Free Stranger At Home by George Sanders Page A

painted picture.
    The broken, shivering thing that crawled on the floor cried out to the man on the bed. Take me back. I am lost. I’m afraid.
    And the man on the bed answered slowly, moving only his mouth: I am dead .
    Michael Vickers cried out. He could hear it as he woke, a cry of sheer, simple terror. He sat up, snapping on the bedside lamp. He was dripping with cold sweat and his head was aching again. Coolin put his chin on Vickers’ thigh. Vickers took hold of the dog and sat perfectly still until he had stopped shivering. Then he got up, slowly and stiffly because of the pain in his head, which was much worse when he moved. He lighted a cigarette, and stood looking around the room. The curtains moved lightly in the breeze. He picked up his dressing gown and went out into the hall, where he put it on. He had forgotten his slippers. He did not go back for them.
    He went down the hall and rapped on Angie’s door.
    She answered, and he went in. The lamp was burning on the bedside table. There was a book, open and face down on the blanket, but he knew that she had not been reading. She sat quietly against the piled-up pillows and watched him. When the light struck his face she leaned forward and said: “What’s wrong?”
    â€œI’ve got a blinding head.”
    He said it almost angrily. She pushed the book off onto the floor and moved her legs under the fluffy white blanket. For a moment he stood still. Then he went and sat down on the bed, where she had made a place for him. She touched his hand, gently, and frowned.
    â€œWhy, Vick – you’re trembling.”
    â€œThe damn thing hurts, that’s all.” He shrugged it off.
    She looked at his eyes and the line of sweat on his forehead, but she didn’t say anything. She slid the top pillow off and moved over. Presently he stretched out on top of the blanket, and she saw his bare feet.
    â€œYou shouldn’t be running around without your slippers. You could catch cold, or step on a pin, or something.” She reached down and pulled the spare blanket up over his legs. Vickers laughed.
    â€œWhat are you laughing at?”
    â€œIt’s funny, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat’s funny?”
    â€œAfter living the way I have for four years, it’s amusing to have someone fuss over my bare feet.”
    â€œIt’s nice, though, isn’t it?”
    The crawling thing on the floor cried Take me back, I am lost, and the man on the bed answered slowly, I am dead ...
    The world turned over.
    From a great distance a voice spoke his name. “Vick.” And then, softly, “Pappy.”
    He was deathly cold, and the saliva ran in his mouth. He said, “What?”
    â€œMy wrist, darling.”
    â€œWhat about your wrist?”
    â€œNothing, only it’s going to break in a minute.”
    A hand appeared before him. It was his own, and it was gripping Angie’s forearm in the way the hand of a drowning man grips the proverbial straw. He opened his fingers, and left the marks of them livid on her flesh.
    He started to sit up. There was a crack in his skull as big as the Grand Canyon. “I have a grim feeling I’m going to cat.”
    â€œDon’t be silly. You didn’t eat any dinner.” She pressed him back. He realized that she was out beside him now, with just the spare blanket over both of them. Her arms went around him. He could remember his mother holding him in just that way. Her body was wonderfully warm, wonderfully safe and comforting. The nausea passed. She reached up and touched his hair in the light remembered way, and then her lips brushed the ugly scar.
    â€œYour poor little noggin,” she whispered. “You must see a doctor about it.”
    â€œI suppose so.”
    â€œIs it very strange coming back?” She laughed, not very humorously, and amended, “Well, considering what’s happened, I guess it would be for anybody. But you know what I