James Chase - You've Got It Coming

He wanted her to run, to show fear so he could strike. This stillness of hers, this cold, unfrightened stare demoralized him.

Borg, who had driven down the beach road and had hidden his car in the wood, watched this scene from behind a clump of palmetto trees. In the hot silence and stillness, every word they said came clearly to him.

“I'm going to kill you,” Harry said, taking a step nearer, hoping she would give ground. “Why don't you run? Why don't you try to save yourself? I'm going to kill you!”

“I'm not stopping you,” she said, not moving nor taking her eyes from his. “I knew you would do this. Yet it was difficult to believe you could be so wicked. Did you really imagine I believed those lies about sharing the money or marrying me? You were so obviously lying. When you tried to get me into the forest, I knew what was going on in your hateful mind. You thought the buzzards would hide your crime, didn't you? Well, now you have me alone. There is no one to see what you do, so why don't you go ahead and kill me?”

He didn't move, sweat ran down his face and he was shaking.

“I’ll tell you why,” she went on, her voice harsh with scorn. “You're a coward. I found that out as soon as your own precious life was in danger, but even then I was fool enough to go on loving you, even when I knew you were yellow and rotten. It was only when you threw me over for that chit of a girl that at last I realized what a weak fool I'd been. You haven't even the nerve to finish what you've begun. I'm not afraid of you! Go on, hit me! I dare you to, you miserable coward!'

Harry half lifted the wrench, then, with a furious gesture, he threw it violently from him. It sailed through the air and landed within a few yards of where Borg was standing.

“Yes, you've beaten me!” he said, his breath coming in great heaving gasps. “I haven't the nerve to finish it. Okay, I'll marry you. I'll do what you say, but I'll hate you for the rest of my days!”

“I wouldn't marry you now if you were the last man left alive!” Glorie cried, her voice suddenly shrill. “I must have been out of my mind ever to have loved you! To think that after all I have done for you, all the risks I've taken and the love I have given you, you could be so wickedly evil as to plan to kill me. If you hadn't been such a rotten coward you would have killed me. I'd be dead now if I had shown any fear of you. Get out of my sight! I never want to see you again! I wouldn't marry you or touch your rotten money if you went' down on your knees and begged me to. I never intended to take the money. I wanted to see how far you would go to hang on to it, and I know now. Go back to your blonde woman and marry her. I don't envy her having you. Get away from me, the sight of you makes me sick!”

The scorn in her voice was like a whiplash. Harry started to say something, but she screamed at him: “Get out of my sight! Go away and hide, you stinking coward! Don't let me ever see you again!”

He turned and walked unsteadily back to the car. Without quite knowing what he was doing, he got into the car, started the engine and drove back the way he had come. He drove until he reached the wall of clamshells, then he stopped because he could drive no further. He was shaking, and his breath came in hard, sobbing gasps. He sat holding on to the driving wheel, his eyes shut, hearing the scorn in her voice and realizing just how rotten he was.

After he had walked away, Glorie sank down on the sand and hid her face in her hands .she heard the car engine start up, but she didn’t look round or move. She too was shaking, but she was thankful it was over, thankful to be rid of him. She didn't care that she had a two-mile walk back to the highway before she could beg a lift The way he had treated her had stiffened her fibre and for the first time in ten years she felt free and she didn't care what became of her. She didn't care either that he had gone off with her suitcase. The relief to be rid of him was so great, she found herself crying with happiness.

She didn't see nor hear Borg as he came silently across the strip of golden sand In his gloved right hand he held the wrench that Harry had thrown away.

It was only when his gross black shadow fell across her that she realized she wasn't alone. She looked up, her body stiffening and her blood congealing. She had a momentary glimpse of his fat, savage face and his descending hand that held the wrench. She opened her mouth to scream, but before the sound could rise in her throat a terrifying bright light flashed before her eyes, and her life disintegrated into death.

chapter seven

I

It was only when the rays of the sun came through the car window, unpleasantly hot against his face, that Harry stirred himself. He had no idea how long he had been sitting in the car, and now he wondered what Glorie was doing. He couldn’t leave her in this lonely spot, he told himself, that was at least two miles from the highway, and yet he hesitated to go back after the way she had screamed at him.

With a hand that was still unsteady, he lit a cigarette. Then he turned to look through the rear window to see if there was any sign of her, and his eyes fell on her suitcase, lying on the back of the seat. That decided him. He couldn't go off with her things, nor could he leave the heavy suitcase by the road for her to lug to the highway.

He started the car, and after some trouble, for the road was narrow, he turned and drove slowly down the road until he reached the open beach.

By now the mid-morning sun was violently hot, and it beat down on him as he got out of the car and walked beyond the palmetto trees on to the soft sand.

He paused, frowning, as he looked across the stretch of beach.

He could see Glorie: she was lying on her side, apparently asleep or resting. He wondered why she had remained out there in the heat of the sun instead of seeking shelter in the shade.

From the palmetto thicket, Borg watched him, his fat face expressionless, his hand resting on the butt of his gun that he carried strapped under his armpit.

“Glorie!” Harry called, not wanting to go over to her and startle her. “Glorie!”

But she didn't move nor did she appear to hear him. With growing uneasiness he started across the beach towards her.

“Glorie!” he called again, and then he came to an abrupt stop.

The crimson stain on the sand by her head sent a cold chill creeping over him.

For a long moment he stood motionless, then very slowly he moved forward until he was within a few feet of her. Then he saw the injuries to her head, her fixed grimace of terror, her half-open, sightless eyes, and he knew without touching her that she was dead.

The cigarette he was holding slipped out of his fingers and dropped in the sand. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It came into his mind that he had done this thing himself, and it took him some seconds to gain enough control to reassure himself that he hadn't. She couldn't possibly have given herself such injuries, he thought, and he looked to right and left, his body going clammy with fear.

The great stretch of beach was empty. His eyes went to the long, thick belt of wood. Was someone hiding in there? Had someone been watching him and her as they had quarrelled?

He looked for the extra set of footprints in the sand. There were his; there were hers, but there were no other footprints.

He wasn't to know that Borg had stepped back into his own prints as he had retreated to the wood, and had smoothed over each print with his fat, dirty hand as he stepped from it. He had had plenty of time, and he had made a good job of it. He had left no trace of his coming nor of his going.

The empty, unmarked sand that stretched back to the wood convinced Harry that no one had come down to her. Had something fallen from the sky and hit her? But he could see no missile of any description near her, only her handbag that lay by her side.