Ride the Nightmare

She watched intently as he finished shaving. “Will I shave someday?” she asked.

“I hope not,” he asked.

“When I’m six and a half?” she asked.

“Girls don’t shave their faces. You’d better get dressed now.”

“I have to eat my breakfast first,” she said.

“Oh. All right, Mommy will give it to you.”

“Is she in the kitchen?”

”Yes.”

“I’ll see you then,” said Connie, leaving.

“All right.”

As he combed his hair, he heard Helen telling Connie that they were going to Grandma’s house for a while.

“How long while?” Connie asked.

“I don’t know, honey,” Helen told her. Chris felt a tremor in his stomach muscles. Just a little while, he thought.

“You and me and Daddy?”

“Daddy has to stay and watch the store,” said Helen.

“Oh, foo,“ said Connie.

“One or two eggs?” Helen asked him as he sat down at the kitchen table.

“Just coffee, please.”

“You’ll get—” she began, then broke off.

He glanced at her as she turned back to the stove. You’ll get sick. That was what she’d almost said. She always said it when he wouldn’t eat breakfast. Except for today. Chris reached out and picked up his glass of orange juice.

“We’re going to Grandma’s house,” said Connie.

“I know, baby,” he answered.

“Will you visit us when we’re at Grandma’s house?”

He hid the convulsive movement of his throat by drinking. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said.

“Why, Daddy?”

“Eat your cereal,” Helen told her. “I told you Daddy has to watch the store.”

“Can’t Jimmy?”

Chris got up, mumbling his excuse. As he walked across the living room he heard Connie persisting. “Can’t somebody else, Mommy?”

“Connie, please eat your cereal.”

In the hall, he dialed with quick, jerking movements.

“Martin Music,” he heard Jimmy’s amiable voice through the earpiece.

“Chris Martin, Jimmy. I won’t be in till later today.”

“Oh. Okay, Mr. Martin.”

“Leave that case from Schirmer unpacked till tomorrow,” Chris told him. “You can go on re-sorting the LP albums today.”

“Yes, sir. Will do.”

”And If Mrs. Anthony calls about Sunday’s concert, tell her I’ll phone her first thing this afternoon, will you?”

“I will, Mr. Martin.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay. Oh, say—”

Chris had hung up before Jimmy could finish. Well, it didn’t matter. If it was anything important, Jimmy could phone back. Chris stood beside the telephone table looking into the living room. He saw the pad and pencil lying on the sofa where he’d left it the night before, thinking that after he’d helped Helen load the dishwasher, he’d return to his planning for a children’s creative workshop.

Creative workshop. He closed his eyes. It seemed a million years ago.

He started as the telephone rang. Picking it up, he murmured. “Yes?” thinking it was Jimmy.

“Hello, Chris.”

His fingers clamped on the receiver.

“How are you, boy?” said the voice. “This is Adam.”

Chapter Seven

Chris glanced across his shoulder and saw Helen in the kitchen doorway looking at him. He covered the mouthpiece.

“It’s Jimmy,” he said, appalled at how easily the lie was spoken.

“Oh.” Helen went back into the kitchen. Quickly, Chris stepped off from the doorway and pressed against the wall.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

“To see you,” said Adam.

“Why?”

“You want to meet us or shall we drop by?” asked Adam.

“Stay away from here!”

“Then meet us at Broadway and Twelfth in fifteen minutes.”

“Listen—!”

“Fifteen minutes, Chris.”

“How do you know I won’t bring the police?” Chris asked.

Adam only snickered and then the receiver was buzzing in Chris’s ear. Slowly, he put it down on its cradle.

Abruptly, he picked it up again and dialed once. “Operator.” said the voice.

Give me the police, he thought. He stared at the mouthpiece, feeling his heart beat thicken. He was this close now.

“Operator,” said the voice.

Chris put down the receiver and stood there trembling. What was the point in going on, with Steve and Adam to contend with now? What good was such a loaded freedom?

Still, as if helpless before some hideous command, he walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

“I have to go over to the store for a few minutes,” he said.

Helen looked up from her coffee.

“I’ll be back before you’re ready,” he said.

“We’ll be ready in less than a half hour.”

“All right, I’ll be back,” he said.

He turned and left the kitchen. All right, he told himself, all right. It’s impossibly complicated now but it will clear up in time.

“G’bye, Daddy,” Connie called after him.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

He pulled his topcoat from the front closet and left the house. The street was quiet and chilly. He’d left the Ford outside all night and it was coated with dew.

Chris walked in choppy strides toward Broadway, his heels clicking on the sidewalk. What was it they wanted? he wondered.

His stride suddenly faltered. Was it possible they, too, were after revenge? He almost stopped walking, his movement becoming slow and aimless. Maybe he should have taken the gun with him. It seemed an absurdly