| (Whenever she thinks of it afterward -- whenever she allows herself to think of it -- the thought that keeps coming to her is how FAST it happened, how a little jaunt to the corner store turned into her worst nightmare in less time than it takes to sneeze; the tinkle of the bell over the door as someone comes in, the shouting, and then the gunshots, three of them in rapid succession: bang-bang-bang, got ya, ya doity copper, but this is no game and the gun is real. Blood splatters everywhere, and the third shot hits the liquor case against the wall; glass sprays across the floor with a dull coughing sound; shards fall and glitter against the black-and-white tiles like false jewels, and as the body slumps to the floor the white tiles turn red, the blood pours across the floor in a scarlet tide and turns the white tiles red; it is now that the thought occurs to her that the floor looks just like a huge checkerboard, and the shock catches up to her as rancid giggles bubble out of her; the giggles become laughs which sound more like screams, and she stands there, the blood lapping against her shoes, she screams in horror as she realizes what has happened, that there is a murdered body at her feet which was alive and breathing not one minute ago; and then her screams turn to wails as she falls to her knees in the spreading blood; her horror is overcome with sorrow as she realizes that the punk has killed -- ) |
"Oh!"
Norma jumped a little as the clock beeped. 5:00. Only a few minutes now; the police station where Pete worked was only a block from their house. Tomorrow he would be at the station all day. Christmas was a big day for crime. Not so much as in other places; Fullerville was for the most part a sleepy little community, but occasionally there would be a robbery or an assault or even a
| ("MURDERER!", she screams at the retreating street punk. The would-be robber has just realized that he's out of the small-time stuff now; he just committed a murder, 20 witnesses saw it, so he's putting on his boogie shoes and hightailing it out of there. He will be caught before he's gone two blocks, but it is not him that she's thinking about now; her eyes are on the body again, she hears someone speaking rapidly and realizes that the store owner is calling the police, but every ounce of her being is focused on the figure lying prone in the pool of blood: she concentrates on it as though she can bring it back to life with the force of her will, but as her vision first doubles, than triples as the tears start again she realizes that there will be no miracles today; the body on the floor is never going to walk again, never going to breathe or laugh or hold her; and she screams in agonized sorrow as she realizes all that has been taken from her today --) |
With an effort she concentrated on lighting the candles. Pete would be working on Christmas, so they would have their holiday dinner and open their presents a day early. She smiled a little as she struck the match.
One candle lit. Two, three --
Norma stopped dead, her eyes on the clock. It was 5:30. She stood where she was for a moment, unmoving, and when the match burned down to her fingers she shook it out absentmindedly and went on staring at the clock. 5:31 now, and Pete still not home.
"So what?", she whispered shakily. The sound of her own voice surprised her, and she looked around vaguely before remembering she was alone. "So what? He's working late, that's all, and -- "
Pete never worked late.
"So what?", she whispered again, and lit another match. She reached out to light the last candle, but her hand was shaking too badly, and she was forced to blow the match out as the flame neared her fingers.
As if by their own will her eyes moved to the clock.
5:39.
"No," she whispered, "No, he's just late, he's fine, he's -- "
The doorbell chimed, frighteningly loud in the stillness. Norma felt relief wash over her; Pete was home, and never mind why he would bother to ring the bell of his own house; it had to be him, and he would explain that Lieutenant Riley had been late for his 5:00 shift, and --
She yanked the door open. Her face fell. "Hi, Lynda."
Lynda smiled. "Can I come in?"
Listlessly Norma opened the screen door and nodded. "Careful, the floor's wet."
"O.K., just a minute," Lynda replied as she kicked her boots off and set them by the doormat. "Don't want to make a mess." She stepped inside, then wrinkled her nose. "What is that smell? It's like gasoline or something."
Norma shut the door before replying. "Yeah, the stove's been acting up again. I'm going to have to call a repairman." She led the way into the kitchen, then stopped when she realized Lynda wasn't following her. She turned and saw Lynda staring at the Christmas tree.
Norma had gone out yesterday and bought a huge tree -- Douglas Fir, the type Pete liked so much -- and had spent the entire afternoon decorating it. The boughs almost sagged with the weight of plastic Santas, glass balls, and electric lights that had been strung upon them, and the living room was washed with colors as the cheery bulbs blinked on and off.
