Uncollected Crimes (1987) Anthology by Bill Pronzini; Martin H Greenberg

Author:Bill Pronzini; Martin H Greenberg [Greenberg, Bill Pronzini; Martin H]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

HOMECOMING

Michael Collins

(1964)

Whether he is writing under the pseudonyms Michael Collins, Mark Sadler, William Arden, or John Crowe, or under his real name, Dennis Lynds is one of today’s finest purveyors of intelligent and thought-provoking crime fiction. His earliest accomplishment in the field was a series of offbeat stories in MSMM in the 1960s about a character named Slot-Machine Kelly; later he contributed a variety of other stories to EQMM, AHMM, and MSMM, among them several featuring his Michael Collins series character, one-armed New York private investigator Dan Fortune. “Homecoming,” a non-series tale, is Lynds at his most evocative and profound.

Sarah Williams did not open her eyes. But she knew they had come for her. She could feel them there in the room, hovering all around her bed.

She knew she was awake, but she lay on the bed with her eyes closed, her body motionless, her slow breathing the only movement in the room. She knew the bedroom was dark, the Venetian blinds shut tight as always behind the heavy green curtains because she could not abide light when she was in bed. It was not the fear of light that made her lie there with her eyes closed long after it was time for her to be up and working.

It was the dream.

The memory of the cruel, horrible dream had rushed over her like a speeding car from the night the moment she awoke.

In the dream, Peter had come home. Her only son Peter who had died in Korea. They had told her. Only nineteen, Peter, and he had been killed in the hills of Korea. There had not even been a grave for her to find and weep over.

Of course, they had always told her that Peter might not be dead. Peter could be a prisoner. The Chinese were strange people, and Peter could be a prisoner the Chinese had decided to keep and hide. She had told them to stop trying to make her build castles in the air. She was not a weak woman. Peter had died bravely for his country, and she could be brave, too.

Last night Peter had come home.

In the dream, of course. After five years of being dead, Peter had come home. Without even a telegram to warn her! Peter had come home like a thief in the night. Or was there a telegram? She seemed to remember Peter had said he had sent a telegram. She was sure, though, that she had never received one.

“Hello, Mother.”

Like a thief in the night! Older, much older, with the horrible scars on his delicate face. Not the Peter she had remembered—the memory she had each time she stood and looked at his name on the monument. A scarred face, his thick hair not even combed, his uniform wrinkled and dirty, and the smile on his face was somehow evil.

“It’s me, Mother. I’m here.”

She had been alone in the kitchen. Late at night, because she had wanted to work a little longer on the speech she was to deliver to the Gold Star Mothers meeting.

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