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Each Man Kills

_BY VICTORIA GLAD_

[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales March 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
on this publication was renewed.] "_... to live you must feed on the living_"

Heading by Vincent Napoli

[Illustration]




Now that it's all over, it seems like a bad dream. But when I look at
Maria's picture on my desk, I realize it couldn't have been a dream. Actually, it was only six months ago that I sat at this same desk,
looking at her picture, wondering what could have happened to her. It
had been six weeks since there had been any word from her, and she had
promised to write as soon as she arrived in Europe. Considering that my
future rested in her small hands, I had every right to be apprehensive. We had grown up together, had lost our folks within a few years of each
other and had been fond of each other the way kids are apt to be. Then
the change came: It seemed I loved her, and she was still just "fond" of
me. During our early college days I sort of let things ride, but once we
went on to graduate school, I began to crowd her. The next thing I knew, she had signed up with a student tour destined
for Central Europe, and told me she would give me my answer when she
returned. I had to be content with that, but couldn't help worrying. Maria was a strange girl--withdrawn, dreamy and soft-hearted. Knowing
the section she was going to, I was inclined to be uneasy, since it is
the realm of gypsies, fortune tellers and the like. It is also the
birthplace of many strange legends, and Maria claimed to be strongly
psychic. As a matter of fact, she had foretold one or two things which
were probably coincidental, like the death of our parents, and which
even made an impression on me--and you'd hardly call me a "believer." This so-called talent of hers led her into trouble on more than one
occasion. I remember in her senior year at college she fell under the
spell of a short, fat, greasy spook-reader with a strictly phony accent
and all but gave her eye teeth away, until I realized something was
amiss, got to the bottom of it, and dispatched friend spook-reader
_pronto_. If she should meet some unscrupulous person now, with no one
around to get her out of the scrape--but I didn't want to think of that. I was sure this time everything would be all right. When she didn't write at first, I let it go that she was busy. Finally,
six weeks' silent treatment aroused my curiosity. It also aroused my
nasty temper, and the next thing I knew I was on a plane bound for the
Continent. Within two hours after landing, I found her at a little inn
in Transylvania, a quaint little place that looked as if it were made of
gingerbread, and was surrounded by the huge, craggy Transylvania
Mountain range. I also found Tod Hunter. "What's wrong, Maria? Why didn't you write?" I asked. Her usually gay, shining brown eyes flashed angrily. "Why couldn't you
leave me alone? I told you not to come after me. I came here so I could
think this out. For God's sake, Bill, can't you see I wanted to think? To be by myself?" "But you promised to write," I persisted, wondering at this change in
her, this impatience. Wondered, too, at her wraithlike slimness. She'd
always been curved in the right places. "Maria has been studying much too diligently," Tod said slowly. "She's
always tired lately. She hasn't been too well, either. Her throat
bothers her." *       *       *       *       *

I wanted to punch his head in. For some reason I didn't like him. Not
because I sensed his rivalry; I was above that. God knows I wanted her
to be happy, above everything. It was just something about him that
irritated me. An attitude. Not supercilious; I could have coped with
that. Rather, it was a calm imperturbability that seemed to speak his
faith in his eventual success, regardless of any effort on my part. I don't know how to fight that sort of strategy. I look like I am: blunt
and obvious. Suddenly I didn't care if he was there. "Maria. Ria, darling. This guy's no good for you, can't you see that? What do you know about him?" She looked at me, her eyes surprised and a little hurt. Then she looked
at him, seemed to be looking _through_ him and into herself, if you know
what I mean. A slow flush spread from the base of her throat, that thin,
almost transparent throat. "All I have to know," she said softly. "I love him." She looked out the window. "I'm going up into _Konigstein Mountain_, to
a small sanitarium for my health shortly; the doctor has told me I must
go away, and Tod has suggested this place. There Tod and I shall be
married." I knew then how it felt to be on the receiving end of a monkey-punch. That she had come to this decision because of my objections, I had not
the slightest doubt. She was going to marry someone about whom she knew
absolutely nothing. She was much more ill than she knew. Hunter was
undoubtedly after her money; she was considerably well-off. Obviously
she was once more being influenced in the wrong direction. "I won't let you!" I warned. "Give it some more time, if for nothing
else, then for old times' sake." "How about me, Morris?" Tod interrupted. "You haven't asked me my
feelings on the subject. I happen to love Maria dearly. Have I no say
just because you're a childhood friend of hers?" "Childhood friend! I was her whole family for years before she ever
heard of you! I'll see you in hell before I let her marry you!" I
shouted. Looking back, I'm sure that had he said anything else, I would
have killed him, if Ria hadn't come between us. "That's enough, Bill Morris! I've heard all I want to from you. I'm
twenty-three, and if I choose to marry Tod, I'll do so and there's
nothing you can do about it. Now, please go." "Okay, Ria," I said, "if that's the way you want it. But I'm not
through. If you won't protect yourself, I'll do it for you. I'd like to
know more about the mysterious Mr. Tod Hunter, American, and I do wish,
for your own sake, you'd do the same. I wouldn't care if you married
King Tut, so long as you knew all about him. People just don't marry
strangers; not if they're smart. For God's sake, ask him about himself!" "All right, Bill," she replied, smiling patiently. "I'll ask him. Now,
do stop being childish." "Okay, darling," I said sheepishly. "But do me one more favor. Don't
marry him until I get back. Only a little while; give me a week. Just
wait a little longer." As I closed the door, I could still feel his smile, mocking--yet a
little sad. But Maria didn't wait. I was gone a week. I had walked my legs off
trying to track down the elusive Mister Hunter and discovered
exactly--nothing. All his landlady could tell me was that he was an
American who had come to this climate for his health, and that he slept
late mornings. I was licked and I knew it.