sk.misery-第38部分

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；　a　jellylike　monstrosity　of　infinite　poison　。　。　。　and　infinite　magic。
　During　the　days　he　diverted　himself　with　this　pleasant　foolishness。　In　the　evenings　he　sat　quietly；　listening　to　the　pig　squeal　and　thinking　about　how　he　would　kill　the　Dragon　Lady。
　Playing　Can　You？　in　real　life　was　quite　different　from　playing　it　in　a　cross…legged　circle　as　a　kid　or　doing　it　in　front　of　a　typewriter　as　a　grown…up；　he　discovered。　When　it　was　just　a　game　（and　even　if　they　gave　you　money　for　it；　a　game　was　still　all　it　was）；　you　could　think　up　some　pretty　wild　things　and　make　them　seem　believable　…　the　connection　between　Misery　Chastain　and　Miss　Charlotte　Evelyn…Hyde；　for　instance　（they　had　turned　out　to　be　half…sisters；　Misery　would　later　discover　her　father　down　there　in　Africa　hanging　out　with　the　Bourka　Bee…People）。　In　real　life；　however；　the　arcane　had　a　way　of　losing　its　power。
　Not　that　Paul　didn't　try。　There　were　all　those　drugs　in　the　downstairs　bathroom　…　surely　there　was　some　way　he　could　use　them　to　put　her　out　of　the　way；　wasn't　there？　Or　to　at　least　render　her　helpless　long　enough　so　he　could　do　it？　Take　the　Novril。　Enough　of　that　shit　and　he　wouldn't　even　have　to　put　her　out　of　the　way。　She　would　float　off　on　her　own。
　That's　a　very　good　idea；　Paul。　I　tell　you　what　to　do。　You　just　get　a　whole　bunch　of　those　capsules　and　stick　them　all　through　a　pint　of　her　ice…cream。　She'll　just　think　they're　pistachio　nuts　and　gobble　them　right　down。
　No；　of　course　that　wouldn't　work。　Nor　could　he　pull　a　cutie　like　opening　the　capsules　and　mixing　the　powder　into　some　pre…softened　ice…cream。　He　had　tasted　it　and　knew。　Novril　in　the　raw　was　fabulously　bitter。　It　was　a　taste　she　would　recognize　at　once　in　the　midst　of　the　expected　sweetness　。　。　。　and　then　woe　is　you；　Paulie。　Woe　to　the　max。
　In　a　story　it　would　have　been　a　pretty　good　idea。　In　real　life；　however；　it　simply　did　not　make　it。　He　wasn't　sure　he　would　have　taken　the　chance　even　if　the　white　powder　inside　the　capsules　had　been　almost　or　pletely　tasteless。　It　wasn't　safe　enough；　it　wasn't　sure　enough。　This　was　no　game；　it　was　his　life。
　Other　ideas　passed　through　his　mind　and　were　rejected　even　more　quickly。　One　was　suspending　something　（the　typewriter　came　immediately　to　mind）　over　the　door　so　she　would　be　killed　or　knocked　unconscious　when　she　came　in。　Another　was　running　a　tripwire　across　the　stairway。　But　the　problem　was　the　same　as　the　old　Novril…in…the…ice…cream　trick：　in　both　cases　neither　was　sure　enough。　He　found　himself　literally　unable　to　think　of　what　might　happen　to　him　if　he　tried　to　assassinate　her　and　failed。
　As　dark　came　down　on　that　second　night；　Misery's　squealing　went　on　as　monotonously　as　ever　…　the　pig　sounded　like　an　unlatched　door　with　rusty　hinges　squealing　in　the　wind　…　but　Bossie　No。　1　abruptly　fell　silent。　Paul　wondered　uneasily　if　perhaps　the　poor　animal's　udder　had　burst；　resulting　in　death　by　exsanguination。　For　a　moment　his　imagination　so　vivid！
　tried　to　present　him　with　a　picture　of　the　cow　lying　dead　in　a　puddle　of　mixed　milk　and　blood；　and　he　quickly　willed　it　away。　He　told　himself　not　to　be　such　a　numbnuts　…　cows　didn't　die　that　way。　But　the　voice　doing　the　telling　lacked　conviction。　He　had　no　idea　if　they　did　or　not。　And；　besides；　it　wasn't　the　cow　that　was　his　problem；　was　it？