Lynda's eyes were wide as she took this all in; as she looked around the gaily decorated room, she exclaimed, "Why on earth did you -- " Then she saw the presents under the tree. Her expression of amazed wonder melted away. Dawning comprehension and something close to terror took its place.
She fell to her knees, unmindful of the wet floor, and began to scrutinize the presents. "To Pete. To Pete. For Pete. To Pete." Her voice rose and her hands flew in every direction, scattering the brightly wrapped boxes. "Pete, Pete, Pete... my God, Norma, how many did you buy?"
Norma, feeling nervous again, replied, "Oh, I don't know, five or six -- "
"Sweetie, there's a hundred presents here if there's a one, all addressed to Peter." Lynda rose, her hands out, her face full of fear masquerading as sympathy. "Norma, please. Why don't we go see Dr. Donafax, and maybe he can help you. I guess it's hard being alone at Christmastime... "
Norma sighed. "I think you're the one who needs to see the doctor, Lynda. Okay, maybe I did go a little overboard buying presents for Pete, but -- "
"Norma, Pete's dead!"
They both stood there for a moment, frozen, Lynda with her fists clenched, Norma with her hands over her mouth. Then Lynda turned and fled, crying "Sorry!" as she paused only to gather up her boots before running down the driveway, and out of sight. Norma dropped her hands and walked back into the kitchen. She stood there for a while, blankly staring at nothing, until the clock beeped. She gasped and jumped back a little before realizing the source of the sound.
6:00. Pete would be home soon.
She struck another match, meaning to light the last candle.
"Norma, Pete's dead."
She tried to push the thought away, but it was too late: a flood of memories had been suddenly released, and she moaned helplessly as she realized the truth.
Pete.
Pete.
Pete is --
| (holding the door of the ShopCo open for her, and Norma giggles as he pretends to slam it shut before she is all the way through. They make their way to the freezer case in the back, and he again holds the door open for her, nodding with mock gravity as she selects a carton of eggs and holds them out for his inspection. Then they walk back to the counter together, arms around each other's waists. They've been married two years now, it's 1988, and apparently God is right in his heaven, because it's been just about a perfect day so far. Norma smiles up at Pete with simple love and adoration as Benny Zaphod, the store owner, bags the eggs and passes them to her. Pete gets his wallet out. He is handing a five-spot to Zaph when the bell over the door jingles, and just as Zaph takes the bill an unfamiliar voice yells "This is a stickup! Gimme all your cash now!" Norma stumbles back, the eggs falling from her hand and breaking as the punk in the ridiculous Beagle Boys-type mask points a gun at Zaphod. But the punk has overlooked one thing: the skinny guy in the black jacket is a cop, and he has a gun of his own. Pete's voice booms out; he starts to say "Freeze or I'll shoot," but he doesn't get much past "Free--" when the punk turns on him; and Norma screams as the kid's gun goes off three times - bang-bang-bang, ya doity copper, and she covers her mouth with trembling hands as Pete goggles at her almost comically; he manages to say her name before collapsing, and she screams again, her mind teetering on the edge of sanity as she realizes her cherished husband is) |
"dead! Oh my God, Pete's dead!"
Norma is screaming again, it's all come full circle and all the pieces are falling into place: Pete's not home because he's DEAD; mamie's worried because Pete's DEAD; Norma, you'd better run and see the doctor because Pete is DEAD, he's been dead for TEN YEARS, and he's never coming home, never, never --
The match she struck a moment ago, unbidden, falls from her limp hand and lands on the floor. And it appears that some part of her has known all along, because while she waited futilely for Pete to come home she had varnished the floor of every room in the house, only she hadn't used varnish, she had used gasoline; and now the match tumbles to the floor, where it seems to explode in a blue fireball. Within seconds every floor is coated with blue fire. In the living room, the presents and tree go up like tissue paper. Within minutes the entire house is aflame; and while Norma lives but one block from the police department, she is five miles from the nearest fire station. By the time the crews get there, the house is an inferno. Norma stands in the kitchen, her dress and hair blazing, and she is screaming, but the crackling of the flames is louder than her screams, and the firemen who see her through the window all make the logical but wrong assumption that she is screaming in agony as she burns.
No one can hear her, or know what she is thinking, but if they could, they would know that she is screaming her dead husband's name over and over, screaming for him to come and rescue her.
And knowing, as she takes her last smoke-stifled breath, that he never will.