sk.misery-第52部分

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　is　very　sad。　The　other；　while　not　your　standard　Hollywood　happy　ending；　at　least　holds　out　some　hope　for　the　future。〃　Annie　looked　alarmed　。　。　。　and　suddenly　thunderous。　〃You're　not　thinking　of　killing　her　again；　are　you；　Paul？〃　He　smiled　a　little。　〃What　would　you　do　if　I　did；　Annie？　Kill　me？　That　doesn't　scare　me　a　bit。　I　may　not　know　what's　going　to　happen　to　Misery；　but　I　know　what's　going　to　happen　to　me　。　。　。　and　you。　I'll　write　THE　END；　and　you'll　read；　and　then　you'll　write　THE　END；　won't　you？　The　end　of　us。　That's　one　I　don't　have　to　guess　at。　Truth　really　isn't　stranger　than　fiction；　no　matter　what　they　say。　Most　times　you　know　exactly　how　things　are　going　to　turn　out。〃
　〃But　…　〃
　〃I　think　I　know　which　ending　it's　going　to　be。　I'm　about　eighty　percent　sure。　If　it　turns　out　that　way；　you'll　like　it。　But　even　if　it　turns　out　the　way　I　think；　neither　of　us　will　know　the　actual　details　until　I　get　them　written　down；　will　we？〃
　〃No　…　I　suppose　not。〃
　〃Do　you　remember　what　the　old　Greyhound　Bus　ads　used　to　say？　〃Getting　there　is　half　the　fun。〃
　〃Either　way；　it's　almost　over；　isn't　it？〃
　〃Yes；〃　Paul　said。　〃Almost　over。〃
　
　
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　Before　she　left　she　brought　him　another　Pepsi；　a　box　of　Ritz　crackers；　sardines；　cheese　。　。　。　and　the　bedpan。
　〃If　you　bring　me　my　manuscript　and　one　of　those　yellow　legal　pads；　I'll　work　in　longhand；〃　he　said。　〃It　will　pass　the　time。〃　She　considered；　then　shook　her　head　regretfully。　〃I　wish　you　could；　Paul。　But　that　would　mean　leaving　at　least　one　light　on；　and　I　can't　risk　it。〃　He　thought　of　being　left　alone　down　here　in　the　cellar　and　felt　panic　flush　his　skin　again；　but　just　for　a　moment。　Then　it　went　cold。　He　felt　tiny　hard　goosebumps　rising　on　his　skin。　He　thought　of　the　rats　hiding　in　their　holes　and　runs　in　the　rock　walls。　Thought　of　them　ing　out　when　the　cellar　went　dark。　Thought　of　them　smelling　his　helplessness；　perhaps。
　〃Don't　leave　me　in　the　dark；　Annie。　Please　don't　do　that。〃
　〃I　have　to。　If　someone　noticed　a　light　in　my　cellar；　they　might　stop　to　investigate；　driveway　chain　or　no　driveway　chain；　note　or　no　note。　If　I　gave　you　a　flashlight；　you　might　try　to　signal　with　it。　If　I　gave　you　a　candle；　you　might　try　to　burn　the　house　do〃　with　it。　You　see　how　well　I　know　you？〃　He　hardly　dared　mention　the　times　he　had　gotten　out　of　his　room；　because　it　always　made　her　furious；　now　his　fear　of　being　left　alone　down　here　in　the　dark　drove　him　to　it。　〃If　I　had　wanted　to　burn　the　house　down；　Annie；　I　could　have　done　it　long　before　this。〃
　〃Things　were　different　then；〃　she　said　shortly。　〃I'm　sorry　you　don't　like　being　left　in　the　dark。　I'm　sorry　you　have　to　be。　But　it's　your　own　fault；　so　quit　being　a　brat。　I've　got　to　go。　If　you　feel　like　you　need　that　injection；　stick　it　in　your　leg。〃　She　looked　at　him。
　〃Or　stick　it　up　your　ass。〃　She　started　for　the　stairs。
　〃Cover　the　windows；　then！〃　he　yelled　after　her。　〃Use　some　pieces　of　sheet　。　。　。　or　。　。　。　or　。　。　。　paint　them　black　。　。　。　or　。　。　。　or　。　。　。　Christ；　Annie；　the　rats！　The　rats！〃　She　was　on　the　third　stair。　She　paused；　looking　at　him　from　those　dusty…dime　eyes。　〃I　haven't　time　to　do　any　of　those　things；〃　she　said；　〃and　the　rats　won't　bother　you；　anyway。　They　may　even　recognize　you　for　one　of　their　own；　Paul。　They　may　adopt　you。〃　Annie　laughed。　She　climbed　the　stairs；　laughing　harder　and　harder。　There　was　a　click　as　the　lights　went　out　and。　