　All　your　fancy　ideas　e　down　to　one　thing　…　you　want　to　kill　her　by　remote　control；　you　don't　want　her　blood　on　your　hands。　You're　like　a　man　who　loves　nothing　better　than　a　thick　steak　but　wouldn't　last　an　hour　in　a　slaughterhouse。　But　listen；　Paulie；　and　get　it　straight：　you　must　face　reality　at　this　point　in　your　life　if　at　no　other。　Nothing　fancy。　No　curlicues。　Right？
　Right。
　He　rolled　back　into　the　kitchen　and　opened　drawers　until　he　found　the　knives。　He　selected　the　longest　butcher…knife　and　went　back　to　his　room；　pausing　to　rub　away　the　hub…marks　on　the　sides　of　the　doorway。　The　signs　of　his　passage　were　nevertheless　being　clearer。
　Doesn't　matter。　If　she　misses　them　one　more　time；　she　misses　them　for　good。
　He　put　the　knife　on　the　night…table；　hoisted　himself　into　bed；　then　slid　it　under　the　mattress。　When　Annie　came　back　he　was　going　to　ask　her　for　a　nice　cold　glass　of　water；　and　when　she　leaned　over　to　give　it　to　him　he　was　going　to　plunge　the　knife　into　her　throat。
　Nothing　fancy。
　Paul　closed　his　eyes　and　dropped　off　to　sleep；　and　when　the　Cherokee　came　whispering　back　into　the　driveway　that　morning　at　four　o'clock　with　both　its　engine　and　its　lights　shut　off；　he　did　not　stir。　Until　he　felt　the　sting　of　the　hypo　sliding　into　his　arm　and　woke　to　see　her　face　leaning　over　his；　he　hadn't　the　slightest　idea　she　was　back。
　
　
　21
　
　At　first　he　thought　he　was　dreaming　about　his　own　book；　that　the　dark　was　the　dream…dark　of　the　caves　behind　the　huge　stone　head　of　the　Bourka　Bee…Goddess　and　the　sting　was　that　of　a　bee　…　〃Paul？〃　He　muttered　something　that　meant　nothing　…　something　that　meant　only　get　out　of　here；　dream　voice；　get　gone。
　〃Paul。〃　That　was　no　dreamvoice；　it　was　Annie's　voice。
　He　forced　his　eyes　open。　Yes；　it　was　her；　and　for　a　moment　his　panic　grew　even　stronger。　Then　it　simply　seeped　away；　like　fluid　running　down　a　partly　clogged　drain。
　What　the　hell　…　？
　He　was　totally　disoriented。　She　was　standing　there　in　the　shadows　as　if　she　had　never　been　away；　wearing　one　of　her　woolly　skirts　and　frumpy　sweaters；　he　saw　the　needle　in　her　hand　and　understood　it　hadn't　been　a　sting　but　an　injection。　What　the　fuck　…　either　way　it　was　the　same　thing。　He　had　been　gotten　by　the　goddess。　But　what　had　she　…　？
　That　bright　panic　tried　to　e　again；　and　once　again　it　hit　a　dead　circuit。　All　he　could　feel　was　a　kind　of　academic　surprise。　That；　and　some　intellectual　curiosity　about　where　she　had　e　from；　and　why　now。　He　tried　to　lift　his　hands　and　they　came　up　a　little　。　。　。　but　only　a　little。　It　felt　as　if　there　were　invisible　weights　dangling　from　them。　They　dropped　back　onto　the　sheet　with　little　dull　thumps。
　Doesn't　matter　what　she　shot　me　up　with。　It's　like　what　you　write　on　the　last　page　of　a　book。　It's　THE　END。
　The　thought　brought　no　fear。　Instead　he　felt　a　kind　of　calm　euphoria。
　At　least　she's　tried　to　make　it　kind　。　。　。　to　make　it　。　。　。
　〃Ah；　there　you　are！〃　Annie　said；　and　added　with　lumbering　coquettishness：　〃I　see　you；　Paul　。　。　。　those　blue　eyes。　Did　I　ever　tell　you　what　lovely　blue　eyes　you　have？　But　I　suppose　other　women　have　…　women　who　were　much　prettier　than　I　am；　and　much　bolder　about　their　affections；　as　well。〃　Came　back。　Came　creeping　in　the　night　and　killed　me；　hypo　or　bee…sting；　no　difference；　and　so　much　for　the　knife　under　the　bed。　All　I　am　now　is　the　latest　number　in　Annie's　considerable　body…count。　And　then；　as　the　numbing　euphoria　of　the　injection　began　to　spread；　he　thought　almost　with　humor：　Some　lousy　Scheherazade　I　turned　out　to　be。
