Children of the Storm

relinquished control of the mind, when the real man and real identity returned, the real man would never understand that he had killed with his own hands.
        Basically, though neither the Jeremy-self or the real self would understand this, he was not an evil person. He was simply schizophrenic, completely and totally insane.

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    FOURTEEN
        
        Despite her injuries, and despite the immediate danger which hung over Seawatch like a black cloud, Sonya managed to fall asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. She slept soundly, dreamlessly, and she woke shortly before nine o'clock Monday morning, stiff and sore but decidedly better than she had been when she crawled between the sheets the night before. She had felt as if she were a hundred years old, then; now, overnight, she had lost seventy-five years, anyway, and was almost her old self. Her headache was gone, and her eyes no longer felt red and grainy. Her throat was less swollen than it had been, but it was still quite sore, a condition which she knew she would have to endure for a few days yet.
        Her drapes were drawn tightly shut, still, and they prevented all but a few tiny streams of sunlight from entering the gloomy chamber. She lay there in the shadows, staring at the ceiling, wanting to think out her situation before she got up to face another day.
        The big question in her mind, now, was whether or not she should remain as the Dougherty governess and tutor…
        Originally, she had taken the position, because it had seemed like a fun thing, working for a millionaire, living in a mansion on a private island in the Caribbean… She had always gone out of her way to avoid bad scenes, depression, sadness… And she had been sure that here on Distingue, she would meet only happy people, people who were on top of the world, who knew how best to enjoy everything life had to offer, who had little or no reason to be gloomy. She had expected much laughter, many interesting friendships, perhaps a few parties, for diversion, of the sort you read about on the society pages of all the better, metropolitan newspapers.
        Actually, she had expected almost anything but what she had found when she arrived on Distingue.
        Of course, once this horrible business about the children was over and done with, perhaps they would be much happier and more pleasant to know than they now were. Everyone was under tremendous pressure over this affair, waiting for the worst and praying for the best, passing time like cattle under the swaying blade of an automatic executioner. When that pressure was removed, they might be-
        No, she thought, things would not be so much better, even if the present crisis passed. Even if they caught the would-be killer and packed him off to some remote prison or asylum, there would still be a lot of negativism on the island: Henry Dalton and his grumpiness; Leroy Mills' strange, quiet, almost secretive ways that made her think he was always planning to do something of which he was utterly ashamed; the Blenwells at the far end of the island, hating everyone else, talking about killing the parrots, sitting in their dark drawing room like creatures who would ash and rot if they came into contact with direct sunlight…
        No, already there were too many bad memories associated with this island, memories that would haunt her if she remained. It was best to go.
        They'd be disappointed with her, at first.
        But they'd understand.
        She would write out her resignation that afternoon and give it to Joe Dougherty when he and Helen arrived back from California this evening.
        Then she'd be free.
        After all, they'd realize that no one wanted to live around a place full of bad memories, full of the stink of death and the threat of death. It was always better to get out, go elsewhere, slough off the bad past. You couldn't be happy if you didn't slough off the bad things that happened, stick them away in a corner of your mind, forget them, let dust cover them. Anyone could see that.
        Her decision firmly made and justified, at least to herself, she let her mind wander over the people on Distingue who might fit a murderer's shoes. She found that she suspected almost everyone, from Mills to Henry Dalton, to Saine and Peterson. They all had the opportunity, she supposed, to commit such a crime, though she could see no motivation. Even a madman, it seemed to