Duel (26 page)

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Authors: Richard Matheson

BOOK: Duel
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“Are you afraid, son?” she asked.
“Everybody is afraid,” he said.
She shook her head. “Not everybody,” she said.
Now, he thought, it's coming. That smug look, the opening line.
She gave him a dish with the vegetable and they all sat down to eat.
During supper none of them spoke except to ask for food. Doris never spoke once. Richard sat looking at her from across the table.
He thought about the night before. The crazy drinking, the fighting, the carnal abuses. He thought of Charlie dead in the bathtub. Of the apartment in Manhattan. Of Spencer driving himself into a frenzy of lust at the climax to his life. Of the boy lying dead in the New York gutter with a bullet in his brain.
They all seemed very far away. He could almost believe it had all
never happened. Could almost believe that this was just another evening meal with his family.
Except for the cherry glow that filled the sky and flooded in through the windows like an aura from some fantastic fireplace.
Near the end of the meal Grace went and got a box. She sat down at the table with it and opened it. She took out white pills. Doris looked at her, her large eyes searching.
“This is dessert,” Grace told her. “We're all going to have white candy for dessert.”
“Is it peppermint?” Doris asked.
“Yes,” Grace said. “It's peppermint.”
Richard felt his scalp crawling as Grace put pills in front of Doris. In front of Ray.
“We haven't enough for all of us,” she said to Richard.
“I have my own,” he said.
“Have you enough for Mom?” she asked.
“I won't need any,” her mother said.
In his tenseness, Richard almost shouted at her. Shouted—Oh stop being so damned noble! But he held himself. He stared in fascinated horror at Doris holding the pills in her small hand.
“This isn't peppermint,” she said. “Momma this isn't …”
“Yes it is.”
Grace took a deep breath. “Eat it, darling.”
Doris put one in her mouth. She made a face. Then she spit it into her palm.
“It
isn't
peppermint,” she said, upset.
Grace threw up her hand and buried her teeth in the white knuckles. Her eyes moved frantically to Ray.
“Eat it, Doris,” Ray said. “Eat it, it's good.”
Doris started to cry. “No, I don't like it.”
“Eat it!”
Ray turned away suddenly, his body shaking. Richard tried to think of some way to make her eat the pills but he couldn't.
Then his mother spoke.
“We'll play a game, Doris,” she said. “We'll see if you can swallow all the candy before I count ten. If you do I'll give you a dollar.”
Doris sniffed. “A dollar?” she said.
Richard's mother nodded.
“One,” she said.
Doris didn't move.
“Two,” said Richard's mother. “A
dollar
…”
Doris brushed aside a tear. “A … whole dollar?”
“Yes, darling. Three, four, hurry up.”
Doris reached for the pills.
“Five … six … seven …”
Grace had her eyes shut tightly. Her cheeks were white.
“Nine … ten …”
Richard's mother smiled but her lips trembled and there was a glistening in her eyes.
“There,” she said cheerfully. “You've won the game.”
Grace suddenly put pills into her mouth and swallowed them in fast succession. She looked at Ray. He reached out one trembling hand and swallowed his pills. Richard put his hand in his pocket for his pills but took it out again. He didn't want his mother to watch him take them.
Doris got sleepy almost immediately. She yawned and couldn't keep her eyes open. Ray picked her up and she rested against his shoulder, her small arms around his neck. Grace got up and the three of them went back into the bedroom.
Richard sat there while his mother went back and said goodbye to them. He sat staring at the white table cloth and the remains of food.
When his mother came back she smiled at him.
“Help me with the dishes,” she said.
“The … ?” he started. Then he stopped. What difference did it make what they did?
He stood with her in the redlit kitchen, feeling a sense of sharp unreality as he dried the dishes they would never use again and put them in the closet that would be no more in a matter of hours.
He kept thinking about Ray and Grace in the bedroom. Finally he left the kitchen without a word and went back. He opened the doer and looked in. He looked at the three of them for a long time. Then he shut the door again and walked slowly back to the kitchen. He stared at his mother.
