James Chase - You Can Say That Again

Ahead of me was a bend in the corridor. I paused and edged myself forward so I could look down the further stretch of corridor. There was no guard. No one was in sight. I moved forward again. There were four doors leading off the corridor: all would be on the front side of the house.

There had been three barred windows. I passed the first door, then edged up to the second door; the first room with barred windows. I gently tried the door handle, but the door was locked. I put my ear against the door panel and stood for a long moment, listening and hearing nothing. I moved further down the corridor to the third door. Again I tried the handle: the door was locked. Once again, I put my ear against the door panel.

What I heard made the short hairs on the nape of my neck bristle: the steady thump-thump sound of pacing footfalls.

Listening intently, I heard a man clear his throat.

There was a pause, then the sound of the footfalls continued.

I stepped away from the door.

Loretta hadn’t been imagining this sound. This was no delusion! There was a man in there, pacing, as she had said, like a caged animal!

It couldn’t be John Merrill Ferguson. I had met him only hours ago, smiling warmly, telling me I was too valuable to lose. So who could it be?

As I moved to the door again to listen, I felt something touch my leg.

The soft feeling against my leg nearly made me launch from the pad.

I jumped away and looked down.

Mrs. Harriet’s poodle sat back on its haunches and waved its paws at me.

* * *

I lay on the bed in the moon lit bedroom, unable to sleep, my mind churning.

Who was the man imprisoned behind the barred windows? One thing I was certain of he wasn’t John Merrill Ferguson as Loretta had claimed him to be.

Hadn’t I met Ferguson this morning? Hadn’t he given me a seven year contract, and had said I was too valuable to lose.

Who could this prisoner be?

I had returned to my rooms with the poodle following me. I had shut the door in its face. I was scared it would begin yapping, but it didn’t.

Now, on the bed, I thought of the man pacing up and down, of Loretta who said she would come again.

My nerves were stretched to breaking point. I tried to reassure myself that Loretta was crazy. I would tell Mrs. Harriet in the morning that Loretta was pestering me. Maybe it was time for her to be confined.

Through the open window I could see the moon was nearly full.

Confined?

I remembered Mrs. Harriet had said that the rooms with the iron bars were for Loretta when she got out of control.

The rooms with the iron bars already held a prisoner!

I got off the bed, knowing I wouldn’t sleep and I went into the living room and turned on the desk light.

This house was weighing down on me: I longed to get away. Something evil was going on: something far too complicated for me to solve.

I sat behind the desk.

There was a heavy oppressive silence in the house.

The only sound I could hear was the steady beating of my heart. The moon light made patterns on the carpet.

The desk clock showed 01.50.

I tried to reason with myself. This was no business of mine. I was now a member of the Ferguson staff. I had signed a contract for seven years to impersonate Ferguson when he was away at the staggering salary of one hundred thousand dollars a year.

Consider yourself lucky, I tried to tell myself. Not in your wildest dreams have you ever thought you would get such a job. How Lu Prentz would gape if he knew!

Go to bed! Go to sleep! What goes on here is nothing to do with you. In a few days, John Merrill Ferguson had told me, he would be back, and you would stay at the luxury cabin by the sea. You would take Sonia out to dinner: a few more days!

But the ghosts of Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine seemed close to me. The desperate eyes of Loretta haunted me. Mrs. Harriet and her poodle seemed to be in the room.

So I sat there, in utter silence, scared, feeling the silence pressing in on me.

As I sat there, I suddenly heard a faint sound: a click of metal. In this silence, the sound made a tiny explosion in the room.

I reacted: starting to my feet, I stood motionless, listening. Then I knew what the sound was. I went quickly to the door and turned the handle.

The door was locked.

Someone had turned the key!

I stared at the door, my heart thumping, panic gripping me. What was going on? Why lock me in?

Then the silence was split by a woman’s scream.

The sound practically curdled my blood: the terror in the scream made me take quick paces away from the door and set my heart racing.

There was a brief moment of silence, then I heard a scuffling sound, then a thud that seemed to shake the house: the sound a body makes when falling from a height and landing sickeningly on the ground below.

I waited, my face and hands clammy, while I listened.

Then came voices: men’s voices.

I went to the door and pressed my ear against the panel.

I heard Mazzo’s voice.

‘Keep back. Don’t touch her.’

A man said something I couldn’t hear.

‘Get Dr. Weissman,’ Mazzo barked.

Then I knew a woman had died.

Mrs. Harriet? Loretta?

I heard Mrs. Harriet’s poodle yapping.

That scream of terror, then the thud of a falling body! It was murder!

There was a sudden buzz of voices, then I heard Mrs. Harriet’s distinct, calm voice, but it was not loud enough for me to hear what she was saying.

Loretta!

They could murder me, Jerry! They could murder you !

Less than two hours ago, she had said that to me: now they had done it!

My legs unsteady, I went to a chair and sat down.

Faintly from below, I could hear voices. The poodle’s yapping had stopped.

After some minutes, there was a click as the lock of my door turned, and the door opened.

Mrs. Harriet stood in the doorway, looking at me.

She was wearing a black silk robe over a white nightdress.

She held the poodle in her arms.

‘Jerry, dear,’ she said as she came in and shut the door. ‘I am so glad you haven’t gone to bed. There has been a most unfortunate accident.’ Her face was completely without expression, but her little dark eyes were glittering. ‘Did you hear? Poor, dear Etta! She was sleepwalking. She fell down the stairs.’ She came and sat near me. ‘When she gets mentally disturbed, she always walks in her sleep.’

I stared at this ghastly old woman. I said nothing.

‘She broke her poor neck,’ Mrs. Harriet went on, fondling the poodle’s ears. ‘My son will be so upset. He loved her so much.’

Bile filled my mouth. I got to my feet, ran into the bathroom and threw up. It took me several minutes to put myself together.

They could murder you too!

I returned slowly to the living room.

‘Poor Jerry!’ Mrs. Harriet said quietly. ‘You artists are so sensitive. Here, drink this,’ and she thrust a glass half full of Scotch into my shaking hand.

I drank.

‘That’s better.’ She patted my arm. ‘Now, Jerry, you have to help. Dr. Weissman is coming. He will have to call the police.’

I went over to the chair and sat down.

‘Jerry!’ The snap in her voice made me stiffen. ‘You are here to help! Stop acting like a child! Do you hear me?’

They could murder you too !

I finished the Scotch and took hold of myself.

‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked, not looking at her.

‘John is thought to be here. He will be away for at least a week. I am not going to tell him what has happened until he returns. He would come rushing back. The business he is conducting is of vital importance. You must take his place. Are you listening?’

‘Yes.’