Cornell Woolrich - Nightwebs (A Collection of Stories)

There was a sudden commanding knock at Tom’s door on the third, and an “Open up here!” that left no room for argument. Tom opened it instantly, with a whining, “What do you want this time?” Then it closed again, luckily for Lew, and the detective was in there with Tom.

Lew heaved upward with all his might, and felt as if he were lifting the roof bodily off the house. His head and shoulders pushed through into the open night. He caught the two lower corners of the thing backhanded so it wouldn’t slam down again as he slipped out from under it, and eased it down gently on its frame. Before the opening had quite closed, though, he had a view down through it all the way to the bottom of the stair-well, and half-way along this, at the third floor, a face was sticking out over the bannister, staring up at him. The landlady, who had stayed out there eavesdropping. She had the same bird’s-eye view of him that he had of her.

He let go the skylight cover and pounded across the graveled tar toward the next roof for all he was worth. The detective would be up here after him in a minute now.

The dividing line between the two roofs was only a knee-high brick parapet easy enough to clear, but after that there was only one other roof, instead of a whole block-length of them. Beyond the next house was a drop of six stories to a vacant lot. The line of roofs, of varying but accessible heights, lay behind him in the other direction; he’d turned the wrong way in the dark. But it didn’t matter, he thought, as long as he could get in through the twin to the skylight he’d come out of.

He couldn’t. He found it by stubbing his toe against it and falling across it, rather than with the help of his eyes. Then when he knelt there clawing and tugging at it, it wouldn’t come up. Latched underneath like the first one had been!

There wasn’t any time to go back the other way now. Yellow light showed on the roof behind him as the detective lifted the trap. First a warning thread of it, then a big gash, and the dick was scrambling out on the roof-top. Lew thought he saw a gun in his hand, but he didn’t wait to find out. There was a three-foot brick chimney a little ways behind Lew. He darted behind it while his pursuer’s head was still turned up the other way. But the gravel under him gave a treacherous little rattle as he carried out the maneuver.

There was silence for a long time. He was afraid to stick his head out and look. Then there was another of those little giveaway rustles, not his this time, coming from this same roof, from the other side of the chimney.

Then with a suddenness that made him jump, a new kind of planet joined the stars just over his head, blazed out and spotted him from head to foot. A pocket-torch. Lew just pressed his body inward, helpless against the brick work.

“Come on, get up,” the detective’s voice said without any emotion, somewhere just behind the glare. To Lew it was like the headlight of a locomotive; he couldn’t see a thing for a minute. He straightened up, blinking; even thought he was going to be calm and resigned for a minute. “I didn’t do it,” he said. “Honest, I didn’t do it! Gimme a break, will you?”

The detective said mockingly that he would, sure he would, using an expression that doesn’t bear repetition. He collared Lew with one hand, by both sides of his coat at once, pulling the reveres together close up under Lew’s chin. Then he balanced the lighted torch on the lip of the chimney-stack, so that it stayed pointed at Lew and drenched him all over. Then he frisked him with that hand.

“I tell you I was just sitting next to him! I didn’t touch him, I didn’t put a finger on him!”

“And that’s why you’re hiding out on the roof, is it? Changed your suit, too, didn’t you? I’ll beat the truth out of you, when I get you where we’re going!”

It was that, and the sudden sight of the handcuffs twinkling in the rays of the torch, that made Lew lose his head. He jerked backwards in the detective’s grip, trying to get away from him. His back brushed the brick work. The flashlight went out suddenly, and went rattling all the way down inside the chimney. Lew was wedged in there between the detective and the stack. He raised the point of his knee suddenly, jabbed it upward between them like a piston. The detective let go Lew’s collar, the manacles fell with a clink, and he collapsed at Lew’s feet, writhing and groaning. Agonized as he was, his hand sort of flailed helplessly around, groping for something; Lew saw that even in the dark. Lew beat him to it, tore the gun out of his pocket, and pitched it overhand and backwards. It landed way off somewhere behind Lew, but stayed on the roof.

The detective had sort of doubled up in the meantime, like a helpless beetle on its back, drawing his legs up toward his body. They offered a handle to grab him by. Lew was too frightened to run away and leave him, too frightened that he’d come after him and the whole thing would start over. It was really an excess of fright that made him do it; there is such a thing. He grabbed the man around the ankles with both hands, started dragging him on his back across the gravel toward the edge of the roof, puffing, “You’re not gonna get me! You’re not gonna get me! You’re not taking me with ya while I know it!”

Toward the side edge of the building he dragged the detective. He didn’t bother looking to see what was below; just let go the legs, spun the detective around on his behind, so that the loose gravel shot out from under him in all directions, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him over head-first. The dick didn’t make a sound. Lew didn’t know if he was still conscious or had fainted by now from the blow in the groin Lew had given him. Then he was snatched from sight as if a powerful magnet had suddenly pulled him down.

Then Lew did a funny thing. The instant after the detective was gone, Lew stretched out his arms involuntarily toward where he’d been, as if to grab him, catch him in time to save him. As though he hadn’t really realized until then the actual meaning of what he was doing. Or maybe it was his last inhibition showing itself, before it left him altogether. A brake that would no longer work was trying to stop him after it was too late. The next minute he was feeling strangely light-headed, dizzy. But not dizzy from remorse, dizzy like someone who’s been bound fast and is suddenly free.

Lew didn’t look down toward where the man had gone, he looked up instead — at the stars that must have seen many another sight like the one just now, without blinking.

“Gosh, it’s easy!” he marveled, open-mouthed. “I never knew before how easy it is to kill anyone! Twenty years to grow ’em, and all it takes is one little push!”

He was suddenly drunk with some new kind of power, undiscovered until this minute. The power of life and death over his fellowmen! Everyone had it, everyone strong enough to raise a violent arm, but they were afraid to use it. Well, he wasn’t! And here he’d been going around for weeks living from hand to mouth, without any money, without enough food, when everything he wanted lay within his reach all the while! He had been green all right, and no mistake about it!

Death had become familiar. At seven it had been the most mysterious thing in the world to him, by midnight it was already an old story.

“Now let ’em come after me!” he thought vindictively, as he swayed back across the roof toward the skylight of the other house. “Now I’ve given ’em a real reason for trying to nab me!” And he added grimly, “If they can!”

Something flat kicked away from under his foot, and he stopped and picked up the gun that he’d tossed out of reach. He looked it over after he was through the skylight and there was light to examine it by. He’d never held one in his hand before. He knew enough not to squint down the bore, and that was about all he knew.