The Flesh of The Orchid

by James Hadley Chase

  But as soon as Steve was out of sight, Roy retraced his steps, ran to the Buick. He looked furtively towards the cabin, then raised the hood and unscrewed the head of the accelerator switch, snapped the leads, pocketed the switch. Closing the hoed, he lounged up to the wide verandah.

  He could hear his brother moving about somewhere in the cabin and he sidled into the big living-room, took in its rough comfort at a glance, crossed over to the gun-rack, which was equipped with an iron bar on a hinge and a padlock that, when locked, secured the guns in their rack. Roy fastened the padlock, pocketed the key.

  Steve came into the room a moment later.

  “Put your floosie to bed?” Roy asked jeeringly.

  “Cut it out,” Steve snapped. “I don’t like it, Roy, so park it in, will you?”

  Roy eyed him over, grinned.

  “That’s too bad,” he said; took out a cigarette, lit it.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with you,” Steve “You’ve acted odd ever since we met.”

  “That’s too bad, too,” Roy said.

  Steve shrugged.

  “I’m going over to Doc Fleming,” he went on. “It’ll take me the best part of two hours. Keep an eye on her, will you ? She’s got concussion, I think, but she’ll be all right until I return.”

  “That certainly makes my day,” Roy sneered. “What do I do? Hold her hand and fan her with my hat?”

  “Come on, Roy,” Steve said, keeping his temper with difficulty. “I’ll get the Doc to bring his car and we’ll get her out of here. But while she is here you might try to be a little helpful.”

  “Sure,” Roy said. “You get off. I’ll keep her amused. Dames like me.”

  Steve gave him a hard look, went out.

  Roy watched his brother get into the van, try to start the engine and he grinned to himself.

  He was still lounging against the verandah doorway when Steve, hot and furious, came bounding up the steps.

  “You’ve been fooling with the van,” Steve snapped, planting himself in front of his brother.

  “Sure,” Roy grinned. “What of it?”

  Steve steadied himself.

  “You’ve taken the accelerator head. Better hand it over, Roy.”

  ““I’m keeping it. I told you to leave the twist, didn’t I? Well, you’ve got her on your hands now. No one’s coming here while I’m around, and no one’s leaving here until I say so.”

  Steve clenched his fists.

  “Look, Roy, I don’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re not getting away with this. Hand over the switch or I’ll take it. I don’t want to get tough, but I’m not standing any more nonsense from you.”

  “Yeah?” Roy said, stepping back. “Then what do you think of this?” A gun suddenly jumped into his hand: an ugly-looking, blunt-nosed .38 automatic. “Still got the same ideas?” he asked, pointing the gun at his brother’s chest.

  Steve stepped back, his mouth tightening.

  “Have you gone crazy?” he demanded. “Put that gun away.”

  “It’s time you got wise,” Roy said, speaking in a harsh low voice. “Get this straight: I’d think no more of plugging you than I’d think of treading on a beetle. Nuts to this brother stuff. To me you’re just another dumb hick. One move out of turn and you’ll get it.” He backed away, hoisted himself up on the verandah rail, holding the gun loosely in his hand. “You may as well know it now. I’m in a jam: that’s why I’m here. This dump’s tailor-made as a hide-out. No one would think of looking for me here. And no Doc Fleming is coming out here to tell all his goddamn patients he’s seen me. That’s the way it is, and you’re going to like it. You and the twist will stay here until I’m ready to pull out. And don’t try any tricks. I’m fast with this rod. Bigger guys than you have found that out.”

  Steve had recovered from his first startled surprise, but he could still not believe his brother was serious.

  “Why, this is crazy, Roy,” he said. “I’ve got to get the Doc to the girl. Now come on, give me the switch and let me get off.”

  “Still dumb?” Roy sneered. “Listen: I’ve worked for Little Bernie’s mob. Mean anything to you?”

  Steve had read of Little Bernie: he was the modern edition of Johnny Dillinger.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “Little Bernie’s a killer— wanted by the police.”

  Roy laughed.

