Runaway

shirt, the belt on the pants.
    “Just thought you’d better have them back,” he said. “They’re yours, aren’t they?”
    She tightened her jaws so that her teeth wouldn’t chatter. A fearful dryness had attacked her mouth and throat.
    “I understood they were yours,” he said softly.
    Her tongue moved like a wad of wool. She forced herself to say, “Where’s Carla?”
    “You mean my wife Carla?”
    Now she could see his face more clearly. She could see how he was enjoying himself.
    “My wife Carla is home in bed. Asleep in bed. Where she belongs.”
    He was both a handsome man and a silly-looking man. Tall, lean, well built, but with a slouch that seemed artificial. A contrived, self-conscious air of menace. A lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, a vain little moustache, eyes that appeared both hopeful and mocking, a boyish smile perpetually on the verge of a sulk.
    She had always disliked the sight of him—she had mentioned her dislike to Leon, who said that the man was just unsure of himself, just a bit too friendly.
    The fact that he was unsure of himself would not make her any safer now.
    “Pretty worn out,” he said. “After her little adventure. You should’ve seen your face—you should’ve seen the look on you when you recognized those clothes. What did you think? Did you think I’d murdered her?”
    “I was surprised,” said Sylvia.
    “I bet you were. After you were such a big help to her running away.”
    “I helped her—,” Sylvia said with considerable effort, “I helped her because she seemed to be in distress.”
    “Distress,” he said, as if examining the word. “I guess she was. She was in very big distress when she jumped off that bus and got on the phone to me to come and get her. She was crying so hard I could hardly make out what it was she was saying.”
    “She wanted to come back?”
    “Oh yeah. You bet she wanted to come back. She was in real hysterics to come back. She is a girl who is very up and down in her emotions. But I guess you don’t know her as well as I do.”
    “She seemed quite happy to be going.”
    “Did she really? Well, I have to take your word for it. I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
    Sylvia said nothing.
    “I came here to tell you I don’t appreciate you interfering in my life with my wife.”
    “She is a human being,” said Sylvia, though she knew it would be better if she could keep quiet. “Besides being your wife.”
    “My goodness, is that so? My wife is a human being? Really? Thank you for the information. But don’t try getting smart with me.
Sylvia.
”
    “I wasn’t trying to get smart.”
    “Good. I’m glad you weren’t. I don’t want to get mad. I just have a couple of important things to say to you. One thing, that I don’t want you sticking your nose in anywhere, anytime, in my and my wife’s life. Another, that I’m not going to want her coming around here anymore. Not that she is going to particularly want to come, I’m pretty sure of that. She doesn’t have too good an opinion of you at the moment. And it’s time you learned how to clean your own house.
    “Now,” he said. “Now. Has that sunk in?”
    “Quite sufficiently.”
    “Oh, I really hope it has. I hope so.”
    Sylvia said, “Yes.”
    “And you know what else I think?”
    “What?”
    “I think you owe me something.”
    “What?”
    “I think you owe me—maybe—you owe me an apology.”
    Sylvia said, “All right. If you think so. I’m sorry.”
    He shifted, perhaps just to put out his hand, and with the movement of his body she shrieked.
    He laughed. He put his hand on the doorframe to make sure she didn’t close it.
    “What’s that?”
    “What’s what?” he said, as if she was trying out a trick and it would not work. But then he caught sight of something reflected in the window, and he snapped around to look.
    Not far from the house was a wide shallow patch of land that often filled up with night fog at this time of year. The fog was there tonight, had been there all this while. But now at one point there was a change. The fog had thickened, taken on a separate shape, transformed itself into something spiky and radiant. First a live dandelion ball, tumbling forward, then condensing itself into an unearthly sort of animal, pure white, hell-bent, something like a giant unicorn, rushing at them.
    “Jesus Christ,” Clark said softly and devoutly. And grabbed hold of Sylvia’s shoulder. This touch did not alarm