The following is a continuation of the April 20th, 1949 entry in the Rocky Stone notebooks:
Marjorie twisted her body toward the sound of the gunshot, toward the church. It felt like I didn't touch the ground as I sprinted to her side. She clutched her arm and the blood started to trickle out between her fingers. Her breath was short and she stared at her wound, confused by it. The pain became too much and she fainted off to her side, just in time for me to catch her. I kept her close to me on the ground and waited for another shot to come our way, but the only sound I heard was that of a departing vehicle, a green Buick licensed to Rocky Stone of Los Diablos, California. Gloria took off and left us there.
The wound wasn't too bad. It scraped the skin of her forearm and nothing more. Marjorie squealed just a bit when she came to, but that was all, and as I scanned the cold graves for the shooter, she began to whisper, “He's after me...he's after me....”
“My name is Rocky,” I said. “Your husband hired me to find you, and that's no lie. He wants you back.”
She acted like I didn't say a thing. Either she didn't believe me or she didn't care. I moved her over to the base of the monument and let her rest against it. I was tired of waiting and unbent myself, shielding her from the assassin.
“He's after me...”
“Max won't get you as long as I have something to say about it.”
“No,” she breathed. “Not Max.”
It made me look at her. A tear fell from Marjorie's eye, but it wasn't because of the pain in her arm. This was something deeper and more lingering than any physical wound. I took my handkerchief from my pocket and wiped the tear away, then placed it on her arm to cover the blood. “Who would be after you, then?”
Her eyes gathered in a wellspring of tears and quickly overflowed. “I can't explain.”
“Try, because we don't have a lot of time.”
She pushed against the monument with her back and forced herself to her feet. I wrapped my body around hers and hustled her toward the gate. Another shot, but it missed and lodged itself in a nearby grave. From the sound of it, I figured it came from behind the church at the far end, so I fired a shot of my own. Nothing else came our way so I figured I was right and we emptied out of the graveyard before either one of us became a permanent resident.
“Into town,” Marjorie gasped. “He doesn't know where she lived.”
I didn't know who she was talking about but I would get the idea soon enough. As I rushed her through the main street of Chambers we passed a number of connected houses until we reached one of yellow brick. She pulled away from me and collapsed into the front door of the house. The key was in her pocket and she plunged it into the lock. In a moment we dove in and closed the door in the face of danger.
Marjorie laid on the floor, exhausted. She checked her arm and when she saw the handkerchief had mopped up most of the blood, she let out all of her air in one sustained exhale. I found the nearest chair and caught my breath.
“Mitch is dead,” she concluded.
“Yes, he is,” I replied. “I'm sorry.” She shook her head as if she didn't want to hear anything more about it. “Did the man who's after you take care of him?”
She sat up. “It's a long story. You wouldn't want to hear it.”
“I've got all day.”
The time passed and she just sat there. It was a well-kept house, but there was a layer of dust on a nearby table that told me it hadn't been lived in for quite some time. She didn't have to tell me whose house it was because I already knew, the second we stepped in the door. This was where she grew up. This was her mother's house.
Marjorie stood and her whole body shivered. “I miss my children,” she said, and looked at me, “and God help me I love Cornelius. Mister, I don't care if he hired you or not. Even if there's just a ghost of a chance you can get me back to him, I'll go with you. I don't care if it kills me.”
“You'll get back to him,” I said. I didn't believe it.
Will Rocky restore Marjorie Gomer to her family? Find out in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
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