Annie　went　on　laughing　and　he　told　himself　he　wouldn't　scream；　wouldn't　beg；　that　he　was　past　all　that。　But　the　damp　wildness　of　the　shadows　and　the　boom　of　her　laughter　were　too　much　and　he　shrieked　for　her　not　to　do　this　to　him；　not　to　leave　him；　but　she　only　went　on　laughing　and　there　was　a　click　as　the　door　was　shut　and　her　laughter　was　muted　but　her　laughter　was　still　there；　her　laughter　was　on　the　other　side　of　the　door；　where　there　was　light；　and　then　the　lock　clicked；　and　then　another　door　closed　and　her　laughter　was　even　more　muted　（but　still　there）；　and　another　lock　clicked　and　a　bolt　slammed；　and　her　laughter　was　going　away；　her　laughter　was　outside；　and　even　after　she　had　started　the　cruiser　up；　backed　out；　put　the　chain　across　the　driveway；　and　driven　away；　he　thought　he　could　still　hear　her。　He　thought　he　could　still　hear　her　laughing　and　laughing　and　laughing。
　
　
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　The　furnace　was　a　dim　bulk　in　the　middle　of　the　room。　It　looked　like　an　octopus。　He　thought　he　would　have　been　able　to　hear　the　chiming　of　the　parlor　clock　if　the　night　had　been　still；　but　a　strong　summer　wind　had　blown　up；　as　it　so　often　did　these　nights；　and　there　was　only　time；　spreading　out　forever。　He　could　hear　crickets　singing　just　outside　the　house　when　the　wind　dropped　。　。　。　and　then；　sometime　later；　he　heard　the　stealthy　noises　he　had　been　afraid　of：　the　low；　momentary　scuff…and…scurry　of　the　rats。
　Only　it　wasn't　rats　he　was　afraid　of；　was　it？　It　was　the　trooper。　His　so…fucking…vivid　imagination　rarely　gave　him　the　horrors；　but　when　it　did；　God　help　him。　God　help　him　once　it　was　warmed　up。　It　was　not　only　warmed　up　now；　it　was　hot　and　running　on　full　choke。　That　there　was　no　sense　at　all　in　what　he　was　thinking　made　not　a　whit　of　difference　in　the　dark。　In　the　dark；　rationality　seemed　stupid　and　logic　a　dream。　In　the　dark　he　thought　with　his　skin。　He　kept　seeing　the　trooper　ing　back　to　life　…　some　sort　of　life　…　out　in　the　barn；　sitting　up；　the　loose　hay　with　which　Annie　had　covered　him　falling　to　either　side　of　him　and　into　his　lap；　his　face　plowed　into　bloody　senselessness　by　the　mower's　blade。　Saw　him　crawling　out　of　the　barn　and　down　the　driveway　to　the　bulkhead；　the　torn　streamers　of　his　uniform　swinging　and　fluttering。　Saw　him　melting　magically　through　the　bulkhead　and　reintegrating　his　corpse's　body　down　here。　Saw　him　crawling　across　the　packed　dirt　floor；　and　the　little　noises　Paul　heard　weren't　rats　but　the　sounds　of　his　approach；　and　there　was　but　a　single　thought　in　the　cooling　clay　of　the　trooper's　dead　brain：　You　killed　me。　You　opened　your　mouth　and　killed　me。　You　threw　an　ashtray　and　killed　me。　You　cockadoodie　son　of　a　bitch；　you　murdered　my　life。
　Once　Paul　felt　the　trooper's　dead　fingers　slip；　tickling；　down　his　cheek；　and　he　screamed　loudly；　jerking　his　legs　and　making　them　bellow。　He　brushed　frantically　at　his　face　and　knocked　away　not　fingers　but　a　large　spider。
　The　movement　ended　the　uneasy　truce　with　the　pain　in　his　legs　and　the　drug…need　in　his　nerves；　but　it　also　diffused　his　terror　a　little。　His　night　vision　was　ing　on　strong　now；　he　could　see　better；　and　that　was　a　help。　Not　that　there　was　much　to　look　at　…　the　furnace；　the　remains　of　a　coal…pile；　a　table　with　a　bunch　of　shadowy　cans　and　implements　lying　on　it　and　to　his　right；　up　a　way　from　where　be　was　propped　。　。　。　what　was　that　shape？　The　one　next　to　the　shelves？　He　knew　that　shape。　Something　about　it　that　made　it　a　bad　shape。　It　stood　on　three　legs。　Its　top　was　rounded。　It　looked　like　one　of　Wells's　death…machines　in　The　War　Of　the　Worlds；　only　in　miniature。　Paul　puzzled　over　this；　dozed　a　little；　woke；　looked　again；　and　thought：　Of　course；　I　should　have　known　from　the　first。　It　is　a　death…machine。　And　if　anyone　on　Earth's　a　Martian；　it's　Annie…fuckin…Wilkes。　It's　her　barbecue　pot。　It's　the　crematorium　where　she　made　me　burn　Fast　Cars。
