〃Wendy — 〃
〃You bastard！〃
She turned and ran down the rest of the stairs to the first floor。 Danny's
head jounced mildly up and down as she ran。 His thumb was lodged securely in his
mouth。 His eyes were soaped windows。 She turned right at the foot of the stairs；
and Jack heard her feet retreat to the end of it。 Their bedroom door slammed。
The bolt was run home。 The lock turned。 Brief silence。 Then the soft； muttered
sounds of forting。
He stood for an unknown length of time； literally paralyzed by all that had
happened in such a short space of time。 His dream was still with him； painting
everything a slightly unreal shade。 It was as if he had taken a very mild
mescaline hit。 Had he maybe hurt Danny as Wendy thought？ Tried to strangle his
son at his dead father's request？ No。 He would never hurt Danny。
（He fell down the stairs； Doctor。）
He would never hurt Danny now。
（How could I know the bug bomb was defective？）
Never in his life had he been willfully vicious when he was sober。
（Except when you almost killed George Hatfield。）
〃No！〃 he cried into the darkness。 He brought both fists crashing down on his
legs； again and again and again。
* * *
Wendy sat in the overstuffed chair by the window with Danny on her lap；
holding him； crooning the old meaningless words； the ones you never remember
afterward no matter how a thing turns out。 He had folded onto her lap with
neither protest nor gladness； like a paper cutout of himself； and his eyes
didn't even shift toward the door when Jack cried out 〃No！〃 somewhere in the
hallway。
The confusion had receded a little bit in her mind； but she now discovered
something even worse behind it。 Panic。
Jack had done this； she had no doubt of it。 His denials meant nothing to her。
She thought it was perfectly possible that Jack had tried to throttle Danny in
his sleep just as he had smashed the CB radio in his sleep。 He was having a
breakdown of some kind。 But what was she going to do about it？ She couldn't stay
locked in here forever。 They would have to eat。
There was really only one question； and it was asked in a mental voice of
utter coldness and pragmatism； the voice of her maternity； a cold and
passionless voice once it was directed away from the closed circle of mother and
child and out toward Jack。 It was a voice that spoke of self…preservation only
after son…preservation and its question was：
（Exactly how dangerous is he？）
He had denied doing it。 He had been horrified at the bruises； at Danny's soft
and implacable disconnection。 If he had done it； a separate section of himself
had been responsible。 The fact that he had done it when he was asleep was in a
terrible； twisted way encouraging。 Wasn't it possible that he could be trusted
to get them out of here？ To get them down and away。 And after that 。。。
But she could see no further than she and Danny arriving safe at Dr。 Edmonds's
office in Sidewinder。 She had no particular need to see further。 The present
crisis was more than enough to keep her occupied。
She crooned to Danny； rocking him on her breasts。 Her fingers； on his
shoulder； had noticed that his T…shirt was damp； but they had not bothered
reporting the information to her brain in more than a cursory way。 If it had
been reported； she might have remembered that Jack's hands； as he had hugged her
in the office and sobbed against her neck； bad been dry。 It might have given her
pause。 But her mind was still on other things。 The decision had to be made — to
approach Jack or not？
Actually it was not much of a decision。 There was nothing she could do alone；
not even carry Danny down to the office and call for help on the CB radio。 He
had suffered a great shock。 He ought to be taken out quickly before any
permanent damage could be done。 She refused to let herself believe that
permanent damage might already have been done。
And still she agonized over it； looking for another alternative。 She did not
want to put Danny back within Jack's reach。 She was aware now that she had made
one bad decision when she had gone against her feelings （and Danny's） and
allowed the snow to close them in 。。。 for Jack's sake。 Another bad decision
when she had shelved the idea of divorce。 Now she was nearly paralyzed by the
idea that she might be making another mistake； one she would regret every minute
of every day of the rest of her life。
There was not a gun in the place。 There were knives hanging from the
magnetized runners in the kitchen； but Jack was between her and them。
In her striving to make the right decision； to find the alternative； the
bitter irony of her thoughts did not occur： an hour ago she had been asleep；
firmly convinced that things were all right and soon would be even better。 Now
she was considering the possibility of using a butcher knife on her husband if
he tried to interfere with her and her son。
At last she stood up with Danny in her arms； her legs trembling。 There was no