  “For the last year I’ve been sticking up banks,” he said. “Made a lotta dough. I carried a gun for Bernie. It paid well.”

  “So that’s it,” Steve said, shocked and disgusted. “I might have guessed you’d hook up with a gang. You always were a weak fool, Roy.”

  Roy slid the gun back into his shoulder holster.

  “I’ve done all right,” he said. “Maybe I’m in trouble now, but it won’t last long and then I’ll spend the dough I’ve put by. I’m not like you, you hick, buried out in the wilds, surrounded by a lot of foxes. I know how to live.”

  Steve moved slowly towards him.

  “You’d better give me that gun,” he said quietly.

  Roy grinned; his hand suddenly flashed to the holster and there was a spurt of flame. The sharp crack of the gun set up echoes across the lake. Something buzzed past Steve’s ear.

  “I could pop one through your thick skull just as easy,” Roy said, “and I’ll do it if you try anything funny. So now you know,” and he turned and lounged into the living-room, dropped into an easy chair.

  Steve stood hesitating in the sunshine. He realized now that Roy meant what he said, but his thoughts were not for himself, but for the girl lying unconscious on his bed. He’d have to do something for her at once now Doc Fleming wasn’t to come, and he was thankful he had a first-aid outfit and knew how to use it.

  As he passed through the sitting-room, Roy drawled: “And I’ve locked up your pop-guns. I’ll do all the shooting around here from now on.”

  Steve ignored him, went into his bedroom where the girl was lying. He examined the cut at the back of her head, then fetched his medical chest, a bowl of water and towels.

  He was just fixing the last safety-pin when the girl gave a little sigh, opened her eyes.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling at her. “Feeling better?”

  She stared at him, her hand going to her head.

  “My head hurts,” she said. “What happened? Where am I?”

  “I found you on the mountain road. You were in a truck accident. There’s nothing to worry about. You have a cut head, but it’s not bad.”

  “Truck?” she murmured, her eyes blank. “What truck? I can’t remember. . . .” Suddenly she struggled to sit up, but Steve gently pressed her back. “I can’t remember anything. I can’t think. Something’s happened to my head!”

  “It’s all right,” Steve said soothingly. “It’ll come back. Just try and sleep. You’ll be all right after a little sleep.”

  “But I don’t know what’s happened to me,” the girl cried, catching his hand in hers. “I’m frightened. I don’t know who I am.”

  “But it’ll be all right,” Steve said. “You must relax and not worry. When you wake up again you’ll remember and you’ll be all right.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “You’re kind,” she said softly. “Stay with me. Please don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll be right here,” Steve said. “Just take it easy.”

  She lay still for a few moments, then went limp, drifting once more into unconsciousness.

  In the other room Roy sat in the armchair, a thoughtful expression on his face. If it hadn’t been for the twist he could have stayed here and kept his brother in the dark, but now he’d have to watch out. Steve was a tough egg, and if he caught him off guard he wouldn’t stand a chance. A sudden movement in the doorway made him jump round, his hand flying to his gun. A big mongrel dog came in, wagging his tail.

  “You punk,” Roy said, grinning sheepishly. “You scared me silly.”

  He shoved the dog away impatiently
with his foot, watched it amble down the passage in search of its master.

  Steve was grappling with a new problem as the dog peered round the door. He had just decided that he couldn’t leave the girl lying on the bed like that, but he hesitated to undress her. But there seemed nothing else for it. The nearest woman was thirty miles down the other side of the mountain and he couldn’t fetch her, anyway.

  The dog entering the room relaxed his embarrassed tension.

  “Hello, Spot,” he said. “You’ve arrived at the tricky moment.”

  But the dog whined, backed to the door, its hair bristling.

  “What’s biting you, you old fool?” Steve asked, bewildered.

  The dog had only eyes for the girl on the bed. It slowly backed out of the room, then with a low whining howl it bolted down the passage into the open.

