Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen What Happened to Victoria Johnson

The night is drawing to a close.The performance of the percussion band also eased.Tim stood at the edge of the dining room looking out onto the patio, and he turned out the lights on a few empty tables. Voices came from behind him. "Tim, can I have a word with you?" Tim was almost taken aback. "Hi Evelyn, it's you, what's up?" Evelyn looked around. "Go over to that table over there and we'll sit down and talk." She led him to a table at the end of the terrace.There is no one else in the four compartments. "Tim, please don't blame me for talking to you, but I'm worried about Molly."

His face suddenly changed color. "What's the matter with Molly?" he said grimly. "I don't think she's right. She seems sad." "Recently, she is really easy to worry." "I think she'd better see a doctor." "Yes, I know, but she just won't go, she hates going to the doctor." "why?" "Eh? What do you mean?" "I said why? Why does she hate seeing a doctor?" "Oh," said Tim vaguely, "sometimes people don't like to see a doctor, you know that. Like they're afraid they'll be sick."

"You're worried about her yourself, aren't you, Tim?" "Yes. I am quite anxious." "Is there no one in his family who can come here to take care of her?" "No. That would be worse." "What troubles does she have--with her family, I mean?" "Well, not that often. I think it's because she's nervous, and she doesn't get along with her family—especially her mother. It's been like that since she was a kid. They're all kind of weird, and she's estranged from them." .I thought, that's fine." Evelyn hesitated for a moment before saying, "According to what she told me, she seems to be dizzy and forgets things, and she is also afraid of people. It seems to be persecution paranoia."

"How can you say that," said Tim disapprovingly. "Someone with persecutory paranoia would say something about someone else. It's just because she's—well, nervous. All the way here in the West Indies. You're not unaware that people over here sometimes get weird about the West Indies and the niggers here." "But Molly can't be like that?" "Well, how do we know what other people are afraid of? Some people are afraid of cats in the house. Some people will faint from fear if a caterpillar falls on them." "I don't really want to get my head around it, but do you think she should see a—er, a psychiatrist?"

"No!" Tim said angrily, "I can't let that kind of person mess with her. I don't believe that.They make people worse.If her mother didn't see a psychiatrist all day long..." "You see, there is something wrong with their family—isn't it? Some people have suffered from mental illness—" She carefully chose a word before saying it: "Unstable." "I don't want to talk about this kind of thing. I dragged her out and she's better, much better. She's just been a little nervous lately...but it's not hereditary. That, everyone knows now. That That theory has been disproved long ago. Molly's perfectly normal. It's just—oh! I think it's all about the death of that darn good old Balgrave."

"Oh, that's good," Evelyn thought otherwise. "But no one is too much troubled by Major Balgrave's death, is there?" "No, of course not. But it's always a shock when someone dies suddenly." The dejected and helpless look on his face made her conscience uneasy.She held his arm. "I'm sure there's something in my heart, Tim, but if there's anything I can do--take Molly to New York, for example. I'll fly her there or Miami to see the best doctor. " "Thank you very much, Evelyn, but there's nothing wrong with Molly. Besides, she's already feeling better."

Evelyn shook her head in disbelief.She turned slowly and looked around along the terrace; most of the people had gone back to their cabins.Evelyn was walking towards her dining table to see if she had forgotten anything, when suddenly she heard Tim cry out.She turned to check, but saw him running down the steps at the end of the terrace, and her eyes followed him.Suddenly, she held her breath. Molly came from the sea steps.She was crying so hard that she couldn't breathe, rocked back and forth, and ran aimlessly.Tim yelled, "Molly! What's wrong with you?" He ran to meet her, and Evelyn followed.By this time Molly had climbed to the top of the steps, and she stood with her hands on her back, crying and panting, "I saw her. . . . She's in the bushes. . . in the bushes. Look at me." My hand—look at my hand." She held it out, and Evelyn gasped as she saw the weird dark stain on it.Although it was dark in the dim light, she knew in her heart that the real color should be red.

"What's the matter, Molly?" Tim yelled. "Down there," said Molly.She was still shaking: "In the bushes—" Tim was stunned for a while, looked at Evelyn, then helped Molly to Evelyn, and ran down the steps.Evelyn put her arms around Molly. "Come on. Sit down, Molly. Here. You'd better have a drink." Molly slumped in a chair and leaned over the table, her forehead buried in her folded arms.Evelyn didn't ask her any more questions.She wanted to finally give her some time to recover. "It's all right, you know," Evelyn said lovingly. "It's all right."

"I don't know," Molly said. "I don't know what happened. I don't know anything. I can't remember. I—" She looked up suddenly. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?" "It's nothing, boy. It's all right." Tim came slowly up the steps.His face was pale.Evelyn looked up, looking at him questioningly with raised eyebrows. "It's one of our working girls," he said. "What's her name—what's the name—oh, Victoria. She's been stabbed."