Now You See It... Part 68

He shuddered.

"Not that I intended for her to die," he said. "Max sur- prised me there. And my own anger at what I heard her say while I was behind the wall panel-that she might let me drown at sea-so enraged me that -.."

His breath faltered.

"I might have saved her," he said. "Then again, maybe mere wasn't time; I'll never know.

"So-in my total rage-I let her know what I'd done.

Then I let her die."

Another faltering breath. He had to stop writing, his hand shook so badly.

A minute later, he put the pen back into its holder.

"Why have I told you all this?" he inquired.

He made a sound of dark amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Probably because you're the only audience I'll ever have.

"The perfect audience in one respect; you can't fidget in your seat or walk out. You have to listen to every word.

"At the same time, the worst audience I could ever have because you can't react, you can't respond in any way. Ap- plause? Forget it. A cheer? No way. The audience partic.i.p.a- tion of a cabbage is limited. Forgive me for saying so. Padre.

Now YON See K... 217

I always liked you, and respected you for what you'd done with your life. But as an audience..." He shook his head.

Uttle did he know.

There was complete reaction. And response, if only in- wardly.

No gofer he. Instead, a diabolically clever man who'd played a two-sided game against Ca.s.sandra and my son.

Neither of them conceived/ you see, that he was capable of such an ingeniously sinister plot against them. Blinded by their confident a.s.sumptions, they never noticed mat, while each of mem was involved in his (and her) intricate scheme, Brian was outmaneuvering them both.

He had even dared to call attention to himself by portray- ing me Sheriff as a slow-witted rustic!

Did he experience some sense of dreadful glee at that deception?

Brian stood and walked to the bar.

Removing the champagne bottle from its ice bucket, he poured a gla.s.sful and drank it in a swallow.

I wondered if my face betrayed the utter shock I felt.

"Don't worry. Padre," he said. "I've left a written confes- sion on me desk."

He chuckled.

"Not that it's likely they'll mink you did it all. Still..."

He winced as the poison began to take effect.

Face set, he poured himself another gla.s.sful, raised it to- ward me in a final toast.

"Prosit, Padre," he said. "And farewell."

He drained the gla.s.s and put it back on the bar.

Moving to where Ca.s.sandra's body lay, he stretched him- self out beside her and took her hand in his. He made a sound of pain- Then, chillingly, he laughed.

218 Richard Matheson

"The real Sheriff Plum has got a lot to deal with here," he said.

He dosed his eyes.

"Good luck. Padre/' he murmured.

Then he, too, was gone.

I complete the tale as expeditiously as possible.

Sheriff Plum arrived soon after-looking more like an un- bearded Abraham Lincoln than me portly figure Brian had presented-and took over. Unlike Brian's characterization of him, he was a man of sharp perception.

The case was dosed in due time. Later on, I caught up with the months of newspaper, magazine, tabloid, and tele- vision coverage of me case.

The court allowed me to retain me full estate/ me servants remaining to take care of me.

Then an odd-and wholly unexpected-thing occurred.

The vegetable made a comeback,

Medical opinion varied, but the consensus was that me shock of witnessing the horrors of that afternoon-while being totally unable to stop them in any way-had trauma- tized my system.

Whether this is true or not, I'll never know.

All I do know is that for some fortuitous reason, my arter- ial blood flow discovered an alternate route to the damaged area of my brain, effecting a gradual but definite recovery.

Not complete, of course. I won't be vying in future Olym- pic Games.

Still, I'm well enough, at eighty-seven, to get about a lit- tle, feed myself, manage bathroom matters una.s.sisted (there's a pleasure, let me tell you!), and write about what happened that day.

NowYouSMh... 219

A minor coda to the story.

My son's estate was not extensive, most of it being in- vested in the house.

Accordingly, in order to acquire living funds, I had to sell me house.

I did so with little reluctance; it was filled with too many painful memories. I sold it furnished. And to whom?

How utterly ironic-

Harry.

He had always coveted the place, you see. No doubt he thought it grimly satisfying to be able to possess it after the way Max had tormented him there.