other way。 She would have to assume that Jack awake was Jack sane； and that he
would help her get Danny down to Sidewinder and Dr。 Edmonds。 And if Jack tried
to do anything but help； God help him。
She went to the door and unlocked it。 Shifting Danny up to her shoulder； she
opened it and went out into the hall。
〃Jack？〃 she called nervously； and got no answer。
With growing trepidation she walked down to the stairwell； but Jack was not
there。 And as she stood there on the landing； wondering what to do next； the
singing came up from below； rich； angry； bitterly satiric：
〃Roll me over
In the clo…ho…ver；
Roll me over； lay me down and do it again。〃
She was frightened even more by the sound of him than she had been by his
silence； but there was still no alternative。 She started down the stairs。
》
〃IT WAS HER！〃
Jack had stood on the stairs； listening to the crooning； forting sounds
ing muffled through the locked door； and slowly his confusion had given way
to anger。 Things had never really changed。 Not to Wendy。 He could be off the
juice for twenty years and still when he came home at night and she embraced him
at the door； he would see/ sense that little flare of her nostrils as she tried
to divine scotch or gin fumes riding the outbound train of his exhalation。 She
was always going to assume the worst； if he and Danny got in a car accident with
a drunken blindman who had had a stroke just before the collision； she would
silently blame Danny's injuries on him and turn away。
Her face as she had snatched Danny away it rose up before him and he suddenly
wanted to wipe the anger that had been on it out with his fist。
She had no goddam right！
Yes； maybe at first。 He had been a lush； he had done terrible things。 Breaking
Danny's arm had been a terrible thing。 But if a man reforms； doesn't he deserve
to have his reformation credited sooner or later？ And if he doesn't get it；
doesn't he deserve the game to go with the name？ If a father constantly accuses
his virginal daughter of screwing every boy in junior high； must she not at last
grow weary （enough） of it to earn her scoldings？ And if a wife secretly…and not
so secretly…continues to believe that her teetotaling husband is a drunk 。。。
He got up； walked slowly down to the first…floor landing； and stood there for
a moment。 He took his handkerchief from his back pocket； wiped his lips with it；
and considered going down and pounding on the bedroom door； demanding to be let
in so he could see his son。 She had no right to be so goddam highhanded。
Well； sooner or later she'd have to e out； unless she planned a radical
sort of diet for the two of them。 A rather ugly grin touched his lips at the
thought。 Let her e to him。 She would in time。
He went downstairs to the ground floor； stood aimlessly by the lobby desk for
a moment； then turned right。 He went into the dining room and stood just inside
the door。 The empty tables； their white linen cloths neatly cleaned and pressed
beneath their clear plastic covers； glimmered up at him。 All was deserted now
but
（Dinner Will Be Served at 8 P。M。
Un…Masking and Dancing At Midnight）
Jack walked among the tables； momentarily forgetting his wife and son
upstairs； forgetting the dream； the smashed radio； the bruises。 He trailed his
fingers over the slick plastic dustcovers； trying to imagine how it must have
been on that hot August night in 1945； the war won； the future stretching ahead so various
and new； like a land of dreams。 The bright and particolored Japanese lanterns
hung the whole length of the circular drive； the golden…yellow light spilling
from these high windows that were now drifted over with snow。 Men
and women in costume； here a glittering princess； there a high…booted
cavalier； flashing jewelry and flashing wit every
where； dancing； liquor flowing freely； first wine and then cocktails and then
perhaps boilermakers the level of conversation going up and up and up until the jolly cry rang out
from the bandmaster's podium； the cry of 〃Unmask！ Unmask！〃
（And the Red Death held sway 。。。）
He found himself standing on the other side of the dining room； just outside
the stylized batwing doors of the Colorado Lounge where； on that night in 1945；
all the booze would have been free。
（Belly up to the bar； pardner； the drinks're on the house。）
He stepped through the batwings and into the deep； folded shadows of the bar。
And a strange thing occurred。 He had been in here before； once to check the
inventory sheet Ullman had left； and he knew the place had been stripped clean。
The shelves were totally bare。 But now； lit only murkily by the light which
filtered through from the dining room （which was itself only dimly lit because
of the snow blocking the windows）； he thought he saw ranks and ranks of bottles
twinkling mutedly behind the bar； and syphons； and even beer dripping from the
spigots of all three highly polished taps。