Free HEARTTHROB by Unknown Page B

dark soil, when he
knew he couldn't go through with it. At that moment, perhaps,
Albert's mind snapped. He could not murder, but he had to get away
from his wife. He could not, would not move to another place. So to
his mind there came but one solution. He would commit suicide.
    Again, Albert was most unimaginative. Right before the kitchen drawer
from which he took the meat cleaver, which had been meant for Cora,
he sliced his left wrist. Because he blacked out before completing
the job, he was not very thorough, and when Cora found him he still
was alive. Plenty of time to get him to the hospital and to replace
in his system the quantity of blood he had lost. He was back home in
almost no time at all, no one even thinking that the mishap was
anything other than an accident.
    He
had failed at murder and he had failed at suicide. So Albert Winston
resigned himself to his unbearable status quo. Which would have been
the end of our story had not Cora confided to him one night something
about the blood which had saved his life. It was about nine and they
were in the garden. She had been using the spade, digging a hole much
like the one Albert had planned to use for her grave when his
thoughts were those of the murderous husband. Some kind of bush she
was planting, one which required deep roots. And then she said the
thing which sent Albert stalking silently back into the house.
    "The blood," she said. "The blood you received at the
hospital. It was mine, you know. I wanted to do what I could to save
you, and the doctor said I was of the same type."
    She had expected, perhaps, a word of thanks from Albert, but instead
he was in a state of shock. And when he came out of the house...
    He had the cleaver with him. She screamed bloody murder, Cora Winston
did, but Albert finished her off with slices the power of which
amazed even nun. When the deed was done, it took him no time at all
to cover her with earth. He even set in the two pieces of shrubbery
that Cora had planned for the spot.
    Neighbors being what they are, the screams were
reported to the authorities. Within the hour two policemen stood at
Albert's door. He greeted them with a smile. The smile was not only
the external expression on his face — no, he really felt good
all over, deep inside. Of course, they wanted to check the house and
the grounds as well. Naturally, Albert said they could do as they
wished, also saying he had no idea where his wife was. She had said
flatly she was leaving him. He was cordial and kind, the model of a
good and cooperative citizen — even when they reached that place in
the garden, the place where Cora lay buried. And then...
    The taller of the two policemen stared in
wonder at the earth. "Blood," he said. "Fresh blood!"
It was impossible! So thought Albert, but then he looked at the soil.
There was fresh blood there. Yet he'd turned the earth so
carefully. Then as the tall policeman called to the other to get a
shovel, Albert saw it. He saw where the blood was coming from. His
left wrist... it was dripping... dripping the blood which Cora had
given him... dripping down to the place where Cora lay.
    An odd story? Albert Winston doesn't think so. Not that he places
much value in what the police said in their report after they found
Cora's body. They conjectured he'd cut himself accidentally on
something on the way out to the garden. Just luck, Albert's bad luck,
which the blood happened to drip where it did. And Albert's
explanation? Perhaps he has one, but he's not telling. He's not
telling anyone anything.
    He just sits there in his
white-walled room, staring at nothing at all. There is, on Ms face,
what might be a half smile. If that is what it is, perhaps it's there
because, finally, Albert has escaped.
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THE FORBIDDEN PAGE
The story of
Charles Dell
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    I
so admire artists, don't you? The ability to look at a blank canvas
and see something there which at that particular moment is but a
mental image, and then, with