The Cross-Eyed Bear Murders (1940) by Dorothy B. Hughes

Author:Dorothy B. Hughes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781480426948
Publisher: Mysteriouspress.Com/Open Road
Published: 2013-05-07T21:18:00+00:00

Chapter Seven: The Acid Brand

TOO WEARIED FOR MORE fear, she entered the deserted lobby of The Lorenzo. Tonight’s work was done. Nothing mattered now except bed. She walked to the elevator. It was open. And Guard Croyden was inside.

“Oh.” It was less a word than a catch of breath. Automatically she took two backward steps, just two.

Guard said, “Going up?”

The elevator attendant said nothing, looked sleepy, dull. She stood, and then she took two steps forward. The cage closed. The elevator stopped at tenth. Guard’s steps were behind her as she moved dreamlike to her own door. She took out her key but she couldn’t insert it. She held it in wavering fingers. He took it from her, opened it as if it were a simple thing to do. Again he stood aside for her to pass.

It wasn’t herself who was doing this. She hadn’t been here since she reached the elevator door. She was someone standing outside the frame watching a girl walk deliberately, open-eyed, into danger. The girl didn’t have to go up in the elevator with a man who might kill her; she could walk out of the hotel; she could scream for help; she could move so easily to the desk and ask for the house detective. She might be hypnotized for all the volition she had. She stood in her living room watching him turn on lamps. She stood there while he, wordless, helped her off with her coat. Only when he walked back to the corridor door and fastened the bolt did she move, taking a step toward him, her hand flung out in protest.

He said, “We don’t want to be interrupted,” and her arm dropped, and then he said, “Now that you’ve had a good sleep, maybe you’ll feel more like talking.”

She stood there, stupidly telling him, “I didn’t get to sleep. I had to go out.”

“Had to?”

“Yes.”

He said, “I don’t suppose there’s any use asking where you went?”

“No.” She just said it, without emotion, without feeling, not even looking at him.

He was lighting a cigarette. “You might as well sit down. I’ve some things to say.”

“Can’t they wait until morning?” She was so tired, half-asleep.

“They cannot. I don’t want to be interrupted.” He took a chair, made himself comfortable.

She didn’t move.

“Would a drink help you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want a drink. I don’t want anything but to go to bed.”

“I believed that once tonight. You looked so dragged out even I went soft.” His face was harsh. “I got out. So you could set about your work. Sit down.”

She obeyed. She didn’t know why he should insist on talking to her; it had all been aimless. He had learned nothing, nor did she know what he might expect to find out. He knew so much more about it all than she.

He said to the cigarette between his fingers, “I did a little serious thinking while you were out. Sometimes a person gets ideas sitting alone thinking.” He was mocking her and something again began to chill her, creeping about her like fog.

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