Ride the Nightmare (8 page)

Gone.

Chris shuddered. The store had never looked more wonderful to him; his life with Helen and Connie had never seemed more perfect. Yet he’d be throwing it all away by calling the police.

Involuntarily, he glanced at the wall clock. It was almost ten. There was still time. He could go to the bank, withdraw the money, drive to—

No
. He closed his eyes, furious at the temptation. The choice was made. He wouldn’t weaken now.

When he opened his eyes, Helen was just entering the store.

Chris stood without knowing it. He stared at her expressionless face as she came walking down the length of the store with slow, unbalanced strides. Faintly, he heard Jimmy say good morning to her. She didn’t turn or answer. She kept walking toward the office, eyes fixed straight ahead, features tensely set. Chris stepped to the door on suddenly trembling legs and pulled it open.

“Honey, what is it?” he heard himself mutter.

Her voice was hoarse, shaking.

“She’s gone,” she said.

“What?”

“
They took her!
” she gasped, “
They took my baby!
”

Behind the counter, Jimmy glanced away embarrassedly. Chris looked back at Helen’s stricken face. He could feel his hands twitch, feel a thickened pulsing at his temples. Still, there was no horror. Numbly, he reached for her arm.

“Come in the office,” he said.

She jerked back. “Get away!” she whispered vehemently.

“Helen.” He sucked in breath. “Helen, please come in the office,” he begged, “Jimmy can hear us.”

“Oh, that matters,” she said, brokenly. “That really matters.”

She stumbled past him and he followed dizzily, shutting the door behind himself.

“What happened?” he asked.

She whirled on him. “I told you!” she cried. “Are you deaf? They took Connie!” A sob tore at her throat. “They took my baby!”

Again, instinctively, he reached for her. Again, she shrank away.

“
Don’t touch me
,” she said.

“Helen, do you think I—?”

“Yes, I think it’s your fault! You were so careful to protect yourself! So
careful
.”

“Helen, what happened?”

She caught herself, forcing down the rage and anguish. Chris stared at her, waiting. His heartbeat was a slow, painful jolting.

“They came to the house,” she said, quietly, measuredly. “You knew they were coming, didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you leave when I phoned?”

“You knew they were coming.”

“Helen, for God’s sake!” It was there now, the shock, the horror, all of it.

“They took her away, Chris. Just
took
her away. They said they’d—” her teeth clenched. “—they’d
kill
her if you didn’t bring the money.”

She stared at him balefully. “Now tell me you didn’t know,” she said.

“Helen, I swear—”

“Yes, swear, swear! I’m sure it’ll bring her back!”

Chris glanced out at the store in time to see Jimmy look away again. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was after ten.

“I’ll get the money,” he said, “I’ll bring her back.”

“You’ll bring her back.” Abruptly, Helen began to cry, both hands pressed shakingly across her face. “
You’ll bring her back
.”

“Helen, you didn’t call the police?”

She turned again, jerking down her hands, a near deranged look on her face. “The police!” she said. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Now, listen to me,” he started.

“Is that all you’re—?”

“
Listen to me!
” Her head snapped as he jerked her shoulders violently.

“Go on,” she said, “Tell me your troubles.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No! Are you happy now? Are you relieved?”

His voice shook as he answered her.

“Helen, if the police come into this, Connie hasn’t got a chance and you know it.”

“
Oh God
,” she whimpered. She almost fell as a spasm of grief wrenched her. “I want my baby.”

“Helen, I’ll get her.”

She pulled away from him and, stumbling to the wall, leaned against it, crying helplessly.

“My baby,” she said, “I want her now. I want her.”

“I’ll get the money,” he said.

“Yes, get the money, get the money,” she echoed hollowly, “Save yourself.”

He started to say something, then checked himself. There was no sense in trying to reason with her now.

“We’ll never see her again,” said Helen.

“Yes, we will, Helen. I’ll get her back.”

“No, no, no.” She almost crooned the word, shaking her head.

“We
will
.”

She turned abruptly, pale with fury.

“How many kidnapped children ever live!” she cried, “
Tell
me!”

He caught her hands and held them so tightly that she winced.

