It took Jill five minutes to go into her bedroom and change into a bathing suit and return to Toby’s room.
She released the brake on the wheelchair and began to wheel Toby down the corridor, into the elevator. She stood behind him as they rode down, so that she could not see his eyes. But she could feel them. And she could feel the damp cold of the noxious air that began to fill the elevator, smothering her, caressing her, filling her lungs with its putrescence until she began to choke. She could not breathe. She fell to her knees, gasping, fighting to stay conscious, trapped in there with him. As she started to feel herself blacking out, the elevator door opened. She crawled into the warm sunlight and lay there on the ground, breathing deeply, sucking in the fresh air, slowly getting back her energy. She turned toward the elevator. Toby was seated in the wheelchair, watching, waiting. Jill quickly pushed the chair out of the elevator. She started toward the swimming pool. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, warm and balmy, the sun sparkling on the blue, filtered water.
Jill rolled the wheelchair to the edge of the deep end of the pool and set the brake. She walked around to the front of the chair. Toby’s eyes were fixed on her, watchful, puzzled. Jill reached for the strap holding Toby into the chair, and tightened it as hard as she could, pulling on it, yanking it with all that was left of her strength, feeling herself growing dizzy again with the effort. Suddenly it was done. Jill watched Toby’s eyes change as he realized what was happening, and they began to fill with wild, demonic panic.
Jill released the brake, grasped the handle of the wheelchair and started to push it toward the water. Toby was trying to move his paralyzed lips, trying to scream, but no sound came out, and the effect was terrifying. She could not bear to look into his eyes. She did not want to know.
She shoved the wheelchair to the very edge of the pool.
And it stuck. It was held back by the cement lip. She pushed harder, but it would not go over. It was as though Toby were holding the chair back by sheer willpower. Jill could see him straining to rise out of the chair, fighting for his life. He was going to get loose, free himself, reach out for her throat with his bony fingers…She could hear his voice screaming, I don’t want to die…I don’t want to die, and she did not know whether it was her imagination or whether it was real, but in a rush of panic, she found a sudden strength and shoved as hard as she could against the back of the wheelchair. It lurched forward, upward into the air, and hung there, motionless, for what seemed an eternity, then rolled into the pool, hitting with a loud splash. The wheelchair seemed to float on top of the water for a long time, then slowly began to sink. The eddies of the water turned the chair around, so that the last thing Jill saw was Toby’s eyes damning her to hell as the water closed over them.
She stood there forever, shivering in the warm noonday sun, letting the strength flow back into her mind and body. When she was finally able to move again, she walked down the steps of the swimming pool to wet her bathing suit.
Then she went into the house to telephone the police.
35
Toby Temple’s death made newspaper headlines all over the world. If Toby had become a folk hero, then Jill had become a heroine. Hundreds of thousands of words were printed about them, their photographs appeared in all the media. Their great love story was told and retold, the tragic ending giving it an even greater poignancy. Letters and telegrams of condolence streamed in from heads of state, housewives, politicians, millionaires, secretaries. The world had suffered a personal loss; Toby had shared the gift of his laughter with his fans, and they would always be grateful. The air waves were filled with praise for him, and each network paid tribute to him.