Bill Pronzini: Mourners

“Risa.”

The voice came from just behind her, and when she turned, there he was. Hunched inside a tan parka, his sandy hair windblown, his big hands clenched in front of him in a funny way that made it seem, in that first glance, as if he was about to start praying.

“Oh, Dave, hi. What’re you doing here?”

“Can I talk to you? I really need to talk.”

There was something in his tone that made her look closely at him. What she saw shocked her a little. There was so much anguish in his cold-reddened face, in his pale blue eyes, it was like he was wearing some sort of tragedy mask. He’d been sad and hurting ever since she’d known him, Saturday even more so than usual, but tonight… he seemed almost ravaged.

“Risa? Just for a few minutes?”

“Are you all right? Has something happened?”

“No, I just… I can’t keep it inside me anymore.”

“Can’t keep what inside you?”

“What happened, what I did. It’s tearing me up.”

“The accident, you mean? Your girl?”

“Yes… my girl. Please, Risa.”

Compassion rose in her. She knew that ravaged look all too well; she’d seen it often enough in her own reflection after Jerry, after Erin. She didn’t really want to talk to anyone tonight, least of all someone who was hurting as much as she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.

“All right,” she said, “for a few minutes. Help me with the groceries?”

He nodded, picked up the sacks while she keyed the front door. They had to wait for the elevator; somebody was coming down. Anna Cheung and her big chocolate lab, Arnold, on the way out for their after-work walk.

Anna said hello to her and then glanced curiously at Dave. He was watching Arnold. The dog was a crotch-sniffer; it tried to stick its snout between Risa’s legs. She fended it off gently and immediately it tried to do the same to him. He backed away as if he were afraid it might attack him.

Anna jerked the leash. “Arnold, no. Sorry about that,” she said to Dave. “I’ve tried everything to break him of that habit.”

He stepped into the elevator without answering.

On the way up he said, “I don’t like dogs. People shouldn’t have them in apartment buildings.”

“You’d never know Arnold lived here,” Risa said. “He never barks. Crotch-sniffing is his only bad habit.”

“Still a dirty animal.”

Inside the apartment she started toward the kitchen, but he stopped in the living room and stood looking around. Stared hard at something, then, and she saw that it was the framed photograph of Erin on the mantel over the gas-log fireplace.

“My sister,” she said. “Erin.”

He put the grocery sacks down on the coffee table, went to the fireplace for a closer look. “She was beautiful.”

“Yes. Yes, she was.”

“So beautiful.”

There was an odd inflection in his voice. He seemed… different, somehow, now that they were up here. A little strange. She wondered if she hadn’t been too hasty in inviting him. She didn’t really know him, after all, or anything about him. Well, it was too late now. Make the best of it and ease him on his way.

“I’ll put the groceries away,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?”

“What?”

“Something to drink?”

“No. I don’t want… no.”

She carried the sacks into the kitchen, put the milk and a couple of other perishables into the fridge. The red numeral 2 was blinking on the answering machine-two messages. Listen to them now or wait until Dave was gone? Might as well wait, they wouldn’t be important anyway. She sighed and went back into the living room.

He wasn’t there.

She blinked, surprised. Where? The bathroom without asking?

Small sounds reached her, and the surprise gave way to stirrings of alarm. Not the bathroom-one of the bedrooms. She hurried down the hall. She kept the door to Erin’s room shut, but now it was open. That was where he was, inside, standing next to the bed with his back to the doorway.

“What’re you doing in here?”

He turned, and what she saw then made the skin crawl across her neck and shoulders. He’d taken Mr. Floppy off the dresser, was clutching the stuffed dog against his chest with both hands. And crying. Silent tears, big and wet, rolling down both cheeks, his mouth drawn into a grimace of agony.

“Hers,” he said. “Hers.”

“Put it down. What’s the matter with you?”

His shoulders trembled; more tears flowed. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“For what?”

“I can’t stand it anymore, I can’t keep it inside. I wanted to tell you every time I saw you, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t until now.”

“Dave, you’re not making sense-”

“Sean,” he said.

“What?”

“Sean, not Dave, Dave’s my middle name. Didn’t she tell you about me? Sean? I told her my name, I know I did. Didn’t she say it even once?”

Understanding came in a single sharp burst, like something breaking open inside her. She was cold, hot, sick, furious all at once. “Oh my God!”

“I loved her,” he said.

“You did it! You’re the one! You killed Erin!”

“I loved her, I never meant to hurt her, you have to believe that-”

She flung herself at him, clawing with her nails, kicking at his shins. He dropped the stuffed dog and tried to push her away, saying, “Stop it, stop it!” One of her kicks landed squarely. He yowled and grabbed her, twisted her around in his grasp, one arm wrapped across her collarbone. She dipped her chin and bit him, hard, on the wrist. He yowled again and let go of her, and she spun away from him, ran away from him into the hall, into the living room. He was right behind her, stumbling into the wall, calling her name.

Kitchen, a weapon, a knife The door buzzer sounded.

The sudden noise threw her off-stride, caused her to change direction. But the door was too far away; he caught her before she could get there and push the button to unlock the downstairs door. His arms were like a vise closing around her, mashing her breasts painfully as he yanked her back against his body. He whirled her off her feet, her legs flying outward. The scream building in her throat died in an explosive “Uff!” as he slammed her against something yielding, the back of the couch. She bounced down onto the cushions, the two of them still twined together and his crushing weight on top.

For a few seconds she couldn’t breathe. Black spots and needles of light pinwheeled behind her eyes. Then some of the crushing weight lifted, she was able to suck in air in openmouthed gasps. Another scream formed in her throat. He clapped one hand over her mouth, the other tight against her windpipe.

Dimly she heard the door buzzer again.

“Don’t scream,” he said, panting, “don’t fight me anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me hurt you.”

She stopped struggling.

After a few seconds his hand loosened across her mouth, slowly lifted. “I mean it, don’t try to scream. I will hurt you if you do.”

She didn’t move, made no sound. His other hand was still a heavy pressure at her throat. The rattling wheeze of her breath and his filled her ears. Whoever had been ringing from downstairs had gone away.

“Listen to me, Risa, you have to understand. I didn’t want to hurt your sister. I swear to God. I loved her. I loved her so much.”

He was still crying; his face was smeared with wet. His eyes begged her. She flashed hate at him in return.

“But I wasn’t worthy of her. I knew that. She was so beautiful and I was nothing, a nobody, a fat slob. That’s why I went away. To make myself worthy, so she’d love me the way I loved her. Two years. I lost a hundred pounds, cut my hair, didn’t go anywhere or do anything except work and save money for when we were together. It was hard but I did it. For her.”