“They're …”
“All right,” his mother said.
“Why didn't you say anything to them?” he asked her. “How come you let them do it without saying anything?”
“Richard,” she said, “everyone has to make his own way on this day. No one can tell others what to do. Doris was their child.”
“And I'm yours … ?”
“You're not a child any longer,” she said.
He finished up the dishes, his fingers numb and shaking.
“Mom, about last night,” he said.
“I don't care about it,” she said.
“But …”
“It doesn't matter,” she said. “This part is ending.”
Now, he thought, almost with pain.
This
part. Now she would talk about afterlife and heaven and reward for the just and eternal penitence for the sinning.
She said, “Let's go out and sit on the porch.”
He didn't understand. He walked through the quiet house with her. He sat next to her on the porch steps and thought. I'll never see Grace again. Or Doris. Or Norman or Spencer or Mary or anybody …
He couldn't take it all in. It was too much. All he could do was sit there woodenly and look at the red sky and the huge sun about to swallow them. He couldn't even feel nervous any more. Fears were blunted by endless repetition.
“Mom,” he said after a while, “why … why haven't you spoken about religion to me? I know you must want to.”
She looked at him and her face was very gentle in the red glow.
“I don't have to, darling,” she said. “I know we'll be together when
this is over. You don't have to believe it. I'll believe for both of us.”
And that was all. He looked at her, marveling at her confidence and her strength.
“If you want to take those pills now,” she said, “it's all right. You can go to sleep in my lap.”
He felt himself tremble. “You wouldn't mind?”
“I want you to do what you think is best.”
He didn't know what to do until he thought of her sitting there alone when the world ended.
“I'll stay with you,” he said impulsively.
She smiled.
“If you change your mind,” she said, “you can tell me.”
They were quiet for a while. Then she said,
“It
is
pretty.”
“
Pretty?
” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, “God closes a bright curtain on our play.”
He didn't know. But he put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. And he did know one thing.
They sat there in the evening of the last day. And, though there was no actual point to it, they loved each other.
TINA'S CRYING WOKE ME UP IN A SECOND. IT WAS pitch black, middle of the night. I heard Ruth stir beside me in bed. In the front room Tina caught her breath, then started in again, louder.
“Oh, gawd,” I muttered groggily.
Ruth grunted and started to push back the covers.
“I'll get it,” I said wearily and she slumped back on the pillow. We take turns when Tina has her nights; has a cold or a stomachache or just takes a flop out of bed.
I lifted up my legs and dropped them over the edge of the blankets. Then I squirmed myself down to the foot of the bed and slung my legs over the edge. I winced as my feet touched the icy floor boards. The apartment was arctic, it usually is these winter nights, even in California.
I padded across the cold floor threading my way between the chest, the bureau, the bookcase in the hall and then the edge of the TV set
as I moved into the living room. Tina sleeps there because we could only get a one bedroom apartment. She sleeps on a couch that breaks down into a bed. And, at that moment, her crying was getting louder and she started calling for her mommy.
“All right. Tina. Daddy'll fix it all up,” I told her.
She kept crying. Outside, on the balcony, I heard our collie Mack jump down from his bed on the camp chair.
I bent over the couch in the darkness. I could feel that the covers were lying flat. I backed away, squinting at the floor but I didn't see any Tina moving around.
“Oh, my God,” I chuckled to myself, in spite of irritation, “the poor kid's under the couch.”
I got down on my knees and looked, still chuckling at the thought of little Tina falling out of bed and crawling under the couch.
“Tina, where are you?” I said, trying not to laugh.
Her crying got louder but I couldn't see her under the couch. It was too dark to see clearly.
“Hey, where are you, kiddo?” I asked. “Come to papa.”
Like a man looking for a collar button under the bureau I felt under the couch for my daughter, who was still crying and begging for mommy, mommy.
Came the first twist of surprise. I couldn't reach her no matter how hard I stretched.
“Come
on
, Tina,” I said, amused no longer, “stop playing games with your old man.”
