His voice became a wild shriek, a voice that a ghost might have: "Ah! Saviour! God! How can it be?... how can it be?"
That was all. I sprang to my feet joyfully—as joyfully as I could after passing through that—and ran to him. The light of madness had died out of his eyes. He had seen me and recognized me. His shoulders drooped as if he carried the weight of a world on them.
With a babble of sobs and broken cries I threw my arms around him and thanked the Lord he had been saved.
He gently disengaged me.
"O.K. Bob," he said weakly. "I'm over it now."
"Darn right you are!" I said more calmly, realizing I must show a braver front than I had. "And what's more, we're going to get out of here!"
I took him to the door of his uncle's house and left him there, satisfied that the crisis was over. Then I went back to the station and finished up my calls. How I had the courage and fortitude to do it, I don't know. Before the day shift came in, before I did a lot of explaining how Ross had been suddenly taken sick in the stomach and had to go home, I picked up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor, tore it into little bits, and threw the confetti in a waste paper basket.
I got the news when I went to my room. Norman Ross had committed suicide at seven o'clock in the morning. That was an hour after I left him at his door.
I told Hegstrom plain out that I wouldn't work that night shift anymore for love or money. He said he'd have me transferred but would I stay one more night until he got a new man? Like a fool, I agreed.