Woman by Richard Matheson Page A

couldn't go near the bed with its obvious tangle of sheets, David's
bathrobe on top of them.
     
         She sank down on the sofa,
planning to lie down. She couldn't do it though. She sat there, slumped, both
hands against her head, her eyes closed.
     
         Once, she opened them and
found herself staring at the lush greenery of the hanging plants in the
kitchen. With a revulsed sound, she closed her eyes again. It's me, she tried
to believe. It's stress, it's fury at what that bitch has done. She couldn't
convince herself, however. Groaning softly at the aching in her head, she tried
to tell herself to relax. Relax, she thought. Relax.
     
         It didn't work. She began to
cry softly, warm tears trickling down her cheeks. Please come home, she
thought, even though she knew that her rage was also directed at David.
     
         After forty minutes, the
headache had abated slightly, the pain not searing but a dull, throbbing ache.
Liz managed to reach out for the telephone and, carefully, punch out a number,
one hand remaining pressed to her head.
     
         After five unanswered rings
on the other end of the line, the answering service cut in.
     
         "Please tell Miss
Regina that Val Bettinger's sister returned her call," she told the woman.
     
         Hanging up, she punched out
another number. There was no answer. After five rings, another answering
service spoke.
     
         "Please tell Mr.
Bettinger that his sister called again," she instructed.
     
         Putting down the receiver,
she put her other hand to her head. What was if. she wondered. How could Ganine possibly give her such a violent
headache! It seemed beyond belief. And yet—
     
         The thought broke off as the
hall door opened and David came in. He looked surprised to see her on the sofa,
both hands held against her skull.
     
         "Another
headache?" he asked in concern.
     
         She didn't answer, staring
at him balefully. "Was that girl here again?" he asked, crossing the
room.
     
          "Don't
play cunning with me" she said.
     
         "What?" He stared
at her in confusion.
     
          "You tell me if she was here," Liz told him.
     
         "What do you mean? I
don't understand." David sat beside her on the sofa, startled by her
abrupt shrinking away from him. "What's wrong!" he asked.
     
          "You tell me," she repeated.
     
         "Liz, you're just confusing me," he said. "Please
tell me what's going on. Has Ganine been here again? Is that why you're having
another headache?"
     
         "God damn it,
David," Liz said tensely. "Don't play games with me."
     
          "Games!" He stared at her, his expression one of utter bafflement. "You
aren't making sense," he said. "I'm really sorry that you're having
another headache but I just don't know what the hell you're talking
about."
     
         Her teeth were clenched as
she answered, "I'll spell it out for you then," she said. "Check the bedroom."
     
         "Check—?" His
voice broke off; he stared at her uncomprehendingly. "The—"
     
         "The bed, God damn it! The bed\" She started crying again, half
in fury, half in pain.
     
         He started to say something
else, then, instead, stood and walked to the bedroom. He looked inside,
frowning in puzzlement. "Why did you tear up the bed? I made it before I
left."
     
         "I warn you,
David," she threatened.
     
         "Liz, what are you talking about!" he
said.
     
         She struggled for control. "I'm talking about the fucking bed," she told him. "And I mean it literally!"
     
         David was speechless, he
looked at the bed, at Liz, at the bed again, at Liz. Then it hit him. The headache again.
     
         "She has been here," he said.
     
         "Oh, bravo,
bravo," Liz snarled. "You finally got it."
     
         He stared at her in silence.
Suddenly, he knew what she was saying. "You think—?" He broke