  “I guess we’re all going screwy,” Steve thought, crossed the room to his chest of drawers and hunted for his best pyjamas, a suit of white silk. He cut the sleeves down, tacked around the edges, performed on the trouser legs. He measured the finished effort against the girl, decided they’d do.

  “Well, here goes,” he thought, and hoped she wouldn’t recover consciousness. He began to unhook the fastening on the girl’s dress. In one of the sleeves he found a handkerchief; embroidered in a corner was the name Carol. He turned the handkerchief over in his fingers. Carol. Carol who? Who was she? Where did she come from? Was it possible that she had lost her memory, that she didn’t know what had happened to her? Didn’t know who she was? He looked down at her. She was lovely, he thought. Not the kind of girl who’d thumb a truck ride. There was some mystery behind all this.

  He removed her shoes, then, raising her gently, slid her dress up her body, worked it carefully over her head. Under the dress she had on a simple, tailored one-piece garment, and he could see the lovely lines of her body as if she were naked.

  For a brief moment he stared down at her. There was a tightness in his throat. Her beauty and helplessness filled him with pity and wonder. Seeing her like that, he lost his sense of embarrassment; it was like looking at a work of art and not at a living woman.

  He did not hear Roy come in, nor was he aware that Roy, too, was staring with intent, hard eyes at the half-naked girl as she lay on the bed.

  Steve lifted the girl to slip on the pyjama coat.

  “Not so fast,” Roy said. “I want to look some more. What a stack-up! Why, damn it, she’s even better than I thought.”

  Steve laid the girl down quickly, turned.

  “Get out!” he said furiously.

  “Hey, take it easy,” Roy said, grinning, his eyes still on the girl. “Why should you have all the fun? I’ll give you a hand. This is right up my alley.”

  Steve advanced on his brother, his eyes furious.

  “Get out,” he said, “and keep out.”

  Roy hesitated, then shrugged.

  “O.K.,” he said, and laughed. “You can have her until she’s well, then I’ll take over. I’ve got a way with women. She won’t claw my eyes out. I know how to tame a wild-cat like her. You watch and see, and don’t think you’ll stop me, you big hick. I’m going to have a lot of fun with this beauty,” and still smiling he slouched down the passage and out on to the verandah.

  CHAPTER II

  A WEEK passed.

  It was a bewildering week for Steve, kept hard at work running the farm, cooking the meals and nursing Carol. Roy made no effort to help him, and spent most of his time sitting on a high crag overlooking the mountain road and staring with fixed intensity into the empty valley.

  Steve guessed that something or someone was terrifying his brother, and decided that Roy’s fear and jumpy nerves were partly responsible for his vicious mood. This conclusion seemed right, for after the third day of nothing happening Roy became less nervy and hostile and finally ceased to watch the road. By the end of the week he was almost friendly—at least, as friendly as his sneering, selfish nature would permit. But he was still determined that Steve shouldn’t leave Blue Mountain Summit while he was there, and Steve was forced to accept the situation.

  Now that Carol had Steve’s room, the two brothers shared the only other bedroom, and Steve had further proof of his brother’s nervousness. Roy scarcely slept, tossing and turning through the night; and when he did doze off it was only to start up at the slightest sound.

  Carol, however, was making rapid progress. She had been very ill for the first two days of her stay at the cabin, and Steve had to be constantly with her. But once the fever had left her, the wound began to heal, and she quickly gained strength.

  But her mind remained a blank after the accident. She had no recollection of anything that had happened nor of Glenview nor who she was. She had complete and child-like faith in Steve, and as the days passed, the accepted conventions between man and woman swept aside by her helplessness, there grew up between them an odd and intimate relationship that bewildered Steve and awakened in Carol a deep feeling of affection for him which quickly turned to love.

  Steve had always been shy with women. When Carol was ill and helpless he regarded her the way he would have regarded a sister (if he had had a sister), and attended to her needs impersonally and with no feeling except that of embarrassment. But when she was convalescing and showed so obviously that she was in love with him he did not know how to cope with the situation.

  As soon as Carol was able to get up, she trailed rather helplessly after him wherever he went, and she was never happy unless she was with him. He was the pivot around which her life now revolved.