　He　thought　that　in　a　moment　sleep　would　return　…　a　more　final　sleep　…　but　it　did　not。　He　saw　her　slip　the　hypo　into　the　pocket　of　her　skirt　and　then　she　sat　down　on　the　bed　。　。　。　not　where　she　usually　sat；　however；　she　sat　on　its　foot　and　for　a　moment　he　saw　only　her　solid；　impervious　back　as　she　bent　over；　as　if　to　check　on　something。　He　heard　a　wooden　thunk；　a　metallic　clunk；　and　then　a　shaking　sound　he　had　heard　some　place　before。　After　a　moment　he　placed　it。　Take　the　matches；　Paul。
　Diamond　Blue　Tips。　He　didn't　know　what　else　she　might　have　there　at　the　foot　of　the　bed；　but　one　of　them　was　a　box　of　Diamond　Blue　Tip　matches。
　Annie　turned　to　him　and　smiled　again。　Whatever　else　might　have　happened；　her　apocalyptic　depression　had　passed。　She　brushed　an　errant　lock　of　hair　back　behind　her　ear　with　a　girlish　gesture。　It　went　oddly　with　the　lock's　dull　dirty　half…shine。
　Dull　dirty　half…shine　oh　boy　you　gotta　remember　that　one　that　one　ain't　half…bad　oh　boy　I　am　stoned　now；　all　the　past　was　prologue　to　this　shit　hey　baby　this　here　is　the　mainline　oh　fuck　I'm　tucked　but　this　is　crystal　top…end　shit　this　is　going　out　on　a　mile…high　wave　in　a　fucking　Rolls　this　is　…　〃What　do　you　want　first；　Paul？〃　she　asked。　〃The　good　news　or　the　bad　news？〃
　〃Good　news　first。〃　He　managed　a　big　foolish　grin。　〃Guess　the　bad　news　is　that　this　is　THE　END；　huh？　Guess　you　didn't　like　the　book　so　great；　huh？　Too　bad　I　tried。　It　was　even　working。　I　was　just　starting　to　。　。　。　you　know　。　。　。　starting　to　drive　on　it。〃　She　looked　at　him　reproachfully。　〃I　love　the　book；　Paul。　I　told　you　that；　and　I　never　lie。　I　love　it　so　much　I　don't　want　to　read　any　more　until　the　very　end。　I'm　sorry　to　have　to　make　you　fill　in　the　n's　yourself；　but　。　。　。　it's　like　peeking。〃　His　big　foolish　grin　stretched　even　wider；　he　thought　soon　it　would　meet　in　the　back；　tie　a　lover's　knot　there；　and　most　of　his　poor　old　bean　would　just　topple　off。　Maybe　it　would　land　in　the　bedpan　beside　the　bed。　In　some　deep；　dim　part　of　his　mind　where　the　dope　hadn't　yet　reached；　alarm　bells　were　going　off。　She　loved　the　book；　which　meant　she　didn't　mean　to　kill　him。　Whatever　was　going　on；　she　didn't　mean　to　kill　him。　And　unless　his　assessment　of　Annie　Wilkes　was　totally　off　the　beam；　that　meant　she　had　something　even　worse　in　store。
　Now　the　light　in　the　room　did　not　look　dull；　it　looked　marvellously　pure；　marvellously　full　of　its　own　gray　and　eldritch　charm；　he　could　imagine　cranes　half…glimpsed　in　gunmetal　mist　standing　in　one…legged　silence　beside　upland　lakes　in　that　light；　could　imagine　the　mica　flecks　in　rocks　jutting　from　spring　grasses　in　upland　meadows　shining　with　the　shaggy　glow　of　glazed　window…glass　in　that　light；　could　imagine　elves　shucking　their　busy　selves　off　to　work　in　lines　under　the　dew…soaked　leaves　of　early　ivy　in　that　light　。　。　。
　Oh　BOY　are　you　stoned；　Paul　thought；　and　giggled　faintly。
　Annie　smiled　in　return。　〃The　good　news；〃　she　said；　〃is　that　your　car　is　gone。　I've　been　very　worried　about　your　car；　Paul。　I　knew　it　would　take　a　storm　like　this　to　get　rid　of　it　and　maybe　even　that　wouldn't　do　the　trick。　The　spring　run…off　got　rid　of　that　Pomeroy　dirty　bird；　but　a　car　is　ever　so　much　heavier　than　a　man；　isn't　it？　Even　a　man　as　full　of　cockadoodie　as　he　was。　But　the　storm　and　the　run…off　bined　was　enough　to　do　the　trick。　Your　car　is　gone。　That's　the　good　news。〃
　〃What　。　。　。〃　More　faint　alarm　bells。　Po