If I Die Before I Wake

by Sherwood King

  ‘Oh, you just did it for a whim, I suppose,’ the fat man said.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘It was just a whim.’

  Going back, I was surprised at how quiet everything was. Even the thunder seemed hushed and far away.

  No one was around, either on the road or at the station. That was bad – the idea was that people should see me going back from the beach alone. It was part of the plan, to prove I couldn’t have been down on Wall Street.

  But nobody saw me.

  It was dark on the road beside the swamp. A cold mist rose and fell in the light from the headlamps. I drove slowly, watching the road through the haze, my eyes smarting.

  Suddenly the lights on the car went out. Blackness rushed in, blotting out the road.

  I slammed on the brakes and got out to have a look. The road here dropped sharply to the swamp, a ten-foot fall. It was impossible to go on in the dark.

  I found the flashlight and looked for the break in the wiring. It must have happened in the accident, and for some reason had held together until now. But I couldn’t find it and at last had to give it up. All I could do was wait for the moonlight to come through – and after a while it did, just long enough for me to make the garage.

  III

  Now it was over.

  I was back in my room over the garage.

  The first thing I had to do was hide the money.

  I didn’t want to touch it. That was silly. I hadn’t done anything. Yet I felt guilty.

  Perhaps it was the blood. Grisby’s blood. It was just as though I had killed him really, and had taken his money.

  I tried not to think of Grisby, or of Bannister.

  The clock was ticking. I was surprised to see that it was only eleven-thirty. I thought if it hadn’t been for the lights going out, I’d have been back by eleven.

  I looked for a likely spot to hide the money. No place seemed safe; the police were sure to find it. Each place I thought of seemed the one they would look first.

  At last I decided on the mattress. I took my knife and cut a slit along the bottom, just large enough for the package. It went in nicely.

  A sound startled me. I whirled to face the door. A quick spasm of shaking seized me.

  The door was opening.

  In the doorway stood Broome, smiling sickly. He was wearing the same blue polo shirt and gray slacks. His hair was rumpled.

  I smoothed down the covers and then turned them up again as though I were getting ready for bed. My blood was racing. I thought there was guilt all over my face.

  ‘Are you home?’ he asked. Silly question.

  What I said was just as silly. I had forgotten it was not yet late. I had thought it was; even though I had just seen the clock, my impression that it was late remained.

  ‘What are you doing wandering around at this hour?’

  He came into the room. ‘As the college professor said, “My eyes are prominent and pink; My mouth tastes like the kitchen sink; I am not well.”’

  I started to laugh, he looked so funny reciting the poem. But my lips wouldn’t take the laugh.

  ‘You mean you’ve been drinking?’ I asked.

  ‘Um-huh… like a little drink yourself?’

  ‘No, thanks, I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Well, good-night,’ he said. He squinted and looked at my trousers, then at the cuts on my face.

  ‘Say—’

  ‘Oh, that. Just a little accident,’ I told him.

  ‘Accident?’ He could hardly say the word.

  ‘Yes. In the car. Nothing serious.’

  ‘Well – you haven’t any aspirin, have you?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  He went out.

  I heaved a sigh and threw myself on the bed. So this was the way it was. Would there always be this same prickly fear, this same sinking at the stomach?

  I looked at the clock. I thought of Bannister lying dead. I shuddered. Yes, it must be all over by now. Soon the police—

  Suddenly I remembered the bloodstains in the car, what I must do, and quickly.

  I hurried down to the car and filled a bucket of water. Then I took a sponge and started washing away the stains. I was careful not to do too good a job, just good enough to make it seem that I was trying to cover up.

  I tried not to think of Bannister being killed, but the blood kept me from thinking of anything else. I saw him falling, his twisted leg bent under him, his eyes looking wonderstruck at Grisby and the gun as he fell…

  I heard footsteps crunching on gravel. The sound stopped. I waited, holding my breath. Silence… maybe I had imagined it, then…

  Something made me look up at the window.

  My hair stood on end.

  Framed in the window was the face of Elsa Bannister.

  Her mouth was open in surprise. She seemed white – frightened.

  I dropped the sponge and went out to her.

  ‘I was out for a walk,’ she said, ‘I saw the light, and your shadow moving. I came over to see what was wrong.’

  ‘Why, nothing,’ I said. ‘A little accident. I ran into a truck—’

  ‘You’re hurt!’ She looked at the cuts on my face, in the light from the window. Her hands went up to my face.

  ‘It isn’t anything. Just a few scratches.’

  She was in my arms, trembling, holding me tight. Her lips quivered at my kiss. Then she drew back. There was something on her mind.

  ‘Laurence—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You said last night… you said that you wanted to go back to sea.’

  I waited, surprised.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you – if you still think you ought to go—’

  I felt as though I had been struck. If she hadn’t stopped me last night I would have been gone. I wouldn’t have had this terrible weight hanging over me, this feeling of guilt and of terror.

  For the first time, too, it came to me that now she was a widow. A widow!

