I USED TO KNOW HIM

CHAPTER SIX

     Andrew lapsed again into silence and the sound of the motor became loud.

Nick continued to ponder the strange men and the woman he was coming

home to, but it was like bashing his head against a wall. He could

remember nothing. And, through his thoughts, the memory of the dream

returned to him. It was the most vivid dream he had ever had, almost as

though it was real.

     Abruptly Andrew brought the car to a stop before a sign that read,

"Weisman Drive." Nick thanked him and climbed out onto the road. The old

man waved and the car spat cinders as it roared back onto the highway,

heading toward the town. For a moment, he stood there watching Andrew's

car fade into the night, and then he began walking along the road, looking

for 2312, Weisman Drive and trying to ignore the feeling of fear that

welled up within him.

     When he finally found it, he saw that it was a two story place that

looked to be white frame, trimmed with a darker color that was probably

blue. In the off light from the street lamp, it was difficult to tell.

There was a garage built alongside and a good-sized lawn in the front,

but there was no evidence of children. A light in the front room told

him that someone was home - likely Margret - and caution told him he'd

better, make sure no friends were with her.

     He slipped quietly up on the porch and looked briefly into the window.

Margret was there, sitting on the sofa reading a book. Her hair, he

noticed, was brown with a reddish cast to it and she was every bit as

beautiful as the picture he carried in his hip pocket.

He knocked on the door.

     It occurred to him, after he had rapped, that this was his own house.

Why should he rap? But what was done, was done. He waited until she had

opened the door and stood looking at him. He tried a smile, but Margret

Danson's eyes widened in shock and her lips parted in astonishment.

"Nick," she whispered, as though she had seen a ghost, and fell to the

floor in a dead faint.

     Stunned, he stepped over the crumpled body of the woman and walked into

the room. When he had closed the front door, he lifted her limp body and

laid her on the sofa. He began patting her face and hands to revive her,

wondering what the hell he had done to cause her to faint.

Why the devil was she so shocked to see him, he wondered. Is she in love

with another man and did they rig that plane so it would crash to be rid

of me? If they had tried to kill him, he could damned well see why she

had fainted at the sight of him. The rings on her left hand bragged that

she was married, probably to him. But why faint?

He was trying to decide whether to stay or run, when her long lashes

fluttered and she came to. Again, her greenish eyes dilated in

astonishment, but this time she did not pass out. Her soft arms slid

about his neck and she pulled him down to where she could kiss him. Her

warm lips caressed his face, kissing his mouth, his cheeks and his eyes,

while she murmured his name repeatedly in absolute joy.

Had news of the crash reached her? Did the authorities find the wreck?

and presume him dead? Was that why she had fainted and was now so

overjoyed at having him back? His mind whirled with a hundred questions

that his stunted memory refused to answer, and he decided to take it

easy, waiting for her to make the first move.

"Oh, Nick," she murmured against his ear. "Where have you been?"

"I don't know. I've been in a crack up, Margret. I can't remember

anything..."

She pushed him away, suddenly, looking at his face. "Darling! Your face!

You're hurt!"

"Just scratches," he told her swiftly. "Nothing serious. Margret, you've

got to help me. Please!" He felt strange. It was like asking a total

stranger for help, and he was ashamed and confused.

     "Of course I'll help you, darling. I'm your wife. Now come out to the

kitchen where I can patch you up." Suddenly she burst into tears and

held him close. "Oh, darling, darling! It's so good to have you back!"

He held her until she had stopped crying, then he allowed himself to be

led into the kitchen where she began applying iodine and band aids to his

scratched face. Weariness was again dragging at him like some clutching

demon that threatened to drag him down into a bog of darkness. He

studied her, trying to take his mind off his lethargy.