The Rim of Morning

by William Sloane

  I got up then and went down into the kitchen. Mrs. Walters was there, not working but simply sitting heavily in a chair looking out the window. Her face looked older than it had before, and there was something at once defiant and defeated about her. I sat down across the table and looked at her.

  “Mrs. Walters, I want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  She turned her head slowly away from the window. “About what? I should think you had accomplished everything you wanted now.” There was bitterness in her final word. “He has showed you the communicator. You know as much as I do. More, perhaps, because you are a scientist and I am not. But remember that I contributed as much to that thing as Julian. I have given him everything I could. I have worked for years. I have protected him—and it—in ways that you and all your kind would never have the courage to do. Now I suppose he’s through with me.”

  The whiskey was warm inside me. I felt a certain impersonal pity for her, a desire to make this easy. But I did not dare. “Listen,” I said, “that thing of Julian’s is dangerous. Maybe he knows how dangerous it is, but if he does he won’t admit it. I doubt if you have any conception. I’m not even sure that I’m right. But I’m sure enough to act on what I believe. Have you got a key to that room?”

  “No.” Her voice was heavy and noncommittal. “Have you ever had one?”

  “No.”

  “I want you to promise me that you will never, even if you have the opportunity, touch that thing again. At least, until I am sure about it.”

  She smiled unpleasantly. “So it’s got you, too,” she observed. “You see now that your friend Julian is not mad, as you thought so charitably when you came here. And you want control of it for yourself.”

  “Have it any way you like,” I said. “But I know one thing. Nobody must touch that machine of his again.”

  “I make no promises,” she said.

  “In that case I’ll have to threaten you.”

  There was an abrupt stiffening to her bulky body, a sort of wary tension to the way she sat. “I have nothing of which to be afraid.”

  “Haven’t you?” I said. “Well, perhaps not. But I think you do. Something recent, Mrs. Walters. Something connected with Elora Marcy.”

  The words fell into the silence between us. She made no answer to them. I went on. “I think I know one thing, now. That is, the way Mrs. Marcy was killed. I think, to go a step further, that the thing that made those injuries across her chest, that broke her arms, was not a rock ledge, nor even the edge of a stair. I think it was the edge of a table.

  ”

  She stared at me. “You’re crazy.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  “Am I? I hope so.” I got up. “But unless you’re quite sure that I am, I suggest that you do as I say. Remember, Mrs. Walters, how that air jams you forward toward the blackness? Suppose someone were in that room. Suppose that someone had separate access to that room only once a week—when she had temporary possession of the key to let the cleaning woman in. Suppose that person was afraid that the apparatus was almost finished and that the man who had built it proposed to throw it away by making it public. Suppose that he had been working alone on it a great deal. What do you think such a person might do?”

  “This is all impossible.”

  “Certainly. But while Mrs. Marcy was sweeping the floor, this person—a woman—went to the apparatus. She lifted the covering from the control panel. There was the lever, convenient to her hand. There was the opportunity to find out, once for all, if the thing worked. In such a blinding instant of temptation, even a woman of your control might have weakened, might have lost all caution. Might have thrown that lever over toward the right, and thrown it too far. The blackness sprang into existence and with a strength of which you had never dreamed. Mrs. Marcy was, perhaps, between the window and the open edge of the table. The gust of air struck her back. She was a light woman, anyhow. She was hurled forward—and killed . . . How did you manage to shut the machine off?”

  I had her. She made no sign of defeat, but for the first time since I had known her, she was looking down, at the floor. Her voice was low. “The control panel saved me. My body must have knocked the lever back.”

  “Lucky,” I commented. “But your moment of stupidity was over. You thought of everything. How you managed I don’t know. Perhaps you’d got Mrs. Marcy’s body to the foot of the stairs before he saw you. Perhaps he knows the whole thing. Anyhow, he was stunned—by your treachery and the accident itself. You persuaded him to let you handle it. You saw us coming across the meadow and persuaded us that Mrs. Marcy had had a fall. It was a wonderful job. Then you got us out of the way, Anne and me, and covered up what had happened.” As I spoke, the details of what she must have done came crowding into my mind. “You have small feet. You went out in the rain twice. First with your own shoes. Then Mrs. Marcy’s. That second time it was you, not she, who went into the river. That took courage. I admire you for it. Anne said you were a wonderful swimmer, but I forgot that until this moment. I suppose you landed down near the house here?”

  She nodded. There were no words left in her.

  “You put Mrs. Marcy’s shoes back on her body. Then you carried it out of the house and put it in the river. I suppose the whole thing didn’t take half an hour. You came back to the house, changed your dress, and were waiting for us when we got back with Dr. Rambouillet.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” “I don’t know yet. You haven’t, at least in my eyes, committed any crime. I suppose that technically and legally you’re guilty of several things. But the criminal thing you did was to turn on that apparatus of Julian’s when he was not in the room . . .”