“She’ll be all right,” he said, “They won’t hurt her because they’re planning to ask me for money again. Can’t you see that? They figure I’ll go on paying to protect myself and they’re not going to—”

“And you will,” she said.

He looked at her for a few moments before dropping her hands.

“No,” he said, “I won’t.”

He picked up his topcoat and put it on.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the bank.”

“I’m going with you.”

He started to speak, then changed his mind. There was no time.

“Come on then,” he said.

***

He could remember joking about it to Bill Albert.

“You know which line in the bank moves the slowest?” he’d said. “The one I’m in.”

Chris’s gaze moved for the seventh time to the clock over the vault entrance. Ten twenty-one. He watched the long second-hand turning. Swallowing dryly, he turned back to the line. The man at the counter was pushing rolls of change into his cloth sack. Chris glanced at the other lines. One of them was shorter but he didn’t dare take a chance on changing. He’d done it once already and lost time.

He drew in a quick breath. Come on! his mind cried. He thought of Connie being held by Adam and Steve, he thought about Adam’s gun. He twitched as a drop of sweat trickled down his side. Hurry, he thought. Please hurry.

He looked around and saw Helen still sitting on the bench by the wall. She looked as if she were hypnotized the way she stared ahead with dull, blank eyes. He knew what she was feeling and it was a hideous sensation—one of incredulous terror. It was impossible to believe that they might never see Connie again, yet impossible to disbelieve it.

God, let it be true! Chris thought in sudden anguish, recalling what he’d said to Helen. Let them be planning to bleed him dry. Right now, he’d sign away everything he owned or ever would own just to hold Connie in his arms again.

“Good morning, Mr. Martin.”

Chris started at the voice, jerking his head around so fast it hurt his neck.

“Did I startle you?” she asked.

“Oh Mrs. Anthony. I’m—I’m sorry. I—”

“Didn’t see me coming. I apologize.” Mrs. Anthony smiled. “I wanted to talk to you about the concert Sunday.”

Chris stared at her. “Yes,” he said. The line moved forward as the man left the counter. Chris stepped off compulsively. Mrs. Anthony, smile faltering, moved with him.

“What the committee was wondering,” she said, “is if it might not be feasible to combine the concert with our Spring Fund Drive.”

Chris nodded jerkily. “Uh-huh.” He felt a tremor in his stomach muscles. Please get out of here, begged his mind.

“Now,” said Mrs. Anthony briskly, “we discussed the possibilities at some length at our meeting last Friday afternoon and, after weighing the pros and cons, we reached the decision that it could be effected quite readily.”

Chris ran a hand across his upper lip and drew it away dripping sweat. “I see,” he muttered. He rubbed the hand on his coat distractedly.

“If,
before
the concert,” Mrs. Anthony continued, “we could have, say, five to ten minutes for a short announcement about the opening of the Drive, we could easily…”

Her voice seemed to drift off into an unintelligible murmur as Chris watched her. The nightmare was back again, endless and insane as nightmares were. To stand here listening to Mrs. Anthony talk about the start of a Spring Fund Drive for The Ladies’ Horticultural Society while, somewhere, Connie was—

“Does that aspect of it seem reasonable?” she asked.

Chris swallowed.

“I—I—what was that?” He smiled mechanically. “I’m afraid I—”

“I
said
,” said Mrs. Anthony, “does the setting up of a cake booth in back of the auditorium seem to you—”

The line moved and Chris, stepped closer to the window. He felt the urge to shove away the two people in front of him, to push Mrs. Anthony away violently, to grab the money from the cashier’s drawer and run to his car, drive to Latigo Canyon at a hundred miles an hour.

“Yes,” he said, “Yes. I—I think that would be fine.”

“Are you feeling well, Mr. Martin?”

“Hmmm?” Chris’s smile was more of a grimace.

“You’re perspiring quite heavily.”

“Oh. No, I—it’s rather…” he sucked in breath, “—hot in here.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Anthony cleared her throat. “Well, then, I can tell the committee that you approve?”

“Yes, yes, certainly,” Chris blurted, “I—think it’s a fine idea.”

Mrs. Anthony nodded once, looking at him curiously. “Well, then,” she said.

