The Corpse That Walked

✍ Scribed by Octavus Roy Cohen

• Publisher: Original Novels Foundation;Gate Way Publishers
• Year: 1950;2011
• Tongue: English
• Weight: 101 KB
• Category: Fiction

✦ Synopsis

a selection from Chapter Twenty-five: THE FACT of having killed a man was not easy for Alan to grasp. And there were so many things about this homicide that were weird: the incongruous setting-a frilly, satiny, perfumed bedroom; the gray figure huddled on the floor; Sunny sprawled unconscious on the bed; Wayne Hamilton, correct and immaculate in dinner clothes. Everything was out of focus.Alan was aware of pain. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. He looked at the handkerchief and saw that it was crimson. He felt ill, and was grateful for the steady sound of Hamilton's voice. The lawyer was saying, -Take hold of yourself, son.

Alan tried, but without much success. He'd seen things like this in pictures, on the stage, and the person involved had seemed always to have glib speeches ready, to be capable of thinking clearly, of analyzing the situation, and of discussing it calmly. This was different. His head was whirling, his brain shied from accepting a ghastly fact. He was feeling rather than thinking.

Hamilton said, -Can you tell me what happened?-

But Alan couldn't tell him. Not then. He had to get one idea established. He looked down at Chuck and then at the lawyer:

-You're sure he's dead?-

-Yes.-

Simple. Like that. Alan spoke again, and even to himself his voice sounded unnatural. He said, -What about Sunny?-

Hamilton put his hand on Alan's arm. He pressed tightly and looked straight into the eyes of the younger man. -Snap out of it,- he ordered, not unkindly. Then he walked to the side of the bed and looked at Sunny.

He felt her pulse and her heart, he listened to her breathing, he looked for bruises. When he straightened up and looked at Alan again, he was shaking his head.

-She's out cold,- he said. -Her pulse is normal, her breathing is good, I don't see any marks. Maybe she fainted.-

-No. I think Chuck hit her with the gun.-

-Oh.- Wayne Hamilton nodded. -Then it's probably concussion; maybe even a slight fracture. With that pulse there's nothing to worry about.-

Alan said dully, -You'd better call a doctor.-

-I will. But first...- Hamilton took Alan by the arm and guided him into Sunny's bathroom. He turned on the cold water and spoke quietly. -Get yourself fixed up. You're a mess.-

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