As, indeed, it did.
But first the maniac struck again.
In many respects, the next attack was the most perplexing of all. The strangest aspect was that the victim survived – was allowed to survive the ordeal. And certainly the most horrible aspect was that the poor fellow was blind, his affliction adding to the monstrous nature of the unprovoked assault. These facts added a new twist to the emerging pattern, complicating and confusing the issue. But what really struck me was purely subjective.
I was acquainted with the victim.
His name was Bill, a big jovial sort who refused to let his blindness change his cheerful nature. He’d lost his sight in the war, spent some time in hospital, and emerged with complete selfconfidence and a fierce independence. He refused even the assistance of a guide dog and was frequently seen roaming the familiar streets with a firm and steady step, behind dark glasses and a fibre-glass stick; pausing at kerbs to listen for approaching traffic or halting for a moment at a corner, head raised and senses alert as he got his bearings. I was appalled when I read of the vicious attack which had taken place in his own basement flat. It is always so much more shocking when it is someone one knows. Bill had been brutally battered and beaten and then left alive on his floor. And that was the extraordinary thing. He had not been supposed dead, for he was still conscious. The maniac had simply walked off and left him, and that behaviour was so far removed from the other attacks that the police were not ruling out the possibility of a second madman amuck in the city. However the method of attack, until it had ceased, fitted the pattern. It was calculated and efficient.
I phoned the hospital immediately and inquired about his condition; found, to my relief, that he was recovering and asked how soon he would be able to have visitors. Apparently he had already been demanding that visitors be allowed in, which was very much to be expected of Bill, and I went to see him in the morning.
He was sitting up in bed, a white bandage around his head and a cigar in his teeth. His big solid shoulders sloped down beneath the sheets, he greeted me in a loud voice and roared cheerfully at the nurse who told him he must be quiet. She turned her eyes upwards and smiled despite herself. Bill was able to make people smile that way. He was pleased to have a visitor, we chatted for a few minutes and then, without urging or suggestion from me, he told me what had happened. He seemed more angered than frightened by the attack, his self-reliance had survived and he did not, in his dark world, understand how one with sight would project and magnify the terror of his position.
“Well, Johnny boy,” said Bill, “I don’t know if this bastard was waiting inside my flat or if he followed me home. The coppers think he was already inside, on account of one of my neighbours, old widow down the street, got an idea she’s got designs on me, you know? – well, this widow saw me come home and says there was no one following me. But I’m not so sure. Seems I would have sensed his presence if he’d been waiting there. Maybe the old gal don’t see too well. Anyway, don’t matter which way it was. I’d been out for my afternoon walk and I never bother to lock the door so it was a simple matter for him to get in before me or behind me, whichever. I went right into the kitchen as soon as I got home and put a pan on for coffee. I leaned my walking stick against the stove and stood there, waiting for the water to boil. Then I heard him. Just a faint sound, at first, but we blind guys get used to listening for those soft noises. I turned around real sharp and heard his foot scrape as he stepped back in surprise. “Who’s there?” I asked. Ysee, I wasn’t worried at that point, I thought it might have been a friend or maybe even that old widow come to tempt me. Maybe even one of the younger gals on the street. Plenty of gals like to call on a blind guy, Johnny. Gals that don’t like it known they’re passionate – figure they can get me to give ‘em some lovin’ and never even speak, see, so I won’t know who they are. Happens all the time. ‘Course, once they gets to pantin’ and snortin’, why, straight off I can tell who it is, long’s I’ve heard their voice before. Easy to tell by the way they pant, how long their hair is, how wide they are in the hips. But, ‘course, I don’t let on I know, ‘cause then they won’t come back. I just go along with it, askin’ who they are even after I know and then they think they’re on to the perfect set-up and come back again. Yeah, this bein’ a blind guy got some advantages. An’ if their husbands find out, why I got the perfect excuse. Ha ha. Not a bad old game. Got some real fine unfaithful wives on that street, real fine.
“Anyhow, that’s what I thought – thought it was one o’ them passionate wives, so I wasn’t worried. Just asked who it was and sort of smiled. Then when there was no answer, I was sure it must be a gal. I stood there, waitin’ for her to come up and start snugglin’. But nothing happened for quite a while. The water started to boil, still nothin’ happened. I guessed the gal was shy – figured it was her first visit, see? So I said, ‘Want some coffee, whoever you are?’ and then I heard the bastard take a deep breath, real quick, and I thought: Oh ho, Billy boy, that ain’t no gal . . . What I thought was it was an irate husband, come to rant and rave. That was when he jumped on me . . .”
