Ride the Nightmare by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online Page B

scrub. Then he glanced around. There was a lot of dampness in the air. A whitish mist hovered above the rooftops of the houses.
    She had finished now. Chris extended his hand to help her up but she acted as if she didn’t see it. Pushing to her feet, she dropped the brush into the pail of red-tinged water. Chris picked up the pail.
    “I’ll empty it,” he said.
    Helen nodded once and went into the house. Chris watched her until she’d closed the door behind herself.
    As he started for the garage, he glanced at Grace and Jack’s house. What if they had come home, he thought. He swallowed nervously as he opened and shut the side garage door and edged past the bumper of the Ford, heading for the laundry tub. He hadn’t felt this for years: this guilty apprehension of the criminal.
    The thought sent such a wave of sickened revelation through him that he almost cried aloud. It had taken him so long to overcome his attitude of constant wariness. Now, in one night, it had returned.
    “No!”
    Chris spoke the word angrily as he emptied the pail and ran cold water into it. He wouldn’t let it degrade him to the pettish animal he’d been in those early years. He
wouldn’t
.
    Chris put down the pail and opened the car door. Picking up the flashlight from the seat he searched the back floor. There were several dark stains where the blood had soaked through the blanket. He’d clean them today. Otherwise someone might see them sometime. No point in taking the risk.
    Getting out of the car, Chris began checking the floor of the garage. There were blood spots all around. He gritted his teeth seeing them. There was evidence everywhere.
    That was the most nightmarish aspect of killing. Even after the shock of taking life had passed and the offensive dead had been put away, there were so many details to be taken care of: spots to remove, objects to dispose of, hours to account for, movements to be explained. Lies and lies mounting like girders for some hideous skyscraper which you built in detail, then hoped no one would ever see.
    He began cleaning up the blood.
    ***
    Helen was in the kitchen booth staring at her hands clasped on the table.
    “Why don’t you go back to bed?” he asked.
    She shook her head slowly. Chris stood looking down at her, wishing he could thrust their lives six months forward. When this worst part would be over and the strengths of their relationship would be returning.
    Helen glanced up at him, then down at her hands again. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about those men.”
    “What about them?”
    “What if they come here?” she asked.
    “They won’t.”
    “What if they do?”
    “They’re wanted by the law, Helen,” he told her.
    “So was—he.”
    “He was out of his mind.”
    “Maybe they are too.”
    Chris tried to smile. “What do you want me to say, honey?” he asked.
    “It’s not a question of wanting you to say anything,” she said. “It’s a question of safety. We have Connie to think of.”
    “All right.” He nodded. “I’m willing to do anything you say.”
    “I think we should go to my mother’s for a while,” she said.
    “All right,” he said. “When do you want to go?”
    For a moment, he felt that she was planning to leave him and he fought the idea. This was only temporary; he’d make certain of that.
    “Well,” she said, “if they’re going to come, it might be at any time.”
    “You want to go now,” he said quietly.
    She closed her eyes. “Chris, please,” she begged.
    “Have I said anything?”
    “Honey, I’m doing it for Connie’s sake,” she said. “I’m not trying to run out on you.”
    “I know,” he said.
    “I need a little time, Chris,” she said. “I’m trying to be loyal but—please don’t expect too much at first.”
    He put his hand on her shoulder and she pressed it once.
    “I’ll drive you there,” he said.
    She nodded. Then, pushing to her feet, she walked over to the dishwasher which had stopped. She turned