  “I had to know,” she said. “

  What I don’t yet understand—any more than you—is what that apparatus of his really does. All I know is that it’s a horror, more dangerous than if this house was stored solid with nitroglycerin. That’s why I want your promise that you will never touch that machine again.” A thought occurred to me. “And that you will go away from here at the first opportunity. As soon as the sheriff gives any of us permission.”

  She stood up at that and the humility was gone out of her. She had heard the worst there was to say and she was fighting now, suddenly. “And leave you alone with Julian? I hope you don’t think I swallow that sermon of yours about the danger of the communicator? Julian and I know that it is not yet perfect. But you’ve seen enough to know that it will work. You’ve seen the edge of the other world about which I think I know more than you.” She sneered openly. “After all, Professor Sayles, you’re only a two-bit professor in a college. You aren’t the kind of man that Julian is. But you want the glory of being associated with him, now, at the end, when the years of work are over. Well, I won’t do it. I want something to show for what I’ve done. I won’t go away. I intend to stay right here. Get me out if you can.”

  I looked at her steadily. “I’ve warned you.”

  She gave no ground. “You can’t do a thing to me without involving all of us. And Julian most of all. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

  “Mrs. Walters,” I said, “I’ve told you everything that’s on my mind. After this morning, I won’t hesitate to involve all of us if I have to do it to get that damn’ thing of Julian’s stopped.”

  “Including Anne, I suppose.”

  “Including her if it’s unavoidable.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “for telling me so plainly what you intend to do.” With that she walked past me and out the kitchen door. It slammed behind her.

  I felt good about that interview. It seemed to me that I had been right, that I had taken the wisest course, and that the control of the situation in this terrible house was now in my hands. After a time I changed my mind. That was when I heard the roar of the car backing out of the garage. By the time I got outside, it was already diminishing up the road toward the village. I watched it go with complete incomprehension. It was only when I saw Anne standing
beside the doorway, looking after the car with as much bewilderment as my own that I understood how far out of my control events actually were.

  29.

  “FOR HEAVEN’S sake!” Anne sounded half amused, half furious. “You said you were going to talk to her, but I never thought you were going to have that much effect. She’s mad, Dick.”

  “Oh, yes,” I admitted.

  “She came stamping out the back door and just climbed into the car without a word. I was doing a front fender when she got in. She just backed the car right out from under my hand.” She held up the chamois skin in proof. “What in the world did you say to her?”

  “Amongst other things, I told her she was responsible for Mrs. Marcy’s death and how she fooled all the rest of us. I threatened to tell somebody about it if she didn’t do what I wanted, which was to go away at once.”

  “So she’s running away?”

  “No,” I admitted slowly. “I don’t think so. I think she’s trying to steal a march on us. If she does . . .” My mind raced ahead, trying to estimate the probabilities and it seemed to me they were not promising. “If she does, it will almost have to be at Julian’s expense.”

  Anne said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did Mrs. Walters have to do with Elora’s death? She didn’t kill her, did she?”

  “No, not that bad.” I summarized most of it for her, being careful to say as little as I could about the nature of what I had seen in Julian’s workroom. I said that there had been an “accident” in there, and then hurried on to the rest of the story. Anne listened without interrupting me. “Now,” I said, “she’s gone. But I have an idea she’ll be back. And I don’t know what to do in the meantime.”

  Anne remarked thoughtfully, “We better tell Uncle Julian. Then I think we might have lunch, cooked by my own fair hands.” She was even smiling.

  I liked the way she took it. Not a reproach to me for having bungled things nor a single word about the likelihood that we were in for an even more unpleasant time than anything that had happened so far. As we were walking back to the house, she remarked once, “Poor Uncle Julian,” and that was all. In the kitchen she turned and confronted me quietly. “Before you talk to Uncle Julian,” she said, “I just want you to know whatever happens, it’ll be all right with me.”

  “Thanks.” The word seemed inadequate, so I tried thanking her another way. That was better. Finally I said, “Darling, this is the craziest thing of all. I’m twelve years older than you.”

  “In that case,” she said softly, “I think it’s high time you stopped being a chivalrous idiot.”

  So I did my best.

  30.

  JULIAN was actually sleeping when I went up to his room. I woke him as gently as I could and told him that he had better come down right away and have a talk. He looked at me curiously. “What’s happened, my boy?”

  “I’ll tell you later, Julian.”

  He got up and straightened his clothes. “Let me have my key again.”

  “No. You won’t need it till after lunch, at least. You’ve been half starving yourself lately, Julian. You eat with us first and then we’ll see.”

  He sluiced his face in the washbasin and combed his hair in the old, impatient way. “Richard, I just want to remind you that you are a college professor and not a male nurse.”

  “The rest did you good,” I told him. “You sound pretty chipper.”

  “Yes. But this is all a waste of time. I must get back to work right away. Have you been thinking about our problem?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is your conclusion?”

  “After lunch,” I said inexorably. “Come along now.”

  Anne’s idea of a meal was infinitely more edible than Mrs. Walters’ had been. Julian ate a surprising amount, and though I wanted to burst right out with my story, and explain what had happened, I managed to restrain myself. Still, the tick of the kitchen clock seemed to me faster and faster.

