He opened his eyes again only when he heard the sound of Annie's key in the lock of the outside door. The door to his room was open and he watched her coming down the hall in her boots and her man's shirt, which was splashed with blood. He wanted to say something, to tell her not to cut anything else off his body because he would die - he would make himself die; but no real sounds came out of his mouth. 'I'll come to you later,' she said. She closed his door and locked it; she had fitted a new Kreig lock on it. He turned his head and looked dully out of the window. He could see only the lower half of the policeman's body, since his head was still under the lawnmower. The lawnmower was nearly on its side, up against the police car. It was supposed to 66 cut grass, not people's heads, so it had fallen over - but the accident had unfortunately not hurt Annie. Paul felt terribly sorry for the young man, but was surprised to find another feeling mixed in with the sorrow. He recognized the feeling as envy. The policeman would never go home to his wife and children if he had them, but he had escaped Annie Wilkes. Annie came round the corner of the house. She grabbed the policeman's bloody hand and pulled him down to the barn. She drove the police car into the barn and then she drove the lawnmower closer to the barn. There was blood all over the lawnmower. She fetched a large plastic bag and began to tidy up. She whistled while she picked up pieces of uniform, the gun and the broken cross, and her face was calm and clear. She took the bag to the barn doors and threw it inside. She came back to the front of the house and stopped outside Paul's window. She picked up the vase and passed it to him politely through the broken window. 'Here you are, Paul,' she said. 'I'll clean up the little pieces of glass later.' For a second he thought of bringing the heavy vase down on to the back of her head as she bent over. But then he thought what she would do to him if he failed to kill her - and the vase was not heavy enough for him to be sure that he would kill her with it. She looked up at him through the hole in the window. 'I didn't kill him, you know,' she said. 'You killed him. If you had kept your mouth shut he would have left here safely. He'd be alive now and there would be none of this horrible mess to clean up.' 'Yes,' said Paul. 'And what about me?' 'I don't know what you mean.' 'He had my picture,' Paul said. 'You picked it up just now and put it in your pocket. You know what that means. If a 67 policeman had my picture, then my car has been found. They're looking for me, Annie, and you know it. Why do you think the policeman was here?' 'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Annie. But Paul could see from her face that she did. The usual madness was there, but something else — pure evil was there too. 'And I don't have time to talk about it now,' she went on. 'Can't you see I'm busy?' By the evening she had finished cleaning up. There was no sign of blood anywhere outside. She had washed down the lawnmower too - but Paul noticed that she forgot to clean underneath it. She often seemed to forget things if they were not directly in front of her face. Annie's mind was like the lawnmower, Paul thought - clean on the outside but disgusting underneath. After she had finished outside she came into the house, and Paul heard her taking some things down to the basement. When her key turned in the lock on his door he thought: This is it. She's got the axe and she's coming to get me. The door opened and Annie stood there. She had changed into clean clothes, too. When she came in he was surprised to find that he could talk to her quite calmly. He said, 'Go on, then. Kill me, Annie, if that's what you've come to do. But please don't cut anything else off me.' 'I'm not going to kill you, Paul,' she replied. 'I should kill you, but with a little luck I won't have to.' She pushed him in his wheelchair across the room and down the hall. She opened the kitchen door and rolled him into there. The door to the cellar was open and he could smell the damp. She pushed the wheelchair to the edge of the stairs down to the cellar. Spiders down there, he thought. Mice down there. Rats down there! 'No, Annie,' he said. 'I'm not going down there.' 'Yes, you are,' she said. 'The only question is: are you going 68 down there on my back or shall I just let you fall out of the wheelchair down those stairs? I'll give you five seconds to decide.' 'On your back,' he said straight away. 'Very sensible,' she said. She stood on the stairs in front of him so that he could put his arms round her neck. 'Don't do anything stupid, Paul. Don't try to choke me. I'm very strong. as you know. I'll throw you to the ground and you'll break your back.' She lifted him easily out of his chair. His twisted, ugly legs hung down at her sides. She had taken the splints off some weeks ago. The left leg was now shorter than the right one by about ten centimetres. He had tried standing on the right leg by itself and he could do so, but only for a few minutes before the pain became too great. She carried him down the stairs. She had put a thin mattress on the floor, some food and water and some medicine. She let him get off her back and on to the mattress. When she turned round she was holding a syringe. 'No,' he said as soon as he saw it. 'No, no!'