Slowly, grimly, he shook his head. "You're asking too much for what you have to sell, Joyce. If I have to pick between you and Leeta, then...."
She stiffened as though struck. "Leeta!" she spat. "So you know her name, do you? Now I see you must have been cozy with her all along—that's why you helped her commit murder!"
Her voice grew shrill and breathless with fury. "All right, Terry! You're asking for it. I've made a fool of myself in front of everyone, chasing after you, throwing myself at you. This is where I even up the score.... The police might not believe what I just saw, but I'll tell them a story they'll swallow without tasting. They just love people who help kill cops. And they already have a crush on you over the run-around you gave them after the last killing. If you aren't sent to the chair, you're dead certain to get a job cracking shells in a nuthouse. Everybody knows you've been going to pieces, and they won't be surprised to hear you've finally blown your top."
She stood facing him a moment longer, her eyes blazing with deadly promise. Then she whirled and was running swiftly toward one of the paths that led away from the pavilion.
Bryan gazed after her, realizing that he might have made a serious mistake. But he was somehow unable to care. He had an enormous sense of futility, defeat. All his hopes, the very course of his life, had come to center about this evening's meeting with Leeta—and she had slipped from him. There would not be another chance. Joyce had made it clear that the sands of time were running out for him.
He glanced down at the prone figure of Mulvaney, hesitated. It seemed callous to leave the patrolman like this. But there was nothing that could be done for Mulvaney now. Except, perhaps, to answer the questions of the police about what had happened to him. And Bryan didn't feel like answering questions. He'd had little sleep that morning, and exhaustion made his body leaden. And he had the feverish, light-headed feeling again, the aftermath of his paralysis.
He turned aimlessly and walked down one of the paths, until he found himself at the edge of an invitingly dark grassy expanse. He dropped to the ground behind some tall bushes and closed his eyes. He seemed to be floating in a lightless, depthless sea. Soothing waves of sensation washed over him. He drifted away on warm tides that held nothing of sound or feeling.
And then the nothingness was gone. He stood on a flagstone path that ran between a lane of trees. At one end the path led to a curving stairway that wound up a rocky slope to a building of pink stone. Peace and quiet lay over the scene, like a crystal blanket of supernal clarity.
Realization came to him, bringing with it an electrifying amazement. He was back—back in that strange and exotically beautiful other-place which seemed to be Leeta's home!