  ‘You mean that you want me to go?’ I asked.

  ‘I mean that I want you to be happy.’

  She was very earnest. She spoke slowly, thinking over each word.

  ‘You see, I know how it is to feel caught – to be forced to stay in one place. I have been married for eight years. For eight years I have been – a prisoner.’

  When she said ‘prisoner,’ I jumped. Did she know? But that was impossible!

  She went on: ‘So I know how you feel about going back to sea. Why not go – now, tonight?’

  I couldn’t believe it.

  ‘You want me to go?’ I asked again.

  She caught her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes filled with tears. She drew the back of her hand across her face.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  I held her in my arms. Her body grew limp. Her hair became loose and tumbled down over my hands in cool waves. We kissed. My blood sang, ‘Now, now!’

  I carried her to the house and over the threshold.

  There was a light on in one room. It threw a soft orange glow over a lounge in the corner.

  As I lowered her, her arms tightened. Her kiss rocked me on my feet.

  Now, now!…

  A cough came behind us.

  I jumped back.

  My heart pounded.

  It was Broome again. He came into the light, lurching a little to one side. Then he saw us.

  ‘Oh—’ he said.

  He started to back out.

  Mrs Bannister was on her feet. She seemed very cool.

  ‘What is it, Broome?’

  Broome came back into the light. He looked from one to the other of us, smirking.

  ‘You’ve been drinking… I’m afraid I will have to speak to Mr Bannister about you.’

  Broome shook his head. He explained: ‘I knocked and no one answered. I thought you were out. I’ve
been trying to find an aspirin. My head’s killing me.’

  He must have come into the house while we were talking outside the garage. It was strange we hadn’t heard him. But everything was strange about this night.

  She hesitated, looking at him.

  ‘Oh, I see. There’s some upstairs in the cabinet. The maid – or wait – I suppose I’ll have to get them for you.’

  She went out, frowning and fixing her hair.

  Broome winked at me. He pursed his lips into a whistle.

  ‘You’re pretty good,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Pretending she couldn’t be touched with a ten-foot pole – all that gaff you handed me about her. You had me fooled, too, for a while.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ I said. ‘You’re imagining things. She wouldn’t look at me any more than she would at you. Why—’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you weren’t kissing her just now.’

  ‘Why, you—’

  I would like to have smashed his face in as he stood there leering. But I knew he was drunk and not responsible.

  ‘Well, weren’t you? Understand, I take my hat off—’

  He didn’t really see us, then. He was leaping at conclusions just from finding me there with her. That was better. If he had seen us, he might have thought, when he heard of Bannister being killed, that she and I had planned it together.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ I said again.

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’

  ‘She noticed the car was smashed when I drove it into the garage. She wanted to hear all about the accident. I told her.’

  He was disappointed.

  When Mrs Bannister came back into the room, he was respectful again.

  ‘I hope you will feel better now,’ she said.

  He thanked her and went out.

  When he had gone, we looked at each other. We both felt cheated.

  ‘Do you suppose he saw us?’ she whispered tensely.

  ‘No, I know he didn’t. I could tell by what he said. You needn’t worry.’

  ‘I wasn’t worrying about myself, but about you. Marco – Mr Bannister – is insanely jealous. You might as well know. He might even try to kill you if he learned—’

  I took her in my arms again. Suddenly I thought that maybe everything would be all right, after all.

  But her kiss had fear in it.

  ‘No, please. You’ll have to go. Broome will notice if you stay too long.’

  ‘He’s too drunk to notice anything.’

  She shook her head, biting her lip.

  ‘I’m afraid he was only pretending. I think he saw us come in together, and used that for an excuse. I told you that Mr Bannister was jealous. I think he hired Broome to watch—’

  ‘He hired Broome!’

  ‘Why, yes, of course.’

  ‘But Broome told me you hired him. He said you saw him at the Innes place and told him to drop over here after he’d finished. He said you liked the work he was doing for them.’

  Her mouth opened in surprise.

  ‘You mean that isn’t true?’ I asked.

  She clutched my arm. She seemed really frightened now.

  ‘No. Not one word of it is true! Did he ask you questions about me? Did he try to draw you out at all or become friends with you?’

  ‘He asked me if there wasn’t someone you met in town, when I drove you in, or if anyone came out here to see you. I told him he had you all wrong. He doesn’t know about us, but he guesses. He’s suspicious of everyone, even Grisby.’

  ‘Then that proves it.’ Her hand on my arm tightened. ‘He’s no more a gardener than you or I. He’s a detective!’

  IV

  Through the wall I could hear Broome snoring.

  I couldn’t sleep myself.

  Why didn’t they come?

  The clock ticked on. It was after two; still they did not come.

  Except for Broome’s drunken sleeping, everything was still. Not a sound came from the house. But there was a light on in Elsa’s room. Now and then a shadow passed the window. I could feel her near, and was glad.

  The light went out. Now I was alone.