She cried louder. My outstretched hand jumped back as it touched the cold wall.
“Daddy!” Tina cried.
“Oh for … !”
I stumbled up and jolted irritably across the rug. I turned on the lamp beside the record player and turned to get her, and was stopped dead in my tracks, held there, a half-asleep mute, gaping at the couch, ice water plaiting down my back.
Then, in a leap, I was on my knees by the couch and my eyes were searching frantically, my throat getting tighter and tighter. I heard her crying under the couch, but I couldn't see her.
 
My stomach muscles jerked in as the truth of it struck me. I ran my hands around wildly under the bed but they didn't touch a thing. I heard her crying and by God, she wasn't there!
“Ruth!” I yelled. “Come here!”
I heard Ruth catch her breath in the bedroom and then there was a rustle of bedclothes and the sound of her feet rushing across the bedroom floor. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw the movement of her light blue nightgown.
“What is it?” she gasped.
I backed to my feet, hardly able to breathe much less speak. I started to say something but the words choked up in my throat. My mouth hung open. All I could do was point a shaking finger at the couch.
“Where is she!” Ruth cried.
“I don't know!” I finally managed. “See …”
“What!”
Ruth dropped to her knees beside the couch and looked under.
“Tina!” she called.
“Mommy.”
Ruth recoiled from the couch, color draining from her face. The eyes she turned to me were horrified. I suddenly heard the sound of Mack scratching wildly at the door.
“Where is she?” Ruth asked again, her voice hollow.
“I don't know,” I said, feeling numb. “I turned on the light and …”
“But she's
crying
,” Ruth said as if she felt the same distrust of sight that I did. “I … Chris,
listen
.”
The sound of our daughter crying and sobbing in fright.
“Tina!” I called loudly, pointlessly, “Where
are
you, angel?”
She just cried. “Mommy!” she said. “Mommy, pick me up!”
“No, no, this is crazy,” Ruth said, her voice tautly held as she rose to her feet, “she's in the kitchen.”
“But …”
I stood there dumbly as Ruth turned on the kitchen light and went in. The sound of her agonized voice made me shudder.
“Christ!
She's not in here.
”
She came running in, her eyes stark with fear. She bit her teeth into her lip.
“But, where
is
… ?” she started to say, then stopped.
Because we both heard Tina crying and the sound of it was coming from under the couch.
But there wasn't anything under the couch.
Still Ruth couldn't accept the crazy truth. She jerked open the hall closet and looked in it. She looked behind the TV set, even behind the record player, a space of maybe two inches.
“Honey,
help
me,” she begged, “we can't just leave her this way.”
I didn't move.
“Honey, she's under the couch,” I said.
“But she's not!”
Once more, like the crazy, impossible dream it was, me on my knees on the cold floor, feeling under the couch, I got
under
the couch. I touched every inch of floor space there. But I couldn't touch her, even though I heard her crying—
right in my ear.
I got up, shivering from the cold and something else. Ruth stood in the middle of the living room rug staring at me. Her voice was weak, almost inaudible.
“Chris,” she said, “Chris, what
is
it?”
I shook my head. “Honey, I don't know,” I said, “I don't know what it is.”
Outside, Mack began to whine as he scratched. Ruth glanced at the balcony door, her face a white twist of fear. She was shivering now in her silk gown as she looked back at the couch. I stood there absolutely
helpless, my mind racing a dozen different ways, none of them toward a solution, not even toward concrete thought.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, on the verge of a scream I knew was coming.
“Baby, I …”
I stopped short and suddenly we were both moving for the couch.
Tina's crying was fainter.
“Oh, no,” Ruth whimpered. “No.
Tina
.”
“Mommy,” said Tina, further away. I could feel the chills lacing over my flesh.
“Tina, come back here!” I heard myself shouting, the father yelling at his disobedient child, who can't be seen.
“TINA!” Ruth screamed.
Then the apartment was dead silent and Ruth and I were kneeling by the couch looking at the emptiness underneath. Listening.
