Free Black Christmas by Lee Hays Page A

Where is she?”
    Reaching out she grabbed a man who was rushing past her. “Where is she? Tell me!” When he didn’t answer she let him go and ran off into the park, screaming, “Tell me where she is!”
    She almost collided with Mr. Harrison who, too, was running in the direction of all the noise and light calling out, “Where are you?”
    Several voices at once spoke to him and he made the right turn so that he came up just behind Chris, looking ill, and Phyl with her head averted, both of their faces registering shock and revulsion.
    Mrs. Quaife pushed through them and into the center of the group, still calling out her daughter’s name. When she reached the spot she stopped and looked down, the sound dying on her lips as the full impact of what lay on the ground hit her. Her face contorted in agony and she screamed once before she fainted.
    Back at the house Clare Harrison’s body sat still in the rocker only a few feet from where that of Mrs. MacHenry hung tautly from the rope tied to the rafters. Claude was not about and there was no sound in the attic.
    Finally, from below, cutting harshly into the silence, could be heard the jangling of the telephone.

CHAPTER TEN
    The phone rang over and over again in the empty house. Then it stopped and the hall was quiet. Seconds later it began to ring again and there was the noise of a key being turned in a lock, the loud slam of a door being shut and a mittened hand reached out and picked up the receiver.
    Her cheeks red and her breathing labored from the cold, Jess put the receiver to her mouth and ear.
    “Hello.”
    Struggling with her coat, trying to get it off, she at once realized who it was on the other end of the line.
    This time the caller’s voice was loud in contrast to the obscene whisper of the previous messages. Some of the sounds she recognized as almost human but most of them were growls and wheezes that could only have come from some wounded animal. The caller’s psychotic state was such, she realized, that he was in the throes of a horrible schizophrenia which he could not help, and for a brief moment she almost pitied him as he spoke alternately to her and played out several roles with himself from the traumatic past of his life.
    “Hello,” she said again, trying to control her anger and fear. “Look, who is this?”
    Her question was answered by moaning which switched abruptly to a little girl crying and building quickly to a scream of agony, a gasping for breath and then once more the man’s voice, soft this time, pleading.
    “Help me! Stop me! Please! Oh, God, please! Please stop me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t stop.”
    “Stop what? What are you doing?” Maybe, she told herself, I can help him. Talk to him, try to get him to go to the hospital.
    When he didn’t answer her question but began to sob she said as gently as possible, trying to keep the note of fear from her own voice, “What do you want? Why are you doing this?”
    For an answer there was a choking, rasping sound, then a woman’s voice, high-pitched, nearly hysterical with crying said, “Now, look here! I know he just isn’t capable of such a thing. It must have been, maybe she’s lying. He wouldn’t do that. Why he doesn’t even know the difference.”
    Trying to break through, Jess asked, “Who are you? For God’s sake, what are you doing?”
    The woman’s voice began to cry afresh, sobbing an incoherent answer and then it was replaced by a man, a harsh, ugly, strong voice which said, “You bitch! I’ll fix you!”
    Frightened, for she was not sure to whom he spoke, Jess said, “Stop it! Please stop it! Please stop calling here.”
    Gasping, wheezing, the little girl crying, all of the sounds mixed disgustingly together almost nauseated her. Finally confused, angry and fearful, she hung up the telephone, shaking her head, “Jesus Christ!”
    She hurried down the hall to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up, “Mrs. Mac? Hey, Mrs. Mac! Are you