  As soon as the meal was over I told Julian directly that I had confronted Mrs. Walters with the facts about Mrs. Marcy’s death. He listened without any comment.

  “That is so, Richard,” he admitted finally. “At least, it must be. I was not, as you surmised, in the room when the accident occurred, but I knew what must have happened. Somehow I was so startled and horrified that I did not think as clearly as I should have. I let her do what she wanted. It was all about as you described it. She came to me afterward, told me what she had done, and I agreed to back her up. I wish now—”

  “Meantime,” I interrupted, “She’s gone to town. Or somewhere. And I’m afraid of what she may do.”

  “If she tells the true story, with variations,” Anne inquired, “what do you think will happen?”

  The same wonder had been in my own mind. “I suppose we’d have to submit to a second inquiry. Anyhow, I think, the thing to do as soon as we can is to get a lawyer.”

  Julian’s expression had been slowly changing as he thought over what I had told him. A set look had come into his face. “Richard,” he said finally, “I want that key. I want it right now.”

  “Listen, Julian. Don’t go back to work yet awhile. Not till I’ve had a chance to talk to you about that other part of it.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that you won’t give me the key?”

  I began to be alarmed by what I saw in his face, but I held my ground. “Yes, Julian. That’s what I mean. The key stays in my pocket until after this whole mess is over. That thing of yours is too dangerous. I don’t think you understand quite how appalling it is, Julian.”

  He looked as if I had put a knife in his ribs. “But Dick, can’t you see how little time . . .” His face was pitiful. I found myself suddenly hating the role I was playing. “You must realize, Dick, that if anything were to happen before . . . before I finish, everything will be lost. It will be failure. You’re enough of a scientist to know that no one else could complete my work?”

  I knew that. I know it still. I trust with all my heart that those words of Julian’s were true, but there is just a chance that they were

  not. And I hope that if there is anyone, now or ever, who tries to follow in Julian’s track, he will be fully aware, as Julian was not, of what his work will mean. That whirling gulf of blackness is not a mere danger, like an explosive. It is, in the end, a breach in the whole of life. How much it is capable of devouring once it is set loose I do not think any one can predict.

  Julian’s plea made me feel like a traitor, but it did not shake my determination. Even treachery to a friend can be the lesser of two evils. I turned through the door. “Let’s go into the living room a minute,” I said to him. “I want to try to explain, Julian, why I’m doing this to you.”

  I remember a few things after those words. I recollect opening the door into the hall. I have a vague image of a sudden burst of stars inside my skull and then a roaring blackness diminishing into oblivion . . .

  The next thing I saw was Anne’s face, bending over me, white and frightened. My head was a jumble of pain and confused thoughts; it appeared to be lying in her lap. After a while I made out the shape of the stairs and knew that I was still in the hall.

  “Dick,” she was saying, “Dick darling!”

  “I’m all right.” The pain in my head was so terrific that I could hardly think. But there was something more important than my head, something I had to remember. “Where’s the key?” I said and began to fumble in my pocket. It was gone, of course.

  “Lie still,” she said. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”

  “The key, Anne. He’s got the key.” I tried to sit up, but it was no go. “Listen, darling,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. Go upstairs right away and listen at his door. Find out where he is, somehow. And come back and tell me.”

  She lowered my head to the floor gently. “You be absolutely quiet, now.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Only hurry.”

  I lay there through several eternities
of time until I heard her feet on the stairs. “He’s in his laboratory,” she told me. “Working at something. He wouldn’t let me in.”

  “Oh, God,” I said and tried to sit up again. This time I succeeded after a fashion. When the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hall stopped going round I looked at her and tried to smile. “You’d never think he was strong enough to hit that hard. What did he do it with?”

  She held out the heavy-duty flashlight that they kept in the hall. “This. It weighs pounds. How do you feel now?”

  I examined the back of my head with cautious fingers. “There’s going to be a lump there. But I’m better. I don’t think he broke anything.” I got a firm grip on the bottom of one of the balusters and hauled at it. After a while I was on my feet. Once again the room spun round me, but this time it came to rest sooner. Anne was watching me. “Give me a hand,” I said. “I’ll try that sofa in the living room for a while. And if there’s any ice, you might bring me a chunk of it.”

  With my arm over her shoulders I managed to make the living room. Julian must have hit me a fearful crack; the whole back of my head was throbbing with every pulse beat. Anne told me to lie still while she got something and slipped quickly out of the room.

  I tried to think what was to be done. There was no sense reproaching myself for a fool. I had simply underestimated the desperation that keeping the key from him would engender in Julian’s tortured mind. The imperative thing was to stop him from trying that apparatus of his again. My head was throbbing like an anvil on which incandescent iron was being beaten into shape, but a single idea did come to me. If the power cable could be cut, the current would be shut off. That would stop him and it was the only thing that would. But I dared not send Anne out to climb a pole and cut it. If Mrs. Walters had not taken the car, she could have thrown a rope over the cable, fastened it to the bumper, and simply pulled till something tore loose. But any such expedient was out of the question now.