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"Oh, I see." Although the house was centrally air condi-tioned, the
air upstairs smelled thickly of the perfumes of sleep. Patricia first
sent Jonathan into his own room to get the eleven dollars and six subway
tokens on his dresser. When he came back they went together to Mike and Mary's
bedroom.
Mary lay on the near side of the bed, turned toward them. Her face was almost
invisible. Patricia looked long at her from the shadows of the hall. For a
breathless few moments if seemed that her eyes might be open.
I will kill her if I must, she told herself. I will not hesitate. But that was
a lie: this woman was Jonathan's mother. His shoulder touched Patricia's. All
Patricia could do was hope that Mary didn't wake up and force the issue.
Now that they were this close to the end Patricia could leave Jonathan here in
the hall for the rest of the job. The other girls had always chosen her to
sneak into Sister Saint John's room when that was called for, replacing her
wimple with the gardener's fedora or stealing the lenses out of her
glasses or some such mischief.
Mary Banion was not the good-hearted soul Sister had been, and this was not
funny. Carefully, moving so that she rustled as little as possible, Patricia
went past the bed. Mary's breathing was not regular. Bad, bad sign. Just as
she was deciding to retreat, Mary's purse swam into view on the dresser. In it
would be the wallet. How much? A couple of hundred if they got lucky.
California, Florida, Texas, Mon-tana. Freedom in a purse.
When Patricia reached in, something made a distinct clinking sound. She froze.
No movement from the bed.
She withdrew the wallet. Before she dared leave the room she stood a long time
watching and listening.
Mary was very still. Patricia began to move toward the door.
When she was beside the bed she looked down at Mary once again.
And met very definitely open eyes.
There came from Mary a long hissing sound like cloth tearing. She
rose up in bed. Patricia stood dumbfounded, confused by the suddenness of
Mary's movements.
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"Stop. Both of you!" Mary leaped from the bed.
Patricia got to the door just before Mary would have blocked it with her body.
"You can't run away. It's impos-sible!"
"Leave us alone, Mary. Don't you dare try to stop us."
The sound that came in response was almost inhuman in its rage.
"I have a gun, Mary!"
"You can't escape you little fools, you belong to the Church."
"Jonathan, come on," she said as she brushed past him.
As Patricia ran down the stairs she listened for the clatter of his
footsteps behind and was relieved to hear them.
Would she have gone back for him, into the face of that woman?
Once outside Patricia threw her arms around him.
Then she saw Mary coming through the garage door, a raincoat thrown over her
nightgown. She moved silently, swiftly. Patricia's gun didn't even seem to
concern her.
A wind came up as they raced along the alley that led into Eighty-Fourth
Avenue. Large drops of rain began to rustle the leaves. The air grew
dense. The northern sky was a deeper black; a storm was coming.
Patricia pulled the collar of her blouse up around her neck. In a way a storm
would help them by obscuring the sounds of their movement, but they would be
conspicuous on the train if they arrived wet.
"We'll cut through Forest Park," she told Jonathan. "It's quickest."
Would they be watching the Kew
Gardens sta-tion? She could only hope not.
As they approached Park Lane a garbage truck clattered past, trailing from its
closed maw like a flag the tatters of a red dress. They climbed the low wall
that outlined Forest Park and set off among the trees.
Absolute silence and absolute darkness filled the park. Forest Park was so
named because it contained the largest stand of virgin forest in New York
City, uncut since before the founding of the United States.
Seventy-foot oaks and maples soared into the dark from a bed of mist-hazed
ferns. She and Jonathan kept to familiar paths, worn clear by generations of
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