I really do wonder what had happened, though, that sent Kellem and me into hiding in the sewers.
I found a clothing store and I have bought a winter parka. It is hideously ugly, but warm. I’m still annoyed that I can’t wear my coat any more, but at least I won’t freeze; that is, I won’t freeze more than I did going to get the coat. I doubt there will be more than another week or two of winter, but I can afford it, so why not?
As I write this, I am feeling even more worn out and fatigued; exposure will do that.
Why couldn’t Kellem have had the courtesy to want to kill me in California? Or, if she was going to insist on Ohio, she could have at least waited until summer.
For that matter, what is it about this city that has so taken her? It is too small to get lost in, yet too big to relax in. It has neither a climate nor atmosphere such as I would have thought appealed to her. Why not Yellow Springs, if she wanted a coffee-house atmosphere and to live in Ohio? Or, better yet, San Francisco, where she could hop over to Oakland any time she wanted to kill someone; no one cares who dies in Oakland.
I’m feeling angry and frustrated, mostly at Kellem. No, that isn’t right; now that I think of it, it is mostly that I am mortally weary.
Well, that is a problem I can solve. A visit with Jill ought to be just the thing. I feel that she is awake, and she awaits me.
I’m back from seeing Jill. It is late and there is a light but chilly breeze coming through the slats covering the window. Jill still seemed pale and listless; I was afraid to tax her strength too much. I feel better for the visit, but not enough, not enough.
I left her sleeping and found Susan, who was in the living room, reading French. For some reason, this set off a chain of fantasies of the two of us in Paris, the way Kellem and I had visited together. But I would never do to Susan what Kellem is doing to me.
Susan remarked that I didn’t look well; I said I seemed to have picked up some sort of virus, and she ought not to come too close to me. She blew me a kiss from across the room, and I returned home, watching for the police and taking my time so I wouldn’t wear myself out any more than I had to.
I wish I understood more of the process by which these things happen-that is, why some things leave me exhausted, and other things are as easy as falling over. Well, actually, it’s not easy to fall over; I have a deeply rooted instinct to catch myself, but the point remains.
There are many things I have learned that I can do-things that I think Laura ought to have told me about; instead I discover them by accident. This goes for limitations as well. There are times I have found that I could not do something I wanted to; a peculiar feeling, as if my will to take some action were being diverted from outside of myself. Why should this be? And why am I wondering about it now, when I never have before?
But leave all that; it doesn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that I am bone-weary and exhausted from all that I did escaping from the police. Seeing Jill helped, but I have not come close to recovering from yesterday’s exertions.
I will rest well, and see what tomorrow brings.
Life is a thing of give-and-take, of trading something not so good for something a little better; of exchanging a slight loss for a slight gain.
I am still feeling weak and shaken, but it could have been much, much worse.
Bah.
I cannot deceive myself. I am still enraged. I tell myself that it was a reasonable thing for her to do, and I’d have done the same thing in her position, and it is all true, but it amounts to nothing. I don’t know how I resisted destroying her utterly, and, if I continue to feel this way, she will not live to see the snow melt. There are times when I can be rational, and times when I cannot. In this case, she not only betrayed me, but she did so when I was as weak as I’ve been in a very long time indeed. I require rest, I must recover my strength; I do not need the sort of games she chose, no, dared to play with me.
In any case, there is no time to do anything about it tonight.
Shall I describe it in detail? Why? It is not the sort of thing I am likely to forget. On the other hand, why not? It might help settle me down, to concentrate on striking the right key, and on recalling everything as well as possible, and working to get it all in order, even as it happened.
Besides, I am certain that Jim will want to know about it all, and I’d rather he read this than asked me to tell him; if I try to talk I’ll probably
Yes. I will set it down.
My intention, then, was to visit Little Philly, and I even did so, resplendent in my ugly new coat. The idea-ha! — was to attempt to spare Jill as much as I could. I spent a few minutes talking to Jim and gathering what strength remained to me, then I walked out the door. I took my time getting to the area, watching carefully for police cars.
Even after arriving there I continued to be careful. I spent several hours observing the scene outside the strip bars and the “adult” bookstores-those ugly, windowless brick buildings looking like prisons to house the trapped desire-until I found what I wanted. She was small and artificially blond, and could not have been more than sixteen years old. She wore a white kneelength coat with imitation fur trim, and slung over her back was a tiny black purse with a long strap. She stood near the curb in front of the door of Lorenzo’s Night Club with a cigarette that appeared to be permanently fixed to the corner of her mouth. She was carrying on a conversation with someone in a white Thunderbird, who drove off as I watched. I came up behind her. She turned around and eyed me with false coyness.
“Whatcha up to?” she said. She should have been chewing gum as well as smoking.
“Good evening,” I said.
“Looking for a date?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“You a cop?”
“No. You?”
She laughed. “Not likely. Wanna blow job?”
I explained that I wanted something more substantial-a word that seemed to puzzle her. She said something about charging extra if I wanted anything “kinky.” I suggested fifty dollars. She agreed, but still seemed worried, and wanted details. I promised that I wouldn’t hurt her, and she reluctantly agreed, and said she knew a hotel nearby. Her name was Doris.
I offered her my arm. She seemed to think that was funny, but she threw her cigarette away and linked arms with me. The old world charm and fifty dollars; it never fails.
It was shortly after midnight when I led her into the lobby of the Midtown Hotel. I took a room for the evening at twenty dollars. From the look of the place, I’d have thought they were overcharging by a factor of at least two, but I didn’t find out what the rooms were like, because at that moment I felt something I’d never felt before. I can say it no more clearly than that something took hold of my mind and pulled. It was disorienting, and in a way I had not thought I could be disoriented, and uncomfortable, not unlike the vertigo I felt when Young Don shot me, and again when Susan said she loved me.
Reflexes associated with panic woke up; not strong enough to interfere with me, but there, nevertheless, telling me something inexplicable was happening in my brain, where one never wants the inexplicable happening.
I was dizzy for just a moment, and my first thought was, Kellem. But, on reflection, it didn’t feel like her. In any event, something was happening, and I was a part of it. I felt a clear sense of direction and a great sense of urgency. I took out a roll of bills and threw them at Doris, saying, “Sorry, honey, change of plans. I’ll see you another time,” and dashed out of the hotel. I think I remember the desk clerk laughing, and Doris swearing loudly, though whether at me or at the clerk I cannot say.
At that moment, someone said, “You are Jack Agyar.” It was so strong that, for a moment, I thought it was really said into my ear and I stopped running and turned around. No, there was no one there. It had been Jill’s voice, which was clearly impossible. I didn’t know what this meant, but I knew that I didn’t like it.