses, pal?”

Steve shook his. head. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Roy creeping along the verandah.

“Why don’t you give him a break?” he demanded loudly. “What’s he done to you?”

Roy had stopped and was crouched against the cabin wall, his head turned in their direction. The Sullivans had their backs to him, but he didn’t know that.

“We could make a bonfire of him,” Max suggested, ignoring Steve.

“Now that’s a swell idea,” Frank said. “Saves us burying him, too.”

At that moment Roy made his bid for freedom. He crept across the verandah, swung his leg over the rail, dropped to the ground. Then he began to run blindly.

The Sullivans glanced round, saw him.

“Keep to your left, Roy,” Steve bawled, seeing his brother was running towards the lake.

Roy swerved, bounded towards the pine woods.

“Now I wonder what he thinks he’s doing?” Max asked, and laughed. He raised his gun.

Steve made a movement, but Frank’s gun rammed into his ribs, winding him.

There was a sharp crack and a flash and Roy pitched forward on his face. He lay there for a moment, then began to crawl over the ground, his left leg limp.

“I’ll fix him now for good,” Max said, and walked down the steps of the verandah, across the yard. He overtook Roy, kicked him savagely, walked on to where the Packard was parked.

“You’re going to see something in a minute,” Frank said to Steve. “He’s got brains, that boy; and style—you’ve never seen such style.”

Roy was still crawling desperately towards the lake. He left a thin trail of blood behind him on the sandy ground.

Max reached the Packard, took from the boot a can of gasoline, walked after Roy.

Roy heard him coming, cried out, tried to crawl faster, fell over on his side.

“Don’t touch me,” he moaned as Max came up. “Leave me alone . . .  for God’s sake, leave me alone . . .!”

“Little Bernie says he hopes you rot in hell,” Max said, poured the gasoline over Roy’s shuddering body.

“No!” Roy screamed as the gasoline ran over his head. “You can’t do this to me! Steve! Help me! No. . . no. . . no . . .!”

Max fumbled in his pocket, found a match, struck it alight on his shoe.

“Here it comes, ol’ man,” he said, and laughed.

“Ever seen a guy burn?” Frank asked Steve. “Even when they’re dead they jump and twitch . . . like a chicken with its head chopped off. We burned a guy a couple of weeks ago. He went up like a firework and the crazy lug ran right back into his own house and set that on fire too . . .  burned his wife and kids.” Frank shook his head. “Take a look at that,” he went on, suddenly excited. “That’s what I call a blaze. He’s cooking fine now, ain’t he? Now watch him run . . . they always run. There! Didn’t I tell you? . . . Watch him!”

Steve shut his eyes, put his hands over his ears.

*     *     *

Something happened inside Carol’s head. It was as if her brain had turned completely over with a deafening
snap!
and at once the shadowy dream world in which she had been living suddenly came to life. Things which a moment before had blurred edges, dim colours and faint sounds became sharp-etched and vivid: like a film out of focus on the screen that has been suddenly adjusted. It was like bursting up into fresh air after diving too deeply in green silent water.

Carol thought she must have been dreaming that she was out in the pine woods, but now she realized that she had walked there in her sleep; it seemed to her to be the only explanation. She was surprised she could accept the shock of awakening so calmly and looked around for a familiar landmark to lead her back to the cabin. She saw through the trees the lake glittering in the moonlight and she walked towards it.

As she walked she tried to remember what she had been dreaming about before awakening. She had a vague recollection she had dreamed that Roy had come into her room, but it was nothing more than a vague recollection. She thought it was when Roy had come into her room that she had heard the
snap
inside her head. She wasn’t sure about this, but she knew some time recently a shutter or something like that had fallen inside her head. It had happened in the past, but she could not remember exactly when. When she thought about it she had a vague recollection of a room with blue-quilted walls and an electric lamp high up in the ceiling which was covered by a wire basket. It must have been something that had occurred in a dream, because the nurse was there: the nurse with the horrible look in her eyes, who said nothing, did nothing, but stared and pointed at her. Carol knew she had many such dreams, although she couldn’t remember them clearly. They were a jumble of dissociated figures and faces and rooms.

