Richard Matheson: Ride the Nightmare

He clenched his teeth and blew out breath. “That’s how I met Adam and Steve,” he said. “Later on, Cliff. The four of us sort of stuck together.”

The thought of Chris associating with the dead man gave Helen a restless, uncomfortable sensation. It made her wonder if Chris was really what he’d always seemed to be.

“We saw a lot of each other,” Chris was saying. “I don’t know if they worked except for Adam He was an accountant at the Coca Cola Bottling Plant; a sort of pseudo-intellectual I guess you’d call him.”

For a few moments, there was only the sound of the Ford pulling quickly around the dark curve of highway that ran beside the ocean-fronting restaurants and houses.

“Why we decided to do what we did I’ll never know,” Chris said. “I can’t explain why four supposedly sane human beings should decide to commit a robbery.”

Helen closed her eyes and shuddered. There it was. They’d robbed someone and, during the robbery, that someone had been killed. And Chris had been there. Her Chris.

“We decided to rob one of the bank’s depositors,” Chris went on. “He owned a jewelry store. I’d told them how much money he deposited and—Adam picked him.”

They drove past the entrance to Topanga Canyon and Helen wondered why he didn’t turn in, deciding that it was because there were too many people living there. There was no safe place for burying things

“We were to use Adam’s car.” Chris was saying. “I was supposed to knock on the back door of the jewelry store the way I usually did. When the man opened it, they were going in to get the money while I waited in the car.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and beneath his foot, the Ford accelerated steadily.

“I was supposed to warn them if anything went wrong,” he said.

He was silent for such a long time that Helen thought his story was finished. “Something went wrong, all right,” he finally said. “The old man who owned the store had an alarm system. It didn’t make any noise in the store itself though, only outside. I heard it. I was going to warn the others when I heard a police car coming.”

His foot pressed down harder on the accelerator and the speedometer needle quivered past sixty.

“I lost my nerve,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t warn them. I just drove way as fast as I could, ditched the car when it ran out of gas. I hitchhiked out of the state. Later on, I read that they’d been caught and that the old man had been killed.”

He sank back against the seat as if, suddenly, exhausted. “That’s it,” he said. “I came to California. I changed my name. I managed to keep it all a secret. I thought I’d beaten it. Now…”

He gestured defeatedly with his right hand.

Neither one of them had noticed the red light blinking behind them. The first thing they were aware of was a harsh, metallic voice ringing out above the wind and engine noises.

“Blue Ford, pull over!”

A hundred yards back, the turning roof light of another car was just disappearing behind a curve.

“Put Connie in the back seat!” Chris told her.

“What is it?”

“A police car! Hurry!”

Breath choked in Helen’s throat. She tried to lift Connie and felt a painful drawing in her back and shoulder muscles.

“She’s too heavy!” she said.

“Grab the wheel then!”

Her left hand clutched at the wheel. Raising himself quickly, Chris grabbed Connie under the shoulders and legs and lifted her. For a second, Connie’s leg was in front of her face and Helen couldn’t see the highway. The Ford veered toward the opposite lane and she twisted the wheel sharply. Connie whimpered as she was dumped onto the plastic covering of the back seat. With desperate haste, Chris tucked the blanket around her. Before the police car had reappeared, he was steering the car again.

“Why did you do that?” Helen asked.

“They’ll probably look in back,” he said. “If they see Connie they may not look at the floor.” He pulled the car to the side of the road and braked.

“But is he—?”

“He’s covered,” said Chris.

Helen sat there woodenly, staring straight ahead, as the black and white police car angled to a halt in front of them. The red light on top of the car revolved slowly, glaring into their eyes. Two policemen got out and Helen listened to their shoes crunching over the roadside gravel. They were carrying something in their hands. Helen shuddered, realizing that they had flashlights.

“I’ll talk to them,” said Chris.

The policemen separated now, one to each side of the car. The one on Chris’s side directed the flashlight beam into his face.

“Don’t you read traffic signs?” the policeman asked.

“Yes. I—”

”You were doing seventy in a thirty-five-mile zone, did you know that?” the policeman interrupted.

“I’m sorry.” Chris said. “I—I wasn’t looking. We were—”

“License, please,” said the policeman.

Chris reached forward nervously and switched off the engine. He pulled out the key ring with the plastic-faced license holder attached to it and handed it out. The policeman took it and pointed his flashlight at it.

“You’re Christopher Martin?” he asked.

Helen felt something like an electric shock in her body as the other policeman pointed his flashlight beam at the back seat.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

She swallowed quickly. “My daughter,” she said. She was startled at the aloofness of her voice.

“You still live at twelve-o-four, Twelfth Street?” the other policeman was asking Chris.

“Yes.”

The policeman lowered the license and looked at Chris again.

“Why were you going so fast, Martin?” he asked. His voice was less stiff now.

“Well.” Chris said, “we were going home and—”

Helen had stiffened even before the policeman said, “You were driving away from Santa Monica, Martin.”

Chris drew in a shaky breath.

“I mean my mother-in-law’s house,” he said. “She lives in Malibu. To tell you the truth, we’ve been—arguing and I’m taking my wife to her mother’s house. I’m very upset. That’s why I was going so fast. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The policeman looked at Chris another moment, then at Helen. “Is that right?” he asked.

If I told him now. it would be over, she thought. But, even as she thought it. she was nodding “Yes,” she said.

“Well.” said the policeman, “I’ll have to give you a ticket, I’m afraid. You were going pretty fast. But I won’t put down your actual speed. That way you won’t have to appear in court.”

“Thank you,” said Chris.

They sat there quietly while the two policemen returned to their car. Helen sat staring at the light on the roof of the police car It glared hypnotically into her eyes, then was gone, glared, was gone. In the back seat, Connie snored gently. After a few minutes, the policeman returned and handed Chris the license and the ticket book. Chris signed his name and wrote his address. Then the policeman tore out the ticket and handed it in through the window.

“Take it slower now,” he said.

Chris nodded. “I will.”

The policeman cleared his throat.

“Look, it’s none of my business,” he said, “but—well, I’m an old married man myself. I have four kids and the missus and I have been through a lot together.”

He smiled at them. “What I mean is, these things seem a lot worse at night than they really are. I’m not trying to interfere but—well, why not wait till tomorrow before you decide anything? Go home, sleep on it. You’ll find it’s not half so bad in the morning.”

Helen braced herself.