Richard Matheson - Hunted Past Reason

“Maybe it is.” My God, was that a smile on Doug’s lips? “Maybe it is, Bobby boy.”

“Oh, God,” Bob muttered.

“He can’t help you here, big man,” Doug said. “Your income doesn’t matter here. Neither does your big success.”

“Oh, Jesus, Doug,” Bob said, turning back toward the campsite.

“Oh, Jesus, what, big man?”

Bob heard Doug moving toward him and twisted around.

This time Doug flat-handed him so hard on the chest, it made him reel back and topple over, landing on his hands; he hissed at the pain on his infected palm.

“What the—?” he began, then broke off, tightening as Doug lurched toward him. Grabbing Bob by the jacket collar, he hauled him to his feet.

“Is this the way it’s going to be?” Bob asked, but before he’d finished the sentence, Doug had slapped him hard across the left cheek, wincing at the pain it caused him on his shoulder.

“Bastard,” Doug snapped. Bob wasn’t sure if Doug meant him or the pain.

He stared at Doug incredulously. “What the hell is happening?” he asked, his voice shaken. “Are you—?”

He gasped in surprise and pain as Doug slapped him again.

“What’s the matter, haven’t you got the balls to defend yourself?” Doug challenged scornfully.

“What the hell are we, two kids in a schoolyard?” Bob demanded. “Are we supposed to—?”

He broke off with a cry of stunned pain as Doug slapped him again, his face contorting from the pain it caused him in his shoulder.

“Goddamn it, cut it out,” Bob cried, shoving out his palm at Doug’s face.

Was it just bad luck, he wondered later, that the flat of his palm hit Doug squarely on the nose? Doug cried out, startled, blood starting to spurt from both nostrils.

“Son of a bitch,” Doug snarled, jerking up his left index finger to press beneath his bleeding nostrils.

The blow caught Bob completely by surprise. Fisting his right hand, Doug hit Bob violently in the stomach, doubling him over. Bob couldn’t make a sound at the pain, his breath knocked out. Gasping for air, he hitched up slowly, an expression of astonishment on his face. “What the hell are you—?” he started, his voice wheezing.

He cried out in dumbfounded shock as Doug hit him again in the stomach. Gagging, he flopped over quickly, pressing both hands at his stomach, unable to breathe, shooting pain in his stomach. Everything went blurry as his eyes teared. He tried to hold himself rigid in case Doug meant to hit him again.

After almost a minute had passed, he straightened up, sucking feebly at the air. His eyes, filled with tears, saw Doug as a watery figure standing in front of him.

“Well, are you going to defend yourself, pussy?” Doug asked, his voice sounding completely vicious now. “Or are you just going to stand there, crying like a baby?”

Bob realized that tears were running down his cheeks and reached up to brush them away, his fingers trembling. “Are you crazy?” he said, barely able to speak.

“Right, I’m crazy, little man.”

Bob tried to back off as Doug moved toward him suddenly. He could only stumble back a foot or so before Doug was on him, knocking him over. Bob grunted as he fell, then cried out in pain as he crashed to the ground, Doug on top of him.

“You aren’t going to fight, you gutless shit?” Doug said, his features twisted. “Why don’t I just kill you then, put you out of your fucking misery?”

“Why?” Bob asked in agony, staring up at Doug’s distorted face. Dark blood was running over Doug’s chin.

“Why?” Doug jolted once on Bob, making him sob in agony again. “Why, you pitiful son of a bitch? I’ll tell you why. You already know why. I hate your fucking guts. I hate everything about you. You think you shit gold, don’t you?” Bob’s face jerked to the side as Doug slapped him again. “You’re everything I despise in a man. Man, my ass. You’re a pussy, a coward.” He sniffed hard, running fingers under his nose. “After life, you superstitious mother fucker? Reincarnation? I’ll give you a fast trip there and you and Artie can sit around on a fucking cloud, discussing what a bastard I am.”

Bob tried to pull Doug’s hands away but couldn’t, they were too strong, clamping hard around his neck. “You thought I was joking, did you, Bobby boy, Bobby fucking boy? I’ll show you how much I was joking, motherfucker.”

Bob clutched at Doug’s tightening hands, thrashing helplessly beneath him. He couldn’t breathe, darkness crowding at the corners of his vision. “Doug,” he pleaded in a barely audible whisper. I’m going to die, the thought ran through his mind. It seemed completely unbelievable to him even as it was taking place.

Doug jerked his hands away. “Oh, no,” he said, “oh, no. Too easy. Much too fast. I’ll kill you but I want it to last—and last. Having trouble breathing, Bobby boy?”

Bob made faint choking sounds in his throat. He looked up at Doug, not knowing him at all. Doug’s face was totally unfamiliar, now the face of some demented stranger. How could this be happening? he thought. How in the name of God could this be happening? He kept trying to swallow, to clear what felt like dry obstruction in his throat. Doug looked down at him, smiling. “Time for fun,” he said with relish. “Time for big fun, Bobby boy.”

Jumping to his feet, Doug jerked a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his nostrils. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “You’ll pay for this.”

Bending over, he grabbed Bob’s jacket and hauled him to his feet, beginning to drag him across the ground. Bob tried to struggle with him but he still felt dizzy, weak, unable to breathe. “Doug, don’t,” he mumbled.

“Doug, don’t. Doug, don’t,” Doug repeated in a mocking, falsetto voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, my pretty. And your little penis too.” Bob felt swallowed in some nightmare dream. Had Doug just imitated Margaret Hamilton, paraphrasing her speech from The Wizard of Oz ? Had he gone completely insane?

He tried to pull away from Doug but couldn’t. Half stumbling, half dragged, he was pulled over to a tree and shoved against it. “Don’t move now,” Doug told him. He was actually amused by all of this, Bob realized. He had gone insane. Dear God.

Feeling Doug let go of him, he tried to back off from the tree.

“I said—!” Doug snarled.

Bob almost screamed as Doug punched him hard below the ribs, driving lines of sharp pain through his back and chest.

“Now do what Daddy says and don’t move, little boy,” Doug ordered. “If you move again, I’ll really have to hurt you and I certainly wouldn’t want to do that because you’re my friend, aren’t you, Bobby boy? You’re my good friend.”

Bob gasped as Doug grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. “Aren’t you, Bobby boy?”

Bob could only sob, grimacing with agony, tears dribbling down his cheeks.

“That’s a good boy. I’ll be right back,” Doug told him. “Stay right there now.”

Bob held on to the tree, his body a cluster of shifting pains. He still couldn’t breathe normally. What am I going to do? he wondered. He couldn’t just let Doug torture him like this. The realization made him shudder violently. That was what Doug was doing, torturing him.

He started to look around to see what Doug was up to. “Anh-anh-anh,” Doug warned him. “Don’t you move now, Bobby boy, or Doug will get pissed at you.”

A few moments later, Bob heard Doug’s returning footsteps. “Doug, whatever you have in mind—” he started weakly.

“Just shut up, pussy,” Doug interrupted. “Whatever I have in mind is what I’ll do, you get it? Pussy? ”

“Doug, don’t do this!” Bob said, pleading.