Free Now You See It by Richard Matheson Page B

corrected. “But I doubt it. Why should she? Because of you? She never cared for you. You were, like me, merely a stepping-stone.” His smile grew iced. “Or should I say a sleeping-stone?”
    He pointed the pistol at Harry’s chest.
    “Max, don’t do it,” Harry pleaded.
    The front door slammed shut loudly. Cassandra’s shoe heels clacked rapidly across the entry hall. She threw herself against the door.
    “Max!” she cried.
    “Farewell, old friend,” said Max.
    He fired.

chapter 11
    I would have cried out if I’d had the power. As always, however, I remained a soundless squash.
    It was Harry who cried out in hoarse amazement as a gout of blood erupted from his white shirt. Stumbling back, he slipped and fell.
    Cassandra screamed.
“Max!”
    She pounded on the door as Max watched Harry.
    Harry was slouched on the floor, staring down at his shirtfront. He might well have been dead, he was so completely motionless.
    He lived, however. Stunned and breathless, in a state of shock.
    But quite alive.
    “The pistol ball was hollow,” Max informed him. “Wax. Rubbed with graphite.”
    He raised his left hand, thumb elevated. “Filled with blood from this very thumb,” he said.
    His smile was mirthless, cold. “The other pistol ball wasreal,” he said, “to throw you off. Misdirection, don’t you know. My business.”
    And he winked at me.
    I did not return it. I would not have done so even if I could.
Sonny
, I was thinking with exasperation.
My heart is not constructed of steel, you know
.
    “I hope I didn’t frighten you again,” he said as though reading my thought.
    Harry had not spoken a word. Now he was staring at Max uncomprehendingly. I think that, had
his
heart been at risk as well, what Max had just done to him might have finished him off.
    In the meantime, Cassandra continued to pound on the door and scream Max’s name.
    Finally, she added,
“Open the door!”
    Max moved to the desk and tossed the empty pistol on its top. Then, reaching underneath, he pushed the hidden button.
    The locking mechanism clicked, the knob was quickly turned, the door flung open, and Cassandra rushed in.
    “What the hell is
—” she began.
    She stopped, aghast, catching sight of Harry on the floor, his shirtfront drenched with blood.
    “Oh, my God,” she murmured shakily, and ran to him.
    Kneeling beside him, she looked at his chest, shuddering at the sight. “My
God,”
she said.
    “All right,” Harry muttered, scarcely able to speak. “I’m all right.”
    “All
right?”
She stared at him incredulously. “How—”
    “Scotch,” said Harry, interrupting.
    “What
happened?”
she asked.
    “Scotch, some Scotch!” he ordered in a rasping voice.
    “Yes.” She struggled to her feet and hurried toward the bar, glancing apprehensively at Max, who was sitting on the edge of the desk now, quietly observing—as I was,though my quiet was the consequence of a stroke. God only knew what lay behind my son’s calmness.
    Harry was looking down at his shirt again.
    “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. With a palsied hand, he tugged a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed weakly at his shirt.
    “What
is
this?” Cassandra demanded of Max.
    It was as though she hadn’t spoken. Max kicked one foot casually as he sat there.
What is in his
mind? I thought.
    Cassandra finished pouring Scotch into a glass and turned from the bar. Returning to Harry, she knelt beside him. Harry took the glass and swallowed half its contents in a single gulp.
    He started to cough, eyes watering, and drew in wheezing breaths. Then he downed the rest of the Scotch, shuddering convulsively.
    “Can you get up?” Cassandra asked.
    He nodded, a feeble stirring of his head. Setting down the glass, he tried to push up, thudding down as his arms gave way.
    Grimacing, he rolled to the right and struggled to his knees. “God damn,” he muttered.
    Cassandra helped him to his feet. He stood unevenly, expression almost