Bill paused. His brow furrowed beneath the bandage and I noticed several scratches on his face and neck, parallel rows that looked like fingernail marks. His big shoulders shifted as he recalled the violence of the attack and his heavy jowled face was set. I stared at him with great respect – saw that he was reliving only the violence, not the horror. Blindness has always seemed so ultimate a handicap and I had already imagined the scene – imagined Bill cringing, asking who and why, his sightless face questing at the strange sounds, unguided hands groping before him protectively, helpless and terrified, all this in the darkness of his affliction . . . This I had imagined; had pictured with my vision. But this was not the way it had been for Bill. He remembered only his anger and rage.
“He grabbed me by the throat,” Bill said. “Well, Johnny boy, that was a mistake. Pretty strong fellow, I could feel his strength in his fingers, but ‘course with both his hands on me I knew just where he was. I didn’t panic. I got my feet set right and then gave him a couple of good belts in the belly. Good short shovel hooks. Bang bang, just like that.” His shoulders rolled, his arms moved under the sheet, the long muscles in his jaw tightened. “He let go real quick then, boy. Real quick. I heard his wind rush out hard as he stepped back. But I hadn’t caught him in the solar plexus like I planned and he didn’t go down. I took an almighty swipe at where I reckoned his jaw oughta be, but I misjudged it. Missed the bastard. But I followed up, pulling my shoulder around and tuckin’ my chin down behind it and coiled into a hitter’s crouch. I still sort of suspected it was one o’ them irate husbands. Wasn’t worried much. I got both fists cocked and my head down and I said, ‘Come on, you bastard! You want a fight, you found the right blind fellow. Just come in here, let’s see what you can do!’
“Well, he didn’t do anything for a while. I could hear him gettin’ his breath back and sort of feel his eyes on me. Weird feelin’, that. I could tell he was sizing me up, plannin’ his attack – could tell he was a pretty cool fellow. He was standin’ just out of reach. I thought about lungin’ for him, but figured it was better to wait – try to time a haymaker as he came to me. So I feinted a couple of times, to get him to make some sounds movin’ but he stayed real calm. I guess we stood like that maybe two minutes. Then I heard him move to the side, very quiet. I thought he was leavin’, that he’d had enough. But then I heard the cupboard door open and straight off I knew what the sonabitch was doin’. He was looking for a weapon. Well, there were bottles and things there he could use to club me and I didn’t like that idea; tried to play on his pride; said, ‘Hey, you need a weapon against a blind fellow? What sort o’ man are you?’ But that didn’t work. He started movin’ towards me again. Then I got a little worried. I reached behind me and got the handle of the pan and held the pan in front of me. The water was boilin’ away real good by then. I could feel the steam. He hesitated and I swung the pan across my chest, waitin’. I figured if I could give ‘im a face full of steam I’d have a chance to get my hands on him. That’s all I wanted. Just to get my hands on the bastard. Should’ve grabbed him straight off when he was chokin’ me, ‘course, but at that point I didn’t know how serious he was and figured a couple o’ belly hooks would be plenty. But he was cautious now. I couldn’t hear him movin’ at all. Then somethin’ hit the pan and tilted it and the hot water ran down my forearm. I threw the pan away and missed him and somethin’ smacked me alongside the head. In the temple. The coppers told me it was a whisky bottle. How about that? Smacks me with my own Scotch, the swine. Anyway, it was a pretty good wallop and I had to cover up and he hit me again, behind the neck that time and the floor slammed against my knees. I kept trying t’ get a hold on him but he stayed out of reach and belted me a few more times in the head and neck and then, for the first time, I realized he wanted to kill me. Not much I could do, just kneel there and dart my hands out in different directions hopin’ to get him. He was a cool one. No hurry at all. Wasn’t even breathin’ hard enough to hear now. Couple o’ times I thought he’d gone, even, and then whop! he clubs me again. Would’ve killed me, I guess, ‘cept I touched the handle of my cane then as I slid to the side and I got the cane and made a great wide sweep in front of me, low down, and felt it whip against his leg. Good snappy cane, fibre glass, gave him a helluva slash. Heard him yelp. So I saw that was my only chance, and I sat there with my back against the stove and swung the stick back and forth in a low arc in front of me, fast enough so he couldn’t get close without gettin’ hit. I was in a bad way by then. Sort of dizzy and sick from the hammerin’ I’d had. But the only thing I could think was: Grab the cane, you dirty bastard! Just waitin’ for him to grab it so I’d know where he was and could lunge at him. Just wanted him in my hands, y’know. I’d have broken every bone in his body.”