Manhunt. Volume 3, Number 2, February, 1955

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He just kept thinking about it. It would be so nice to walk right out of the hotel and be free... even if he got killed for it...

Marty looked up from the cards as the maid came out of the bedroom with the used sheets rolled up in her arms. His dark regard caught her pale blue eyes and held them. She paused politely, waiting for him to speak, while he flipped through the file of his thoughts, searching desperately for something to say. Finally, as she made some small movement, he managed it.

“What’s your name?”

“Ellen, sir.” They were the first words she had spoken to him in the nine days he had been there, save for the routine, “Do you mind if I come in, sir?”

He wasn’t used to being called “sir.” It threw him off stride. But then, he wasn’t used to wanting to talk to a woman like this. He wasn’t used to living in a hotel like this. He wasn’t used to being alone.

He said, “You’re a good girl, Ellen.” The words sounded ridiculous in his inner ears.

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