  I walked back and forth, back and forth. Not even the chirping of a cricket. Yet there was a tightening at the throat – as though everything was closing in on me.

  Suddenly I knew I was not going to go through with it. Grisby was a fool to think I would. How did I know it wasn’t all a trick of his to fasten Bannister’s killing on me and protect himself?

  Five thousand dollars was cheap for having someone go to the chair for you.

  I had it! Grisby had never had any thought of going away. He’d paid me the five thousand so he wouldn’t have to go! And there I was, walking right into the electric chair for him, just as he was counting on me doing.

  What if he had threatened to come back and get me if I didn’t go through with it? I would be at sea by the time he knew.

  I started for the door, switching out the light.

  The glare of headlights turning into the drive came through the window. For a minute it blinded me.

  Brakes screeched. Motorcycle stands clicked into place. Car doors banged. There was the sound of many men walking on gravel.

  The night was suddenly alive with voices.

  ‘Cover the house. We’ll try the garage.’

  I heard the garage door open and men moving below.

  ‘McCracken!’ one said. ‘Look at this!’

  ‘Find something?’

  ‘Look at the car – it’s smashed. He must have hit something getting away.’

  ‘What’s this, on the seat here?’

  ‘Blood!’

  ‘We got him, all right.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence, and then:

  ‘Maybe he’s taken a run-out powder.’

  A man laughed hoarsely.

  ‘What would he be bringing the car back for, then? No, he’s here, all right.’

  ‘Come on – let’s get him!’

  I slipped out of the room and down the dark hall to the rear. There was a window here. It was open.

  Broome’s bed creaked. He had heard the voices. He knew the police were after me.

  His light flashed on.

  He saw me at the window. He lurched forward.

  Men were starting up the stairs.

  I struck out. The blow hit Broome squarely. He reeled back and then crashed forward to the floor.

  I scrambled through the window. For a second I hung on the ledge. Then I dropped.

  There were bushes here. I went in and out of them, running bent over, gasping, stumbling, falling.

  A shout went up behind me.

  ‘Quick – get him! He just went out the window!’

  I ran on. I reached the hedge that lined the drive. I followed it to the road.

  Motorcycles started up. They were going to head me off!

  I crossed the road and plunged into the woods on the other side. It was so dark I couldn’t see. I felt my way along. My lungs were bursting. Branches scratched me. I hit a stump. I fell. I lay panting.

  Suddenly moonlight soaked through the trees. I could see now. I went on. The voices of men beating the woods followed me.

  The woods broke. Underfoot the ground became soft, soggy.

  I stopped and listened.

  The motorcycles were roaring up and down the road. Sirens screamed. Scattered voices issued from the woods. Flashlights stabbed the darkness. They were coming closer.

  I saw that where I had come out of the woods was the edge of the swamp. The weeds here were waist high. Low over the swamp to the east a great round moon had broken through the clouds. It gave a ghostly glow to the haze. In the west, the sky was still torn with rolling sheets of lightning. A rumbling came from the west. />
  I ran bent over through the weeds. Soon there was water. I splashed through it knee-deep. I came on to drier ground.

  Suddenly the ruins of an old building loomed up ahead. The front half of the building was gone. The jagged sides and the rear rose up and were lost in the writhing wisps of the haze.

  I climbed over fallen beams and went in.

  It was dark inside. I moved toward the back, toward shafts of moonlight pouring through a window onto stairs. Tiny bright eyes glinted from the stairs.

  The voices seemed very near. The police had entered the swamp!

  I went forward to the stairs. At the first creak, a horde of rats moved out from underneath. There was a sudden rush, then silence as they watched me climb.

  A step broke. I leaped clear.

  Now I was at the top. Part of the floor remained. There was a dark corner where the roof still stood. I climbed on hands and knees. Boards caved under me and crashed to the floor below. I reached the corner. I lay still, panting and shaking.

  Soon the rats began to come. They squatted around in a circle, watching. The moonlight shone on their glossy coats. Their tails were thick and long. They looked as big and fat as tomcats. They sat and waited.

  I took a stick and threw it at them. They scampered. In a minute they were back. They sat and waited.

  A boiling hatred of rats mounted in me. They seemed so smug and superior. I would like to have killed them all.

  As though they read my thoughts, they turned and ran.

  My breathing came easier now. I stood up and looked over the edge of the ruins.

  Now I could see why the rats had run. Men were coming. They were closing in upon the old building from three sides. Their flashlights ripped the haze.

  I lay down and did not move.

  Voices came up to me as the men met below.

  ‘Try the stairs,’ someone said.

  Another: ‘Watch it! He may have a gun!’

  The rats were very still.

  The stairs creaked. Now the rats scurried from all directions. They raced under the feet of the men moving up the stairs.

  ‘He couldn’t have gone up here. There’s a big gap where the stairs have caved in.’

  ‘Well, he’s in one of these buildings.’

  A voice boomed: ‘Jesus, a rat! Right under my feet. I must have stepped on him. He was big as a house.’