She wondered why she had come out here into the pine woods, and realized, with dismay, that she was half naked. She wondered if Steve had missed her and was looking for her, and she became anxious to get back to the cabin and find her pyjama jacket that had so mysteriously disappeared. She experienced a strange confused feeling of tenderness and embarrassment at the thought of him finding her like this. She wanted to tell him about the noise inside her head. That worried her. He might know what had happened: might be able to explain it to her.

It was when she was walking up the path from the lake that she saw the Sullivans. They were standing by the lake, looking away from her, talking. In the moonlight she could only see their black sharp-etched outlines, but it was enough.

She had no idea who they were, but they frightened her—as they would have frightened anyone who came upon them suddenly in the dark. So she stepped behind a tree, her arms across her breasts, and watched them walk quickly and silently into the woods, past her, down the path along the lake.

She saw their white, hard faces: faces that looked as if they had been carved out of cold mutton fat, and she shivered, knowing instinctively that they were dangerous and evil. Her thoughts flew to Steve, and she felt weak, wondering if they had harmed him.

When they had gone, she ran towards the cabin, her heart beating so fast that the beat was like a hammer-stroke against her side.

As she crossed the yard she came upon what was left of Roy: something that twitched and was arched back from the heat; a burned up, shrivelled object that was human only in outline.

To her this scorched nameless thing was just another dream figment, and she scarcely looked at it, believing it existed only in her mind, and anxious only to reach the lighted cabin to make sure that Steve was safe.

She ran up the steps, stood in the doorway and looked into the lighted sitting-room.

Steve was lying on the floor, tied hand and foot. He tried to sit up when he saw her.

She came to an abrupt stop, forgetting she was half naked, staring at the cords that bound him, horror in her eyes.

Seeing her like that: wild, beautiful, her skin like the smooth lustre of a pearl, Steve realized how much he loved her: that he had loved her almost from the moment he had found her, lying in the wrecked track: that he wasn’t going to restrain his feelings for her any more: that she was the only woman he could ever love.

“Carol!” he said. “Quick, darling. Get me free.”

She ran to him, dropped on her knees beside him, her arms going round him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her face close to his. “Tell me you’re not hurt.”

“It’s all right, but get me undone quickly. We’re in bad trouble, kid.”

“Dear Steve,” she said, her lips brushed his cheek. “I was so frightened.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her, “but get me undone.”

She pulled at the cords, but the knots were too tight and she ran to the kitchen, snatched up a knife. On her way back to the sitting-room she picked up Steve’s jacket, struggled into it, buttoned it across her.

“Hurry, Carol,” Steve called as she ran into the room. “They’ll be back.”

She slashed the cords and Steve struggled up, rubbed his wrists, smiled at her.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said. “But we’ve got to be quick. . . .”

She went to him, her arms going round his neck.

“I love you, Steve,” she said. “I was so frightened when I saw those two. I thought . . .  I don’t know what I’d do without you. . . .”

He drew her to him and kissed her.

For a moment of time they stood close, their lips touching, then he gently pushed her away from him.

“I’ve loved you all along, kid,” he said. “But we mustn’t waste time. Come on, we’ve got to get away. Get your clothes on and be quick.”

She ran into her bedroom, and Steve went out on to the verandah, looked across the yard. There was no sign of the Sullivans. He stood there, waiting, and in a moment or so Carol joined him. She was wearing her wool dress and there was a serene trusting look in her eyes as she ran to him.

“We’ve got to get their car,” Steve said, slipping his arm round her. “Keep in the shadows and run. . . .”

Together they ran down the verandah steps and across the yard. They could see the outline of the big Packard at the top of the road.

“We’re going to do it,” Steve said, slipped his arm round Carol and rushed her across the open ground into the moonlight.

The Sullivans, coming out of the wood at that moment, saw them.

Max shouted.

“Quick, Carol!” Steve panted. “Can you drive?”

“Yes,” she returned, “but we go together. I won’t leave you. . . .”

“I’m coming, but go ahead. I’ll try to stall them. Get the engine started. Run like hell, kid!”

“Stop!” Max shouted, a sharp threatening note in his voice.

Steve paused, turned to face them.

The Sullivans began to run towards him. He heard Carol start the Packard, and he spun on his heel, ran to the car.

Max shot from his hip.

Steve lurched, stumbled, reached the open door of the car as Max fired again.

“I’m hit, kid!” he gasped, pitched forward into the car, falling across Carol.

Blood from him ran across her hand.