Ride the Nightmare

was more a grimace than a smile.

“Martin, hanh?” he said.

The burst of hope she felt lasted only a second, vanishing as hatred returned to the man’s expression. He looked over at Chris who was on his feet now, holding on to the sink.

“Thought you could change your name,” he said. “Thought that was all you had to do. Just change your name and we’d never find you.”

Chris caught his breath and Helen started at the shocked expression on his face.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said the man, still breathing hard, we. You thought you saw the last of us, didn’t you? Thought you really pulled a fast one.”

“You’ve made a mistake,” Helen told him. “Don’t you—?”

“Shut up!”

Helen shrank back and the man forced the thin, mirthless smile back to his lips.

“Thought you’d never see us again, didn’t you, Chrissie boy? Thought you were safe and sound.”

“Chris—” said Helen.

Now the man leaned back against the booth. Holding the revolver loosely, he pushed himself up onto the table and let his legs swing idly above the floor.

“I been waiting a long time for this, Chrissie boy,” he said. “For a long time I figured you got away from us. Then I saw that picture in Life magazine, you know? That was a lucky break for me. wasn’t it?”

The photograph in Life had shown Chris with the Santa Monica Wildcats, the boy’s baseball team he sponsored. In an exhibition game, they had managed to beat the Hollywood Stars 7-5. Helen recalled that Chris hadn’t wanted to be in that picture.

“We’re going to Mexico but I had to stop and see you first, didn’t I, Chrissie boy?” said the man. “I been waiting a long time for this.”

“You better go,” said Helen. The police are coming and—”

She broke off as the man’s face hardened and he raised his gun.

“No!” she gasped, one hand reaching out as though to stop him.

The man relaxed and the smile returned to his lips. He didn’t even look at Helen.

“Now you didn’t call the police, did you, Chrissie boy?” he said. “I know you wouldn’t do that because, if you did, you’d go to jail, wouldn’t you? And you don’t want to go to jail, do you?”

Helen looked over at Chris with sickened eyes. The room seemed to waver around her. “Chris, you did call the—”

All of it fell into a pattern then. Chris’s strange reaction to the call, his refusal to let her telephone the police, his telling her that they couldn’t go over to Bill Albert’s house, his plan to go outside with a knife and stop the man before she could find out that…

Helen felt herself trembling with a sickness of despair which welled up in her before she could control it. With a body-wracking sob, she turned away, one hand thrown across her eyes.

“Stay right here,” the man’s voice ordered and she stopped, leaning against the door jamb.

“Helen—” She heard Chris’s pleading voice.

“You mean you haven’t told her?” the man asked.

“Leave her alone.” Chris muttered.

“But I think she should know all about it, don’t you, Chrissie boy?” said the man. “I think every wife should know all about her husband. That wasn’t nice of you, not telling her about your wicked past.” He clucked mockingly. “Shame on you, Chrissie boy.”

Helen barely heard him. It was as if the shock of discovery had drained the powers of her senses. Through a blur of tears she saw the living room stir gelatinously. The sound of the man’s voice faltered, one moment fading into silence, the next, flaring in her eardrums. Of smell and taste there was nothing and her flesh seemed numb as she leaned against the door frame.

Now the man seemed to notice, for the first time, that he was bleeding

“Stuck me in the arm, didn’t you, Chrissie boy?” he said, almost amusedly. “Well, we’ll make up for that, won’t we?”

Abruptly, Helen turned, her heart jolting in slow, heavy beats, remembering that the man had come to kill Chris. “Maybe my husband didn’t call the police,” she said, “but I did.”

The man glanced over. “Good try, lady,” he said. “Just shut your mouth and maybe you won’t get hurt.”

“I tell you the police are—”

“Helen, don’t.” The sound of Chris’s defeated voice made her stop.

Chris turned to the man.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ll go with you. Just leave my wife alone.”

“Now what’s the hurry, Chrissie boy?” asked the man. “We got plenty of time to chat—” his voice lowered.

“Before I kill you.”

“No.”

The man turned again and looked at Helen. “Lady, I told you to keep your mouth shut,” he said.

“Why do you want to kill him?” she asked in a shaking voice. “You—”

“Hold it.”

Helen stopped. Then, hearing what the man did, she began to tremble. The man looked past her into the living room. “You know.” he said, “that sounds just like a little girl.”

The sound of Connie’s crying seemed to fill the house.

“So you got a little girl,” the man said. Chris seemed to lean forward.

“A little girl,” said the man. “Now that’s real sweet.”

“I said I’d go with you,” said Chris.

“Yeah, that’s what you said. Isn’t it?”

The man’s amiable tone degraded in an instant, his face became a mask of animosity And what if I don’t want you to come with me?” he said.

Helen glanced across her shoulder automatically. Please, may I—?” she began, then broke off as the man slid off the table edge.

“Cliff. I’m warning you,” said Chris.

The man seemed to snarl but there was no sound. “You’re warning me.” he said. “That’s funny, Chrissie boy.” He glanced over toward the living room. “All these years,” he said, “I been trying to figure out a way to pay you back.” His frail chest shuddered with breath. “But I never could till now.”

“Cliff. I’m warning you—!” said Chris, his face whitening.

“Shut up!” flared the man. “You’re not warning anybody!”

Helen remained in the doorway as he edged toward her. She stared at him with unbelieving eyes.

“You’re not—?” she started faintly.

“Get out of my way.” said the man.

Chris took a step away from the sink. “You’re not going to touch my girl,” he said.

“I’m not, hanh?” The man’s voice broke stridently. “I’ll show you whether I am or not!” He bumped against Helen and turned quickly, his dark eyes probing at her. She smelled the sweetish odor of whiskey on his breath and shrank back with a grimace.

“Look out,” he muttered and tried to pass her. Helen lost her balance and fell toward him, hands clutching out for support.

“Get away—!” His voice exploded in her ear as he shoved at her.

It happened so quickly that the man had no chance to raise his gun before Chris was charging into him. clamping rigid fingers over his wrist. Helen went stumbling back into the living room, collided with the edge of the sofa and fell across its arm.

As she pushed up, she saw Chris and the man struggling in the kitchen. Chris was holding the man’s wrist away from himself, the man was trying to push the barrel end against Chris’s stomach. They slipped and twisted on the smooth linoleum, teeth clenched, lips drawn back in frozen grimaces. Helen stood watching them, torn between