John Betancourt - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006

And to a man, they were always disappointed.

For a while, it seems like Peter might be the exception, might finally be the one who is different, but like all the others, it comes down to those few months she spent with Ted in Colorado.

After five dates and some kissing and squeezing, she has invited him over to her place for dinner, and she notes the little grimace as he comes into the living room and notices the plastic slipcover on the couch.

She says, “I just like to keep things clean, that’s all.”

“Oh, it’s okay hon,” he says, sitting down. “Just reminds me a bit of my grandma’s place. No offense.”

“None taken.”

She sits next to him and he starts talking about the upcoming weekend and what movie they might see, while she caresses his shoulder, and he smiles and leans over and the kiss and the room gets warmer, and he breaks away and says, “Is it safe?”

“Safe? Safe for what?”

That funny little smile. “Safe to go on. I’ve felt... a bit of tension, that there was a line I couldn’t cross. Patti, I want to kiss you and kiss you and keep on going, and you just seem... reluctant.”

She says nothing.

“Is it... is it because of Bundy? Is that it?”

So, another promise broken.

“Yes, yes it is,” she says.

“Dear heart,” he says, grasping her hand. “You’ve got to let it go... let the past go. Don’t let that evil bastard rule your life.”

Surprisingly enough, tears come to her eyes. “It’s hard. It’s so very hard.”

His voice is reassuring but the words strike home. “You can trust me,” he says. “Tell me everything that happened back there. Everything. I trust you. Honestly, I can help you. I know I can.”

She looks at that smiling face, the beard that she had trimmed, the hair she had cut back and caressed, and she kisses him and says, “You really want to help?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“You want to know what it was like? What I did back then?”

“Of course. But only to help.”

Sure, she thinks. Only to help.

“I bet you want to know what I learned, don’t you.”

A squeeze of her hand is the only answer he offers.

Another kiss, and she leans back and smiles and starts unbuttoning her blouse. “You stay right here, tiger. And I’ll be back after getting ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Another button unbuttoned, and then another. “Just you wait.”

His smile is brighter. “You’ve got it, Patti.”

She leaves the room, her legs trembling.

And on those long nights, staying in hotel rooms, she has wondered how it has all come to this. The long travels, the attempts to set up a peaceful and quiet existence, and then the need begins, the quiet urge that grows stronger and stronger. The hunger. The yearning. That burning feeling.

A feeling that can’t be ignored, until she goes to the phone book and finds a certain phone number, in each community she has lived in, and makes a quiet and unbidden phone call.

Every single time.

So now she is in the bathroom, disrobing. The blouse and slacks come off, and then the bra and the panties, until she is standing there, nude, looking at herself in the mirror. She briefly runs her hands across her skin, feeling its smoothness, feeling the muscles underneath it, the muscles from all those years of working out to make her strong and fit. No Ted was ever going to seduce her, ever again. And no Ted would ever try to harm her. She would never allow herself to be so vulnerable. Never again.

What did you learn, the men always asked. What did you learn?

And she remembered one man, Tom, up near Sun Valley, who asked perhaps the strangest question of them all: Love, he asked, did you learn how to love from Ted?

That thought brings a smile that she observes in the mirror.

For what she learned from Ted wasn’t love, but it was hate. Hate indeed. A hatred so long and so deep that she has carried it with her from town to town, city to city, like some cherished possession. One man, one town, one state at a time. And never to be caught.

A voice from the other side of the cottage. “You okay in there?”

She looks at her nude figure again in the mirror, and then strolls out.

“Coming, Peter!” she calls out, and as she walks to her new boyfriend, sitting patiently on the plastic slipcovered couch, she reaches into the breezeway leading outside and lovingly, gingerly, picks up the sharp axe from next to the woodpile.

It was a pretty house with a nice porch along the front and big white windows along one side of the door. I looked in while Miss Ascot rang the bell. The woman was on the telephone. I leaned against the window and listened.

“That must be the social worker now, Edna. I’ve got to go. Yes, I’m a little nervous, but lots of people do it. So I’m willing to take a chance.”

Miss Ascot put her finger on the button that rang the chimes again. They sounded nice. I like chimes.

“Yes, I’ll call you later and give you the word,” she laughed. “I’ll be worse off than she is if I have to spend another day with the children and no help. Bye, Edna.” She put the telephone down and came toward the door. I thought she was the prettiest lady I had ever seen.

“Miss Ascot. Come in.” She smiled and opened the screen door. She hadn’t looked at me. It almost seemed as though she kept her eyes away on purpose. Like she was afraid to look.

“This is Julia, Mrs. Kent. Julia, this is Mrs. Kent and she will be your new mistress. I’m sure that you and she will get along just fine. Particularly if you try your best to do everything Mrs. Kent tells you.”

I saw it then — in the corner of the living room. It was a big one, but its glass face was dark. I walked over to it and put my hand on its shiny wooden top.

“Julia!” Mrs. Ascot’s voice followed me. “Mrs. Kent was talking to you.” She lowered her voice a little, almost as though I couldn’t hear if she spoke below a shout. “She loves television. We got one at the institute and she did nothing else from morning to night but sit in front of it. We found we just had to be very firm. Outside of that one little fault I’m sure you’ll find Julia an excellent worker.”

My hand strayed across the cabinet, down toward the knobs. It was real mahogany.

“Yes, I’m sure I shall.” Mrs. Kent made her voice sound like Miss Ascot’s. “You said anyone I got would be — well, we understand. Does she have any peculiar habits?”

Miss Ascot’s voice sounded like ice cream tasted. “Julia is really quite bright, Mrs. Kent. We’re awfully pleased with her progress at the institute. She has been a star pupil. If anything goes wrong, you can reach me at this number. Now, perhaps, you’d like her to meet the children and then we’ll show her to her room.”

They walked off toward a big wide door that opened on a garden and I reached out my hand. I had carefully studied the knobs. I turned the one marked volume way down. Perhaps if they couldn’t hear...

It was cartoons. Crazy Cat. One I’d never seen. But Miss Ascot’s voice, followed by Miss Ascot, came across the room. She made the set black and she said, “Julia, you and Mrs. Kent will make arrangements about your leisure time. Until you have a schedule, you are not to watch TV. Now then, these are the children.” They were brown and strong-looking. Their names were Michael, the biggest; Gladys, next; and Frederick, the baby. They all had round blue eyes. Their mother’s eyes were brown. I wondered about their round blue eyes.