　He　shifted　a　little　because　his　ass　was　going　to　sleep；　and　moaned。　Pain　in　his　legs　…　particularly　in　the　bunched　remains　of　his　left　knee　…　and　pain　in　his　pelvis　as　well。　That！　probably　meant　he　was　in　for　a　really　bad　night；　because　his〃　pelvis　had　gotten　pretty　quiet　over　the　last　two　months。
　He　felt　for　the　hypo；　picked　it　up；　then　put　it　back。　A　very　light　dose；　she　had　said。　Best　to　save　it　for　later；　then。　He　heard　a　light　shuffle…scuffle　and　looked　quickly　in　the　corner；　expecting　to　see　the　trooper　crawling　toward　him；　one　brown　eye　peering　from　the　hash　of　his　face。　If　not　for　you　I　could　be　home　watching　TV　now　with　my　hand　on　my　wife's　leg。
　No　cop。　A　dim　shape　which　was　maybe　just　imagination　but　was　more　likely　a　rat。　Paul　willed　himself　to　relax。
　Oh　what　a　long　night　this　was　going　to　be。
　
　
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　He　dozed　a　little　and　woke　up　slumped　far　over　to　the　left　with　his　head　hung　down　like　a　drunk　in　an　alley。　He　straightened　up　and　his　legs　cursed　him　roundly。　He　used　the　bedpan　and　it　hurt　to　piss　and　he　realized　with　some　dismay　that　a　urinary　infection　was　probably　setting　in。　He　was　so　vulnerable　now。　So　fucking　vulnerable　to　everything。　He　put　the　urinal　aside　and　picked　up　the　hypo　again。
　A　light　dose　of　scopolamine；　she　said　…　well；　maybe　so。　Or　maybe　she　loaded　it　with　a　hot　shot　of　something。　The　sort　of　stuff　she　used　on　folks　like　Ernie　Gonyar　and　〃Queenie〃　Beaulifant。
　Then　he　smiled　a　little。　Would　that　really　be　so　bad？　The　answer　was　a　resounding　HELL；　NO！　It　would　be　good。　The　pilings　would　disappear　forever。　No　more　low　tide。　Forever。
　With　that　thought　in　mind　he　found　the　pulse　in　his　left　thigh；　and　though　he　had　never　injected　himself　in　his　life；　he　did　it　efficiently　now；　even　eagerly。
　
　
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　He　did　not　die　and　he　did　not　sleep。　The　pain　went　away　and　he　drifted；　feeling　almost　untethered　from　his　body；　a　balloon　of　thought　drifting　at　the　end　of　a　long　string。
　You　were　also　Scheherazade　to　yourself；　he　thought；　and　looked　at　the　barbecue　pot。　He　thought　of　Martian　deathrays；　burning　London　in　fire。
　He　thought　suddenly　of　a　song；　a　disco　tune；　something　by　a　group　called　the　Trammps：　Burn；　baby；　burn；　burn　the　mother　down　。　。　。
　Something　flickered。
　Some　idea。
　Burn　the　mother　down　。　。　。
　Paul　Sheldon　slept。
　
　
　24
　
　When　he　woke　up　the　cellar　was　filled　with　the　ashy　light　of　dawn。　A　very　large　rat　sat　on　the　tray　Annie　had　left　him；　nibbling　cheese　with　its　tail　neatly　curled　around　its　body。
　Paul　screamed；　jerked；　then　screamed　again　as　pain　flowed　up　his　legs。　The　rat　fled。
　She　had　left　him　some　capsules。　He　knew　that　the　Novril　wouldn't　take　care　of　the　pain；　but　it　was　better　than　nothing。
　Besides；　pain　or　no　pain；　it's　time　for　the　old　morning　fix；　right；　Paul？
　He　washed　two　of　the　caps　down　with　Pepsi　and　then　leaned　back；　feeling　the　dull　throb　in　his　kidneys。　He　was　growing　something　down　there；　all　right。　Great。
　Martians；　he　thought。　Martia