Suddenly, from inside the house I heard a sharp explosive sound. I jumped, my heart in my throat. Then a woman screamed, the most horrible scream I’ve ever heard and I’ve heard some wild ones on my time. I stood paralyzed. Then, gradually, like a zombie, I moved forward. Someone was dead. I knew it. Though how you know things like that with such absolute certainty, I’m not sure.
I stumbled up the steps, waited, listened. Nothing. Then with my heart in my mouth, I took hold of the icy cold doorknob and with my hand still hanging to the knob for support I looked in the room. All the horrors of a lifetime were right there.
On the flowered carpet lay Roger, quiet, deathly quiet, blood streaming from his chest. Christine was kneeling beside him, her arms out, palms up, as if begging him to come back to life. Nettie, an ugly black revolver in her lap, was sitting as stiff as a painted doll on a high-backed straight chair near the fireplace. A floor lamp with a pale silk shade threw a yellow glow over the three of them. The picture will be printed on my memory as long as I live.
“Come in, Marta,” Nettie said, hardly moving her lips.
At the sound of Nettie’s voice, Christine began to scream.
I inched across the floor. “Nettie,” I tried to say, but my throat was so dry only a croak came out. I swallowed and tried again. “Nettie! What happened?”
“Has Doctor Carberry been to see Betty Lou yet” she asked, completely ignoring my question. What is she talking about? What did Betty Lou have to do with this. “Nettie!” I said again. “What happened to Roger? Tell me! Have you called the police?”
But Nettie moved her head from side to side, as if she didn’t understand. “Christine!” I cried. “What happened. Please, tell me what happened. We must get help. Where’s the phone?”
Christine looked at me. “Roger’s dead,” she said dully.
“Marta!” I whirled around. “Did Doctor Carberry see Betty Lou?” Nettie’s voice was sharp now and she got up from her chair, long beads jangling, back and forth, back and forth. I watched them, hypnotized, and jumped like a rabbit when the revolver fell from her lap on to the floor. Could Nettie have gone crazy or what? “Answer me, Marta!”
I nodded yes, too terrified to talk.
Nettie sighed. “I’m glad. Did you talk with him?”
I shook my head.
Then she raised her dark eyes to mine. “Betty Lou has typhoid fever. I left a note in Doctor Carberry’s mailbox explaining everything. I couldn’t let the child die. She was too young.”
I was sure dear old Nettie had finally flipped. “No one has typhoid any more, Nettie. Not in this country. Now, sit down. You’re sick. I’m going to help.” I didn’t mention Roger, she seemed not to notice him at all. It was the queerest thing.
“Listen to me, Marta,” Nettie said and took hold of my arm, squeezing hard. “Betty Lou does have typhoid. She must have caught it from Roger. You see, Roger is — was a typhoid carrier.” Her eyes filmed over and for the first time she looked at the body on the floor.
I couldn’t believe what she was saying, and before it really sank in, Christine scrambled to her feet, her eyes like saucers. “Agnes was right!” she cried. “None of us would believe her when she told us that. She was right! And you—” Christine broke off, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“Dear Agnes,” Nettie whispered. “She was very brave. Untreated typhoid is a terrible thing. Terrible.”
I looked from one to the other. What was all this about typhoid? What was going on? And why wasn’t anybody doing anything about Roger? It was like a bad dream where no one makes any sense except yourself.
“Poor Agnes,” Nettie said again. “I did everything I could to save her, but I couldn’t call the doctor.” Tears began running down her face, making white streaks on the rouged cheeks. “Agnes understood after I explained. Bless her, she understood. But the pain was very great. She couldn’t stand it.”
Bits and pieces of what Nettie said were beginning to fall into place like a giant jigsaw puzzle. But I couldn’t believe it. “You let Agnes Drury die?” I gasped. “You knew she had typhoid and didn’t call the doctor, but why, Nettie? Dear God, why?”
Nettie stared at me, her pencilled eyebrows high. “I couldn’t let anyone start an investigation,” she said quietly. “And typhoid carriers, you know, have to be shut away from everyone else. They aren’t allowed to live ordinary lives.”
“But so what, Nettie?” I cried. “Roger should have been put somewhere. If he was a typhoid carrier, he was dangerous to everyone!”
Christine spun toward Nettie, her face savage. “What did Roger mean to you, you old witch? Were you in love with him, too?” Christine threw back her head and laughed.
Nettie turned away from both of us, her eyes coming to rest finally on the crumpled heap on the rug. “Roger Van Buren was my son,” she said with absolutely no expression at all.
The three of us seemed to just hang there, then feeling nothing really, except an immense pity, I reached over and took Nettie’s hand.
“Your son!” Christine lunged forward. “No wonder you were always snooping around school. Well, your son is dead now. You can’t have him. No one can. He’s mine. He’s always been mine.”
“Oh, Christine,” Nettie said gently. “Roger didn’t care for you any more and, being a typhoid carrier, he couldn’t have married you if he had. But—” Nettie’s voice trembled. “But he loved Marta, so much that I... I was afraid he might do something foolish, that’s why I came out here — to talk to him. He wouldn’t listen to me, though, he—”
“That’s a lie! Roger loved me!” Christine shrieked.
“Then why did you kill him, Christine?” Nettie asked, with only the smallest of tremors in the question. “Never mind. It’s... it’s better this way, I guess. My poor dear tormented son—”
“Roger loved me! Me!” Hate raged in Christine’s face, ripping away everything decent and human. “Roger loved me. Do you hear?” Her eyes rolled and her voice rose higher and higher. She seemed to be directing everything toward me, then with one swift motion she crouched down and scooped up the gun from the floor.
There was a short, terrible silence, with all of us just standing there like statues. And after that nothing was clear. I felt Nettie push me aside, then go limp as between us a long orange-blue flame flashed, followed by the roar of the revolver. A second flash. Another explosion. Then silence again.
I saw Christine’s face, but everything else was dim, like in a cloudy mirror. The only thing that made any sense to me was the pattern the red blood made on the blue and gold flowered carpet. There was so much of it, it covered nearly the whole center design. I set my lips. Swallowed. Grew sick to my stomach. And then unconsciousness closed my brain and I felt myself slump.
“This is Doctor Carberry, Marta.” A voice came out of the layers of clouds. “You’re all right, do you understand?”
I fought through the haze. “Roger? Nettie? They’re—” I broke off, terrified at the scenes that flashed in front of me. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?” I whispered and began to shake from head to foot.
Doctor Carberry tucked a wool blanket around my shoulders. “Christine killed Roger, then after you came, she shot Nettie, then herself. That’s the way it happened, wasn’t it?” he prodded.
Shapes, flashes, sounds came from the shadows, but not clearly. I drew back. But Doctor Carberry kept at me. “You must face it, Marta.” I shook my head, not remembering, refusing to remember. But one thing stood out. Nettie. “Christine meant to kill me,” I said behind my fist. “Nettie pushed me aside, she—” The hand against my mouth didn’t help. I sobbed, great heaving sobs, like when my father died.