Chris looked over at Helen as Mrs. Anthony walked away. She was watching him fixedly. Chris turned back quickly. There was just the woman in front of him now although the cashier was gone. He glanced aside and saw Mrs. Anthony wave to Helen. God, don’t talk to her! he begged silently. He blew out ragged breath as Mrs. Anthony left the bank.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, impulsively.

The woman in front of him turned.

“I wonder if I could trouble you to—to let me ahead of—”

“I’m
sorry
,” she said. “I’ve been waiting here for a long time and I’m in just as much of a hurry as you are.”

Are you? Chris thought.

She turned away. “I never,” she was muttering. Chris closed his eyes a moment. Please, please,
please
, he thought.

A minute later he was sliding the pass book across the counter. The teller picked it up and opened it, looked at the withdrawal slip.

“I’d like to have it in tens and twenties,” Chris said.

“Yes, sir,” said the teller. He turned away and walked over to the row of file cabinets behind him. Chris watched him, his hands resting limply on the edge of the counter. He saw the teller pull out a drawer and start thumbing through the files.

“I’m in a hurry,” Chris said. The man didn’t hear him.

In a moment, the man pulled out a file and looked at it. Chris waited impatiently.

The man walked past the window toward the front of the bank.

“What are you—?” Chris started.

“Just a moment, sir,” said the teller, politely.

Dazedly, Chris watched him walk away. What in God’s name was happening? For a second, he almost believed that he
was
dreaming, that this was a nightmare. It was too incredible to be real.

He saw the teller speak to Mr. Finder in front. Mr. Finder looked over at Chris and, smiling, gestured for him to come down to his desk. Chris couldn’t repress the groan. Clenching his teeth, he strode quickly along the counter and pushed at the gate with shaking fingers. It didn’t open.

“It’s
locked
,” he said, startled at the loudness of his voice.

The girl at a nearby desk looked up, startled; and gaped at him.

“Miss Grey,” called Mr. Finder. She glanced back and Mr. Finder nodded at her. She pushed a button and Chris went through.
We’ll never see her again
. Helen’s words echoed terribly in his mind.

“What is it?” he asked.

“This withdrawal, Mr. Martin,” said Finder, “It will leave your account with less than a hundred dollars.”

“
I know that
.” Was the man insane?

“Well—” Mr. Finder coughed embarrassedly. “You see, this note—”

“Note?”

“It states that a three thousand dollar loan extended to you last October would be made on the condition that the amount in your savings account serve as collateral.”

Chris looked at him dumbly. He’d forgotten.

“You see,” said Mr. Finder. “You signed it.”

Chris held the paper and stared down at it without being able to read it.

“Naturally, if you withdraw three thousand dollars at this time,” said Mr. Finder, “the conditions of the loan are no longer met.”

Chris had difficulty keeping his voice steady.

“Mr. Finder, I’ve been doing business with this bank for the past seven years. My credit rating is beyond reproach. I need this money now. My mother is in financial trouble and needs it immediately. It will be replaced as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Martin, please understand. It’s not as if—”

“Mr. Finder, I have a good business,” Chris said, agitatedly. “I pay my debts. I’m a member of the Chamber of Commerce. For God’s sake, let’s not haggle! I
need
the money. I’ve met every obligation to this bank in the past. Now, for pity’s sake!” If I had a gun, he thought suddenly, I’d take the money.

Mr. Finder pursed his lips and looked at Chris dispassionately.

“Well?”

Mr. Finder sighed. “Very well, Mr. Martin,” he said, “I really see no reason why we can’t. It’s somewhat irregular but—”

Less than a minute later, the doors of the Ford slammed behind them and Chris twisted the ignition key. He backed out of place and drove out of the parking lot so fast he almost hit another car. He headed down Wilshire as fast as he could and turned right onto
Ocean Avenue. A few minutes later the Ford was speeding along the coast highway toward Malibu.

“Chris,” she said as they went past an orange caution light at Channel Road.

“Yes.”

“Do you really believe what you said before?” Her voice was spent of anger now, almost lifeless.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m convinced they plan to use me as long as they can.”

“Oh…”