I know now I can never marry her. The thought of actually sleeping in the same bed with a woman is revolting to me.
In the eyes of God sinning in your mind is as evil as actual sin.
Thursday night: It is part of my duty to God to remain free to perform His service. The history of Christianity is bloody with martyrs who have died because of bigotry and misunderstanding. I know Society wouldn’t understand or believe I’m a real emissary of God, and therefore it’s part of my duty to prevent Society from finding out my function.
I planned Mary’s execution for her sins accordingly.
After lunch today I told Mary my mother wanted me home to run some errands, so I wouldn’t be able to wait for her to get out of her chem lab as I usually do on Thursdays. Then I drove home, put the car in the garage and entered the house by the back door.
Mother was surprised to see me so early.
“I’ve got to study this afternoon,” I explained. “I’ll be in my room till supper, and I’d rather not be disturbed.”
“Of course, dear,” she said. “I won’t call you until supper’s on the table.”
Mary’s lab lasted two hours, from one until three. I waited one hour, then quietly left my room by the window. There is a tall hedge between our house and the one next door, so I was able to make the garage without being seen.
Fortunately the alley slants a little toward the street. Releasing the emergency brake, I pushed the car out into the alley, quietly closed the garage doors and then let the car roll to the street a quarter block away before starting the motor.
I timed my arrival at school for five after three. As I expected, I caught Mary walking alone on the street running alongside the campus when she was about halfway between the Science Building and the bus stop. Only one or two other students were in sight, for there are no lectures on the campus in the afternoon, only lab sessions, and not very many students take laboratory courses. I saw no one I knew, and no one paid any attention to the attractive coed getting into the car which pulled up alongside of her.
“This is a happy surprise,” Mary said.
“I finished my chores early,” I explained easily.
I swung through the park as usual, but then instead of turning left toward our homes, I turned right.
“Where we going?” Mary asked.
“I feel like a ride,” I said. “It’s only a little after three.”
“All right,” she said agreeably.
When we reached the ancient and rutted road leading to the stone quarry, Mary seemed surprised that I turned down it.
“The Old Ox Road,” she said. “I haven’t been here since high school. Don’t tell me my sedate lover wants to park and neck.”
If I had been tempted not to carry out my purpose, her remark would have steadied me. More and more recently Mary’s thoughts and conversation have hinged around disgusting physical relations between us.
I said noncommittally, “I just want to show you something.”
I parked right at the entrance to the quarry. Mary seemed puzzled when I got out, but she got out too and we walked hand-in-hand over to the deep pool in the quarry’s center.
“I’ve heard this is over a hundred feet deep,” she said, peering down into the clear but seemingly bottomless depth.
I took out my gun.
“Where’d you get that?” Mary asked, her eyes widening.
“Bought it,” I said. “Do you believe in God, Mary?”
“Of course,” she said. She was looking at me curiously, not afraid, or even uneasy, but thoroughly puzzled.
“Then I want you to pray,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“I want you to pray God forgiveness for your sins. Now. You have about three seconds.”
Her eyes grew as big as saucers, but she still seemed to think it was some kind of joke. With her mouth shaped into a small O, she simply stared at me in astonishment. Even what she must have seen in my eyes failed to make her believe I was going to kill her.
She was still looking astonished but unafraid when I fired five shots into her chest at a distance of two feet.
It may be years before they find her weighted body on the bottom of that pool. If they ever find it.
And even if they find it at once, nothing points to me. I got the car back in the garage and myself back in my room without incident. When Mother rapped on the door at six, I was deeply engrossed in my law books.
Friday night: I was up nearly all last night with both Mary’s folks and my own, waiting for some word from the police. Of course no word came.
I believe I act as convincingly worried as the others.
Saturday night: The police questioned me for a long time today, but seemed entirely unsuspicious. Since I have a perfect alibi and both Mary’s folks and mine told them Mary and I got along wonderfully, they haven’t any reason to be suspicious. Most of their questions were about whether anything had been on Mary’s mind recently, and particularly whether there was any possibility of her having eloped with some other man.
I told them the suggestion was preposterous, that we were engaged to be married and she never went with other men.
Monday night: Mary’s mother is confined to bed. Emotional upset, the doctor says. Last night, as we all sat around at Mary’s house waiting for the phone to ring, she suddenly screamed, “It would even be a relief to learn she’s dead! I can’t stand this not knowing another minute!”
Then she started to sob and was still sobbing when the doctor came.
I suppose it will be some time before Mary’s folks and mine stop talking about the mysterious disappearance. But eventually they’ll have to. You can’t sit up night after night forever waiting for news which is never going to arrive.
And I must be on with the Lord’s work.
Tonight: This is the first time I have watched you since Mary’s death. What would you think if you knew an agent of God was staring at you this very moment? Would you be frightened?
You should be, for at last I am able to penetrate that pleasant outer manner of yours and see the real person inside. I’m sickened that you can sit there, reading your magazine with such a serene expression on your face, when your mind is a sewer of carnal thoughts.
You look very comfortable sprawled in that chair. Do you know how I am watching you? Over the sights of my gun, which is centered on your neck just below the ear.
It’s time for you to start praying now, because my finger is whitening on the trigger...
Opportunity
by Russell E. Bruce
The girl called up and said she was going to kill herself. That’s what gave the reporter his very special.
I was working the late rewrite trick when the call came in. The night city editor took it, then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and yelled at me.
“This girl says she’s going to pull the dutch act. Talk to her while I try to trace it.”
I cursed silently as I cut in on the extension. God damn women; there’s always one phoning the City Room and saying she’s going to kill herself. Either they’re drunk or want assurance that their homemade sendoff will make page one.
I asked the girl her means of exit. A gun, she said. A gun, I told her, leaves a mess. So why didn’t she hike down to the corner drugstore for some sleeping pills? She started whimpering.
That did it. I said this was a damn busy newspaper and suggested she hang up like a nice girl and hit the sack.
Her voice became apologetic. She had mailed the newspaper a letter. Would I personally watch for it? She described the stationery and I said I would. She thanked me and blew her brains out.