Read Online Backteria and Other Improbable Tales by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online

stood there a moment.
    “Watch your step, Riley,” he warned.
    He moved out of sight. His footsteps echoed down the corridor.
    Father Shane flinched as the prisoner hurried to his side.
    “Now, my son…” he started.
    “I’m not going to hit you, for God’s sake,” the prisoner said. “Listen to me, Father…”
    “Suppose we sit down and relax,” said the priest.
    “What? Oh, all right. All right.”
    The prisoner sat down on the bunk. The priest went over and picked up the stool. Slowly he carried it to the side of the bunk. He placed it down softly in front of the prisoner.
    “Listen to me,” started the prisoner.
    Father Shane lifted a restraining finger. He took out his broad white handkerchief and studiously polished the stool surface. The prisoner’s hands twitched impatiently.
    “For God’s sake,” he entreated.
    “Yes,” smiled the priest. “For His sake.”
    He settled his portly form on the stool. The periphery of his frame ran over the edges.
    “Now,” he said comfortingly.
    The prisoner bit his lower lip.
    “Listen to me,” he said.
    “Yes, John.”
    “My name isn’t John,” snapped the prisoner.
    The priest looked confused.
    “Not…” he started.
    “My name is Phillip Johnson.”
    The priest looked blank a moment. Then he smiled sadly.
    “Why do you struggle, my son? Why can’t you…”
    “I tell you my name is Phillip Johnson. Will you listen?”
    “But my son”
    “Will you!”
    Father Shane drew back in alarm.
    “Will you shut that bastard up!” a voice said slowly and loudly in another cell.
    Footsteps.
    “Please don’t go,” begged the prisoner. “Please stay.”
    “If you promise to speak quietly and not disturb these other poor souls.
    Mac appeared at the door.
    “I promise, I promise,” whispered the prisoner.
    “What’s the matter now?” Mac asked. He looked inquisitively at the priest.
    “You wanna leave, Father?” he asked.
    “No, no,” said Father Shane. “We’ll be all right. Riley has promised to…”
    “I told you I’m not…”
    The prisoner’s voice broke off.
    “What’s that?” asked the priest.
    “Nothing, nothing,” muttered the prisoner, “Will you ask the guard to go away?”
    The priest looked toward Mac. He nodded once, a smile shooting dimples into his red cheeks.
    Mac left. The prisoner raised his head.
    “Now, my son,” said Father Shane. “Why is your soul troubled? Is it penitence you seek?”
    The prisoner twisted his shoulders impatiently.
    “Listen,” he said. “Will you listen to me. Without speaking? Just listen and don’t say anything.”
    “Of course, my son,” the priest said. “That’s why I’m here. However…”
    “All right,” said the prisoner. He shifted on the bunk. He leaned forward, his face drawn tight.
    “Listen to me,” he said, “My name isn’t John Riley. My name is Phillip Johnson.”
    The priest looked pained.
    “”My son,” he started.
    “You said you’d listen,” said the prisoner.
    The priest lowered his eyelids. A martyred print stamped itself on his face.
    “Speak then,” he said.
    “I’m a nuclear physicist. I…”
    He stopped.
    “What year is this?” he asked suddenly.
    The priest looked at him. He smiled thinly.
    “But surely you…”
    “Please.
Please
. Tell me.”
    The priest looked mildly upset. He shrugged his sloping shoulders.
    “1954,” he said.
    “What?” asked the prisoner. “Are you sure?” He stared at the priest. “Are you sure?” he repeated.
    “My son, this is of no purpose.”
    “1954?”
    The priest held back his irritation. He nodded.
    “Yes, my son,” he said.
    “Then it’s true,” said the man.
    “What, my son.”
    “Listen,” said the prisoner. “Try to believe me. I’m a nuclear physicist. At least, I was in 1944.”
    “I don’t understand,” said the priest.
    “I worked in a secret fission plant deep in the Rocky Mountains.”
    “In the Rocky Mountains?”
    “No one ever heard of it,” said the prisoner.