XXIII
About dawn Mary began to struggle and moan. I stepped to the bed and put a hand on her. “There, baby, there—It’s all right. Sam’s here.”
Her eyes opened and for a moment held the same horror they had held when she was first possessed. Then she saw me and relaxed. “Sam! Oh, darling, I’ve had the most terrible dream.”
“It’s all right,” I repeated.
“Why are you wearing gloves?” She became aware of her own dressings; she looked dismayed and said, “It wasn’t a dream!”
“No, dearest, it wasn’t a dream. But it’s all right; I killed it.”
“You killed it? You’re sure it’s dead?”
“Quite sure.” The house still reeked with the stench of its dying.
“Oh. Come here, Sam. Hold me tight.”
“I’ll hurt your shoulders.”
“Hold me!” So I did, while trying to be careful of her burns, although she seemed indifferent to them. Presently her trembling slowed down and stopped almost completely. “Forgive me, darling—I’m being weak and womanish.”
“You should have seen the shape I was in when they got me back.”
“I did see. Now tell me what happened; I must know. The last I remember you were trying to force me into the fireplace.”
“Look. Mary, I couldn’t help it; I had to—I couldn’t get it off!”
She shook my shoulders and now it was she comforting me. “I know, darling, I know—and thank you for doing it! Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Again I owe you everything.”
We both cried a bit and presently I blew my nose and went on, “You did not answer when I called you, so I went into the living room and there you were.”
“I remember—oh darling, I tried so hard!”
I stared at her. “I know you did—you tried to leave. But how did you? Once a slug gets you, that’s it. There’s no way to fight it.”
“Well, I lost—but I tried.” There was no answer to the mystery. Somehow, Mary had forced her will against that of a parasite—and that can’t be done. I know. True, she had succumbed, but I knew then that I was married to a human who was tougher and stronger than I was, despite her lovely curves and her complete femininity.
I had a sneaking hunch that had Mary not been able to resist the slug by some amount, however slight, I would have lost the struggle, handicapped as I was by what I could not do.
“I should have used a light, Sam,” she went on, “but it never occurred to me to be afraid here.” I nodded; this was the safe place, like crawling into bed or into sheltering arms. “Pirate came to me at once. I didn’t see the thing until I had reached down and touched him. Then it was too late.” She sat up, supporting herself on one arm. “Where is he, Sam? Is he all right? Call him in.”
So I had to tell her about Pirate. She listened without expression, nodded and never referred to him again. I changed the subject by saying, “Now that you are awake I had better fix you some breakfast.”
“Don’t go!” I stopped. “Don’t go out of my sight at all,” she went on, “Not for any reason. I’ll get up in a moment and get breakfast.”
“The hell you will. You’ll stay right in that bed, like a good little girl.”
“Come here and take off those gloves. I want to see your hands.” I did not take them off—could not bear to think about it; the anesthesia had worn off. She nodded and said grimly, “Just as I thought. You were burned worse than I was.”
So she got breakfast. Furthermore she ate—I wanted nothing but a pot of coffee. I did insist that she drink a lot, too; large area burns are no joke. Presently she pushed aside her plate, looked at me and said, “Darling, I’m not sorry it happened. Now I know. Now we’ve both been there.” I nodded humbly, knowing what she meant. Sharing happiness is not enough. She stood up and said, “Now we must go.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “now we must go. I want to get you to a doctor as soon as possible.”