In Between (12 page)

“Jesus Christ!” he cried. He yanked out the chair and sat down, and sat staring in disbelief at the screen, still with the first page of the revised speech.

Watching him, Lori nodded in satisfaction. He was bone ignorant about word processors, computers. He picked up the printout and crumpled it, flung it down, and hit the print key. His eyes widened and color blanched from his face as the same words printed out:
Why me?
… With a wild cry he jumped to his feet and backed away from the desk.

In the end bedroom Sam was watching Captain Conkling, who had entered and gone straight to the bathroom, and only afterward noticed the manuscript on the bed. With an irritated expression, he picked it up, looked around, searching for the wastebasket, apparently. He started to toss the manuscript in it, then drew back and looked at it more closely. Frowning, he sat down on the bed and began to read.

Sam returned to Royce's room where he joined Lori on the sofa. “What's happening?”

In a grave voice she said, “I believe Royce is having a bit of a computer problem.”

Royce was across the room, his back to the computer, clutching the side table with both hands, his head bowed. Slowly he straightened, took another drink of scotch, then turned and started to inch toward the computer desk. He sidestepped it and yanked the cord from the wall socket.

“Always unplug the machine, wait a few seconds and plug it in again. First protocol for a computer glitch,” Lori said. She added, “Eight, nine, ten. Ready or not.”

Royce plugged it in again and sat down to reload the word processor and bring up the speech, complete with the first page. His finger hovered over the print key a moment or two before he hit it.
Why me?…

Royce cried out inarticulately and hit the print key again, then again. He was shaking all over as the pages of print rolled out. He yanked the print cable off the computer, grabbed the pages of hard copy, and ripped them to pieces. With fragments of paper all over the floor, crumpled sheets in or near the wastebasket, he pushed his chair away, sending it half way across the room. Then he reconnected the printer again and hit the print key.

He screamed when the words appeared:
Why me?
He dropped to his knees and held the desk top. “Stop it, Mal! For God's sake stop!” he cried. “I didn't mean to hurt you! My God, I wouldn't hurt you! I loved you, Mal. You know that. You're my father, my friend. Please forgive me. It was a mistake. Please.” His voice had started low and was no more than hoarse whisper when he stopped speaking one last word, “Please.” He hit the print key again.

Then, sobbing, he pressed his forehead against the desk. “Mal, I swear, I didn't know it was you!” His words became more and more incoherent, mixed with sobs.

Sam touched Lori's arm, and nodded toward the sliding glass door. Captain Conkling was in the doorway. He held out his arm blocking Colonel, who was at his heels. Neither man moved as Royce continued to sob and confess to the murder of his father-in-law.

“I thought it was Alex. It should have been him, Mal. Not you. I didn't want to hurt you, Mal. Not you for God's sake! Not you! I'm sorry, Mal. God knows I'm sorry.” His sobbing overcame the spoken words, and he knelt there at the desk with his forehead pressed against it crying like a small child.

Captain Conkling pulled Colonel away from the door and said, “I'll stay with him. Maybe you should go speak to the wife.” He pulled out his cell phone as Colonel shook his head.

“Guilty conscience. The man's been driven mad by a guilty conscience.”

Conkling scowled at him, motioned him away, and keyed in a number on his phone.

“Are we done here?” Lori asked.

“Let's make sure. I don't trust any of them,” Sam said. “If and when he gets his crew back and they begin acting like real law enforcement guys, that's time enough.”

Conkling was speaking on his cell phone, ordering his entire crew back to the resort as Colonel left. Suddenly Royce stood up. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Mal, just give me a sign that you forgive me. Please. I said I'm sorry. God knows I am. Please, Mal. Please.” He hit the print key and this time a scream of rage erupted. He grabbed his laptop and smashed it against the desk, snatched up the printer and hurled it against the wall and was sweeping papers off the desk before Conkling got to him, manhandled him to the floor and handcuffed him.

“Frothing at the mouth,” Lori said.

“He isn't frothing. That's plain old fashioned spit.”

“Spitting mad. That's what they used to say. I guess there's a reason,” she said. “I'm going to look in on Alex and Emma. Coming?”

“I'll hang out here until the cavalry comes. Not that I can do much if he makes a superhuman effort to break his bonds and escape into the uncharted wilderness up there.” He motioned toward the forest.

“Save it for your next play,” she said. “I'd say he isn't going anywhere except to the pokey.” She vanished.

That was true, Sam admitted, regarding Royce. He was still wearing the white robe, and his feet were bare. His face was puffy, his eyes red rimmed and he was quivering all over, mumbling incoherently, whimpering. The captain strode into the bedroom, glanced around, and his mouth became a hard, taut line when he saw the television, then the cellphone with a red recording light on. He didn't touch anything, returned to the sitting room and surveyed the mess on the desk, carefully stepping over scraps of paper, bits of plastic and glass, wet towels on the floor. He picked up a crumpled sheet of paper and made a grunting sound as he read:
Why me?…

He put the papers down on the desk and saw the tape recorder. He didn't touch it, but he gave Royce a look of disgust, then sat down to wait for his men. Royce continued to whimper and weep.

Alex and Emma were curled together so closely that it would have been hard to say where one stopped and the other began. Lori blew them another kiss and sought Sam.

“Let's beat it,” she said. “Do you really think they'll try to cover this up?”

“Nope. The captain found the cell phone, the television, the tape recorder. I do believe his Calvinist soul has been shocked. I'd say it's over. Where do you want to go?”

“It's a big world, and it's all ours. Up, up and away! Here, hold my hand. Away we go.”

• • •

Kate Wilhelm

Kate Wilhelm's first short story, “The Pint-Sized Genie” was published in
Fantastic Stories
in 1956. Her first novel,
More Bitter Than Death
, a mystery, was published in 1963. Over the span of her career, her writing has crossed over the genres of science fiction, speculative fiction, fantasy and magical realism, psychological suspense, mimetic, comic, family sagas, a multimedia stage production, and radio plays. She has recently returned to writing mysteries with her Barbara Holloway and the Charlie Meiklejohn and Constance Leidl Mysteries novels. Her works have been adapted for television, theater, and movies in the United States, England, and Germany. Wilhelm's novels and stories have been translated to more than a dozen languages. She has contributed to
Redbook, Quark, Orbit, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Locus, Amazing, Asimov's Science Fiction, Ellery Queen's Mysteries, Fantastic Stories, Omni
and many others.

Kate and her husband, Damon Knight (1922-2002), also provided invaluable assistance to numerous other writers over the years. Their teaching careers covered a span of several decades, and hundreds of students, many of whom are famous names in the field today. Kate and Damon helped to establish the Clarion Writer's Workshop and the Milford Writer's Conference. They have lectured together at universities in North and South America and Asia. They have been the guests of honor and panelists at numerous conventions around the world. Kate continues to host monthly workshops, as well as teach at other events. She is an avid supporter of local libraries.

Kate Wilhelm lives in Eugene, Oregon.

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