Free Cornered! by James McKimmey Page B

eyes closed, he lifted her carefully. There seemed no effort in the action, only the absolute movement. He saw her face, pale against the dark leather of the office couch. He saw her lips, soft-looking, soft-red against the paleness of the bruised face. He moved his own face down, his hand touching a button below her throat, loosening it. She did not resist…
    Much later he offered her a cigarette. She shook her head. He lit his own, looking at her.
    “Are you sorry?” he asked.
    Her voice was soft, her eyes and mouth were soft. “No.”
    Moments passed. He smoked his cigarette. She raised her chin finally. “But I’d better explain everything,” she said.
    “Some things don’t need explaining.”
    “Not some things. Other things do. I’ve got to tell you everything, Hugh.”
    He nodded. “All right.”
    Slowly, carefully, she told him.
    He remained silent for several moments when she had finished; he was controlled now, despite hearing of the childish meanness of Ted Burley, of the blackmailing effort by Bob Saywell. He looked down and saw that his knuckles were white from his grip on the desk. He released his grip carefully. “Billy Quirter—Tony Fearon’s brother. You’ve got to tell the sheriff in Graintown.”
    “No,” she said.
    “Listen, Ann. You’ve taken a lot of punishment. Why go on?”
    “There’s nothing else to do until Tony Fearon’s dead, and even then—”
    “That’s right. Even then his brother’s alive. You’ve got to stop running, Ann. You can’t run forever.”
    “I can try,” she said.
    “But why? Why not tell the sheriff what you’ve told me, and—”
    “No. Because what good would that do? Will it stop Quirter?”
    Hugh Stewart took a breath. “You’ve been running so long you don’t know what’s valid and what isn’t any more. From the start, from Ted Burley on, you’ve been running. Searching for protection. Ted Burley’s farm, a little shelter in the middle of a state like this. It’s the middle of nowhere to Tony Fearon—you were sure of that. That’s why you married Ted Burley, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t know why I’ve done anything,” she said.
    “You don’t love him. You couldn’t. Otherwise what just happened between us—”
    “Maybe I’m cheap.”
    “Ann, shut up. That isn’t true, and you know it.”
    “Hugh, I’ve tried so very hard with Ted. I didn’t want to—”
    “How can you deal with a child? For God’s sake, Ann, don’t let the warps of some of these people in this town get into your mind. That’s no good that way. Listen to me. You can’t live a lie any more. It doesn’t breed good. It only breeds bad—like the honorable Mr. Saywell. That’s all you’ll get out of it. Don’t you see that?”
    She shook her head. “If I thought the only reason I married Ted was simply to—”
    “Damn it, Ann,” he exploded, “is he worth this kind of consideration? To hell with him. I say that to you straight, and I don’t give a damn about the morals or the propriety of my saying it. He’s a child, and that’s not your fault, is it?”
    “I married him, Hugh.”
    “You married him for protection.”
    “Was that remotely honest?”
    “It was human, wasn’t it? Is it impossible for you to admit that you’re human like the rest of us? That you can get scared like every other man, woman and child in the world? What’s so indecent about that?”
    She shook her head, and he knew she wanted to give in now; but he knew the habit had grown deep-rooted. He stood up, moving toward her. “Ann—”
    “No,” she said. “Don’t touch me again, Hugh. I can’t think when you do. I’ve got to think.”
    “All right,” he said at last. “But remember one thing—you can’t keep on running. You’ve got to stop sometime. Your life’s in danger. Your marriage to Ted Burley is a sham. And it’s a sham primarily because of the fact that if you told him what you’ve told me about who you really are, the marriage would come