“Yes, sir,” he answered eagerly.

“What floor you live on?”

“Second, sir.”

“All right. Go on, in front.”

He walked on, eagerly, pacing himself so that Murphy would not prod him. He paused in front of his two-room apartment.

“This it?” Murphy asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Murphy inserted the key in the lock and turned it and opened the door and pushed him noiselessly inside. Everything was quiet. Where was Rachel?

“That you, Freddie?”

His heart leaped for joy at the sound of Rachel’s voice. Yes, this nightmare was ending! He stood rooted, fearing to answer lest he destroy his newfound freedom that hovered above him, this freedom that was about to descend and reclaim him. The words burst from him.

“It’s me, honey!”

He tried to run to her, but Murphy’s fingers bit into his arms.

“Take it easy,” Murphy whispered fiercely.

He walked down the hall toward the bedroom; the door was half ajar and he stood looking at it, afraid to push it open. Was this real?

“Freddie! That you?” he heard Rachel calling again and there was rising hysteria in her voice.

He opened the door and saw Rachel lying upon the bed, her swollen body shaking with weeping.

“Where you been? I’m all by myself . . . Look at your face!” she exclaimed. “Lord, what happened to you?”

He ran to the bed and caught her in his arms and stroked her hands and then buried his face in her hair.

“Aw, Rachel,” he mumbled.

“What happened to you, honey?”

His arms tightened about her as he felt her body stiffen.

“Who’s that man?” she asked in a tense whisper.

He had almost forgotten Murphy; he wanted to turn his head and look at the man who was plaguing him, but he could not.

“Don’t mind him,” he heard himself telling her insistently. “That’s all right. I’m here now. Everything will be fine.” He lifted his head and looked at her brightly, as though trying by sheer force of mental effort to create trust and stability in a world gone awry. “Miss me?” he asked. When she did not answer, he laughed hysterically, then he had to choke back his sobs.

“Who is that man?” Rachel wailed in despair. “What happened?”

“Honey, forget him. It’s all right, I tell you. Everything’s going to be fine . . .”

He heard Murphy’s heavy footsteps come into the room and he turned his head and forced himself to glare defiantly at him. Murphy laughed softly.

“Go right ahead, boy, and don’t mind me,” Murphy said, with a small, knowing laugh. He took a seat and crossed his legs and looked quizzically around the room. For a moment he seemed bored, then he lit a cigarette and settled back to wait with an expression of inexhaustible patience.

“What happened to you? Who is that man?” Rachel demanded.

He felt her soft fingers fumbling about his face. He did not answer her; he had not really heard her. His consciousness was possessed by the man who waited behind his back. Convulsively he caught her and held her close, as though this was his last chance to be with her. Suddenly he stood up from the bed and gazed wistfully down at her swollen body; then propelled by a sense of outrage, he whirled and confronted Murphy with glaring eyes full of hate. Murphy gazed back at him with a quiet, steady, secret smile.