Newspapers and magazines carried human-interest stories about the paralyzed superstar and his devoted wife, who had once nursed him back to health. All the periodicals speculated about whether Jill would be able to repeat the miracle. But she knew that there would be no more miracles. Toby would never be well again.
Twenty years, Dr. Kaplan had said. And David was out there waiting for her. She had to find a way to escape from her prison.
It began on a dark, gloomy Sunday. It rained in the morning and continued all day, drumming against the roof and the windows of the house until Jill thought she would go mad. She was in her bedroom, reading, trying to get the vicious tattoo of the falling rain out of her mind, when the night nurse walked in. Her name was Ingrid Johnson. She was starched and Nordic.
“The burner upstairs isn’t working,” Ingrid announced. “I’ll have to go down to the kitchen to prepare Mr. Temple’s dinner. Could you stay with him for a few minutes?”
Jill could sense the disapproval in the nurse’s voice. She thought it strange for a wife not to go near her husband’s sickbed. “I’ll look after him,” Jill said.
She put down her book and went down the hall to Toby’s bedroom. The moment Jill walked into the room, her nostrils were assailed by the familiar stench of sickness. In an instant, every fiber of her being was flooded with memories of those long, dreadful months when she had fought to save Toby.
Toby’s head was propped up on a large pillow. As he watched Jill enter, his eyes suddenly came alive, flashing out frantic messages. Where have you been? Why have you stayed away from me? I need you. Help me! It was as though his eyes had a voice. Jill looked down at that loathsome, twisted body with the grinning death’s mask and she felt nauseated. You’ll never get well, damn you! You’ve got to die! I want you to die!
As Jill stared at Toby, she watched the expression in his eyes change. They registered shock and disbelief and then they began to fill with such hatred, such naked malevolence, that Jill involuntarily took a step away from the bed. She realized then what had happened. She had spoken her thoughts aloud.
She turned and fled from the room.
In the morning, the rain stopped. Toby’s old wheelchair had been brought up from the basement. The day nurse, Frances Gordon, was wheeling Toby out in his chair to the garden to get some sun. Jill listened to the sound of the wheelchair moving down the hall toward the elevator. She waited a few minutes, then she went downstairs. She was passing the library when the phone rang. It was David, calling from Washington.
“How are you today?” He sounded warm and caring.
She had never been so glad to hear his voice. “I’m fine, David.”
“I wish you were with me, darling.”
“So do I. I love you so much. And I want you. I want you to hold me in your arms again. Oh, David…”
Some instinct made Jill turn. Toby was in the hallway, strapped in the wheelchair where the nurse had left him for a moment. His blue eyes blazed at Jill with such loathing, such malice that it was like a physical blow. His mind was speaking to her through his eyes, screaming at her, I’m going to kill you! Jill dropped the telephone in panic.
She ran out of the room and up the stairs, and she could feel Toby’s hatred pursuing her, like some violent, evil force. She stayed in her bedroom all day, refusing food. She sat in a chair, in a trancelike state, her mind going over and over the moment at the telephone. Toby knew. He knew. She could not face him again.
Finally, night came. It was the middle of July, and the air still held the heat of the day. Jill opened her bedroom windows wide to catch whatever faint breeze there might be.
In Toby’s room, Nurse Gallagher was on duty. She tiptoed in to take a look at her patient. Nurse Gallagher wished she could read his mind, then perhaps she might be able to help the poor man. She tucked the covers around Toby. “You get a good night’s sleep now,” she said, cheerily. “I’ll be back to check on you.” There was no reaction. He did not even move his eyes to look at her.