To the sound of our child, peacefully snoring.
 
“Bill, can you come right over?” I said frantically.
“What?” Bill's voice was thick and fuzzy.
“Bill, this is Chris. Tina has disappeared!”
He woke up.
“She's been kidnaped?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “She's here but … she's not here.”
He made a confused sound. I grabbed in a breath.
“Bill, for God's sake get over here!”
A pause.
“I'll be right over,” he said. I knew from the way he said it he didn't know why he was coming.
I dropped the receiver and went over to where Ruth was sitting on the couch shivering and clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
“Hon, get your robe,” I said. “You'll catch cold.”
“Chris, I …” Tears running down her cheeks. “Chris where is she?”
“Honey.”
It was all I could say, hopelessly, weakly. I went into the bedroom and got her robe. On the way back, I stooped over and twisted hard on the wall heater.
“There,” I said, putting the robe over her back, “put it on.”
She put her arms through the sleeves of the robe, her eyes pleading with me to do something. Knowing very well I couldn't do it, she was asking me to bring her baby back.
I got on my knees again, just to be doing something. I knew it wouldn't help any. I remained there a long time just staring at the floor under the couch. Completely in the dark.
“Chris, she's s-sleeping on the floor,” Ruth said, her words faltering from colorless lips. “Won't she catch
cold?
”
“I …”
That was all I could say. What could I tell her? No, she's not on the floor? How did I know? I could hear Tina breathing and snoring gently on the floor but she wasn't there to touch. She was gone but she wasn't gone. My brain twisted back and forth on itself trying to figure out that one. Try adjusting to something like that sometime. It's a fast way to a breakdown.
“Honey, she's … she's not here,” I said. “I mean … not on the floor.”
“But …”
“I know, I know …” I raised my hands and shrugged in defeat. “I don't think she's cold, honey,” I said as gently and persuasively as I could.
She started to say something too but then she stopped. There was nothing to say. It defied words.
We sat in the quiet room waiting for Bill to come. I'd called him because he's an engineering man, Cal Tech, top man with Lockheed over in the valley. I don't know why I thought that would help but I called him. I'd have called anyone just to have another mind to help. Parents are useless beings when they're afraid for their children.
Once, before Bill came, Ruth slipped to her knees by the couch and started slapping her hands over the floor.
“Tina, wake up!” she cried in newborn terror.
“Wake up!”
“Honey, what good is that going to do?” I asked.
She looked up at me blankly and knew. It wasn't going to do any good at all.
 
I heard Bill on the steps and reached the door before he did. He came in quietly, looking around and giving Ruth a brief smile. I took his coat. He was still in pajamas.
“What is it, kid?” he asked hurriedly.
I told him as briefly and as clearly as I could. He got down on his knees and checked for himself. He felt around underneath the couch and I saw his brow knit into lines when he heard Tina's calm and peaceful breathing.
He straightened up.
“Well?” I asked.
He shook his head. “My
God,
” he muttered.
We both stared at him. Outside Mack was still scratching and whining at the door.
“Where
is
she?” Ruth asked again. “Bill, I'm about to lose my mind.”
“Take it easy,” he said. I moved beside her and put my arm around her. She was trembling.
“You can hear her breathing,” Bill said. “It's normal breathing. She must be all right.”
“But where is she?” I asked. “You can't see her, you can't even
touch
her.”
“I don't know,” Bill said and was on his knees by the bed again.
“Chris, you'd better let Mack in,” Ruth said, worried about that for a moment, “he'll wake all the neighbors.”
“All right, I will,” I said and kept watching Bill.
“Should we call the police?” I asked. “Do you … ?”
“No, no, that wouldn't do any good,” Bill said, “this isn't …” He
shook his head as if he were shaking away everything he'd ever accepted. “It's not a police job,” he said.
“Chris, he'll wake up all the …”
I turned for the door to let Mack in.
“Wait a minute,”
Bill said and I was turned back, my heart pounding again.
Bill was half under the couch, listening hard.

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