  Not knowing of her mental history, Steve assumed that the head injury she had received had not only obliterated her memory but had, in some inexplicable way, broken down her adult reserve, giving her the mentality of a child. It would be out of the question, he argued to himself, to respond to her love for him or to take advantage of it, and he kept a tight reign on his feelings for her, refusing to believe that this love was anything more than an odd mental twist that would pass when her memory returned.

  On the other hand, Roy was quick to realize that she might be easy prey, and she was seldom out of his mind. Although she paid him no attention, her mind being continually focussed on Steve, he was confident that, given the right opportunity, he would make her yield to him.

  One morning, as he was lounging by the lake, he saw her coming down the path through the pine trees. Steve was busy in the cabin and out of sight, and seizing this opportunity of having her to himself, Roy stepped squarely in her path.

  “Hello,” he said, eying her over. She looked radiant in the pale sunshine and her beauty quickened his blood. “Where have you been?”

  “To feed the foxes,” she said, her voice flat and casual. “I want to find Steve,” she went on; added, “You’re in my way.”

  “But I want to talk to you,” Roy said, moving closer. “It’s time you and me got to know each other.”

  “I want to find Steve,” she repeated; tried to step round him, but he prevented her.

  “Never mind Steve. Come on, be nice. I like you, kid. I could go for you in a big way.” He caught hold of her, pulled her to him. She stood against him, unresisting, uninterested, her eyes still looking towards the cabin. His hands went round her back and he held her close, feeling her soft hair against” his face. It was like holding a tailor’s dummy, but Roy was scarcely aware of her apathy. He had been without a woman for three weeks, and to Roy that was three weeks too long. He didn’t care how apathetic a woman was so long as he could have his hands on her body and she didn’t resist him.

  “Please let me go,” Carol said seriously. “I want to find Steve.”

  “He won’t run away,” Roy said thickly, swung her round, bending her back. He looked into her blank serene eyes, then crushed his mouth down on hers. Her lips were hard and tight under his, but her hands hung limply at her sides. She neither resisted nor complied.

  Blood hammered inside his head as his hands slid over her. and he
bent her further back, holding her close to him.

  Then suddenly he was dragged round, and releasing Carol with an oath he caught a glimpse of Steve’s infuriated face. Before he had a chance to reach for his gun Steve’s fist crashed to his jaw and he fell heavily and lay on the pine needles, stunned.

  “Do that again and I’ll break your neck,” Steve said evenly; put his arm round Carol, drew her away. “Come on,” he said to her. “Let’s get back to the cabin.”

  “Why did you hit him?” Carol asked, walking contentedly by Steve’s side. “I didn’t mind.”

  “I didn’t want him to frighten you,” Steve returned, giving her a quick, puzzled glance.

  “I wasn’t frightened. But I don’t like him,” Carol said. “If you don’t want him to do that to me again I won’t let him. I didn’t know if that’s what you wanted.”

  “No,” Steve said, bewildered by this reasoning. “I don’t want him to do that again.”

  Roy watched them go, then he got slowly to his feet. He was so elated that Carol hadn’t resisted him that he almost forgot that Steve had knocked him down. He had kissed her! It had been like taking candy from a kid. If Steve hadn’t shoved his oar in . . . why, she was a push-over!

  That night, when Roy was in bed, Steve came into the bedroom after locking up. Roy had kept out of the way all day, but now, face to face once more with Steve, he decided to take the initiative before his brother slanged him.

  “You watch your fists, you big hick,” he said, scowling. “The next time you start something like that you’ll pick lead out of your belly.”

  “Then keep your hands off the girl,” Steve said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Can’t you see she’s not normal? That bang on the head’s done something to her. She’s like a kid. So lay off, Roy. There can be no fun in fooling around with a girl in her mental state.”

  “Can’t there?” Roy grinned. “All cats are grey in the dark whether they’re nuts or normal. She’s just a woman to me, and I like women.”

  “Lay off or we’ll have a show-down,” Steve said, his face grim.