Someone Is Bleeding by Richard Matheson Page A

of lamp.
    Breath sucked out. An icy hand crushing my heart.
    On my bed, Dennis.
    In his brain, an icepick.

Chapter Five
    I don’t know how long I stood there looking at him.
    I kept shivering. I kept waiting for my stomach to throw up its contents. Which it soon did. I bent over the sink and heard myself muttering, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no . . .”
    Then I sat at the table in the tiny kitchenette and stared at my hands, Afraid to turn around, afraid his open eyes were looking at me. I could feel them. I stared at my shaking hands and I was as sober as a judge.
    Dennis dead.
    Who? The thought finally managed to emanate after the initial shock had faded a little. Who had done this? Another icepick.
    It had to be Steig. Peggy was out with Jim. But Steig had been driving us around. I didn’t get it.
    But how long had Peggy been home? I jumped up and ran out of the room. I got into my car and started the motor. Then I stopped it and ran back in again. I tried not to look at those glassy, staring eyes and that great patch of blood on my pillow. I drew the light blue bedspread over his body, his face. Then I turned out the light and went into the hall and back to my car.
    A mistake. But who ever makes the right move when he’s all twisted inside? Who ever makes a right move when his nerves are frayed? I drove up Wilshire fast after a U turn. And halfway to 15th Street I heard a voice on a loudspeaker.
    “Black Ford, pull over to curb.”
    I didn’t know what it was at first. Then a red light flashed on and a car pulled alongside.
    “Pull over,” ordered the voice.
    My heart jolted and I went numb. I drew over to the curb and stopped the motor, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
    The cop came over to my car. Another one went around to the other side and opened up the door.
    “Why were your lights off?” the cop on my side spoke.
    For a moment I was almost relieved. I had some crazy idea that Jim had told the police. I was certain he was behind the killing. Dennis was expendable.
    ”What?” I said, hearing the cop speak.
    “I said your license.” the cop said irritably.
    “Oh. I’m sorry.”
    I handed him the wallet. He told me to take the license out. I did. He pulled it away from me. The other cop finished looking into my glove compartment.
    “No gun,” he said.
    “Gun?” I said.
    They didn’t talk to me. The first cop looked over my license. He looked in at my registration card wrapped around the steering column.
    “Why didn’t you have your lights on?” said the cop. A little more restrained now.
    “I’ve . . . I’ve just had an argument with my girl,” I said. “I was upset. I’m sorry.”
    I thought of the dead man in my room. I thought of how that policeman would be very interested to know I had a dead man in my room, A murdered man.
    “Your license is okay,” he said. He still seemed to be deliberating. And I was thinking that if he gave me a ticket I’d have the incident recorded. Recorded that one David Newton was found speeding away from a murdered man in his room. The thought made my insides turn over.
    “I’ll just give you a warning this time,” the cop said.
    I swallowed. “Thank you,” I said.
    When they were back in their car, I started the motor. I almost drove off again without turning on my lights. Then, pulling away from the curb I suddenly remembered and almost lunged for the knob. My heads beamed out onto Wilshire.
    I turned off at 15th and drove down to Peggy’s. I saw a light in her living room as I ran across the lawn.
    She was alone, sitting in her bathrobe reading a book. I forgot about the night that had gone before. All I could think of was Dennis.
    I knocked.
    “Baby, how long have you been here?” I asked hurriedly as she opened the door.
    “What do you . . . ?”
    “Peggy, how long?” I asked, grabbing her shoulders.
    She jerked back and her right hand slapped against my cheek.
    ”Get your hands off me!” she said angrily.
    She stood there trembling,