The Last Place on Earth | Page 4

on the gun with both hands and held it steady on him.
"I'm Nancy Comstock," she said. "You tried to assault my mother a half hour ago."
"Oh," he said. "I've never seen you before."
"Yes, you have. I've been away to school a lot, but you've seen me around. I've had my eye on you. I know about men like you. I know what has to be done. I came looking for you in your house for this."
The bore of the gun was level with his eye as he stood a few steps below her. Probably if she fired now, she would kill him. Or more likely he would only be blinded or paralyzed; that was about his luck.
"Are you going to use that gun?" he asked.
"Not unless I have to. I only brought it along for protection. I came to help you, Mr. Collins."
"Help me?"
"Yes, Mr. Collins. You're sick. You need help."
He looked the girl over. She was a half-dozen years younger than he was. In most states, she couldn't even vote yet. But still, maybe she could help, at that. He didn't know much about girls and their abilities.
"Why don't we go into the kitchen and have some coffee?" Collins suggested.

III
Nancy sipped her coffee and kept her eyes on his. The gun lay in her lap. The big kitchen was a place for coffee, brown and black, wood ceiling and iron stove and pans. Collins sat across the twelve square feet of table from her, and nursed the smoking mug.
"Sam, I want you to take whatever comfort you can from the fact that I don't think the same thing about you as the rest of Waraxe."
"What does the rest of the town think about me?"
"They think you are a pathological degenerate who should be lynched. But I don't believe that."
"Thanks. That's a big comfort."
"I know what you were after when you tore Mom's dress."
In spite of himself, Collins felt his face warming in a blush.
"You were only seeking the mother love you missed as a boy," the girl said.
Collins chewed on his lip a moment, and considered the idea. Slowly he shook his head.
"No," he said. "No. I don't think so."
"Then what do you think?"
"I think old Doc Candle made me do it. He said he was going to bury me. Getting me lynched would be one good way to do it. Ed Michaels almost blew my head off with his shotgun. It was close. Doc Candle almost made it. He didn't miss by far with you and that target pistol either."
"Sam--I may call you 'Sam'?--just try to think calmly and reasonably for a minute. How could Dr. Candle, the undertaker, possibly make you do a thing like you did in Mr. Michaels' hardware store?"
"Well ... he said he was a superhuman alien from outer space."
"If he said that, do you believe him, Sam?"
"Something made me do that. It just wasn't my own idea."
"It's easier that way, isn't it, Sam?" Nancy asked. "It's easy to say. 'It wasn't me; some space monster made me do it.' But you really know better, don't you, Sam? Don't take the easy way out! You'll only get deeper and deeper into your makebelieve world. It will be like quicksand. Admit your mistakes--face up to them--lick them."
Collins stood up, and came around the end of the table.
"You're too pretty to be so serious all the time," he said.
* * * * *
"Sam, I want to help you. Please don't spoil it by misinterpreting my intentions."
"You should get a little fun out of life," Collins listened to himself say.
He came on around the big table towards her.
The first time he hadn't realized what was happening, but this time he knew. Somebody was pulling strings and making him jump. He had as much control as Charlie McCarthy.
"Don't come any closer, Sam."
Nancy managed to keep her voice steady, but he could tell she was frightened.
He took another step.
She threw her coffee in his face.
The liquid was only lukewarm but the sudden dash had given him some awareness of his own body again, like the first sound of the alarm faintly pressing through deep layers of sleep.
"Sam, Sam, please don't make me do it! Please, Sam, don't!"
Nancy had the gun in her hand, rising from her chair.
His hands wanted to grab her clothes and tear.
But that's suicide, he screamed at his body.
As his hand went up with the intention of ripping, he deflected it just enough to shove the barrel of the gun away from him.
The shot went off, but he knew instantly that it had not hit him.
The gun fell to the floor, and with its fall, something else dropped away and he was in command of himself again.
Nancy sighed, and slumped against him, the left side of her breast suddenly glossy with blood.
* * * * *
Ed