sk.misery-第59部分

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　He　began　to　crawl　back　toward　the　wheelchair。　He　was　halfway　there　when　Annie　opened　her　eyes。
　
　
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　Paul　stared；　unbelieving；　as　she　got　slowly　to　her　knees。　Paul　himself　was　propped　on　his　hands；　legs　trailing　out　behind　him。　He　looked　Eke　a　strange　adult　version　of　Popeye's　nephew；　Swee〃　Pea。
　No　。　。　。　no；　you're　dead。
　You　are　in　error；　Paul。　You　can't　kill　the　goddess。　The　goddess　is　immortal。　Now　I　must　rinse。
　Her　eyes　were　staring；　horrible。　A　huge　wound；　pink…red；　glared　through　her　hair　on　the　left　side　of　her　head。　Blood　sheeted　down　her　face。
　〃Durd！〃　Annie　cried　through　her　throatful　of　paper。　She　began　to　crawl　toward　him；　hands　outstretched；　flexing。　〃Ooo　durd！〃　Paul　pulled　himself　around　in　a　half…circle　and　began　to　crawl　for　the　door。　He　could　hear　her　behind　him。　And　then；　as　he　entered　the　zone　of　broken　glass；　he　felt　her　hand　close　around　his　left　ankle　and　squeeze　his　stump　excruciatingly。　He　screamed。
　〃DIRT！〃　Annie　cried　triumphantly。
　He　looked　over　his　shoulder。　Her　face　was　turning　slowly　purple；　and　seemed　to　be　swelling。　He　realized　she　actually　was　turning　into　the　Bourkas〃　idol。
　He　yanked　with　all　his　might　and　his　leg　slithered　footlessly　out　of　her　grasp；　leaving　her　with　nothing　but　the　circlet　of　leather　with　which　she　had　capped　the　stump。
　He　crawled　on；　beginning　to　cry；　sweat　pouring　down　his　cheeks。　He　pulled　himself　along　on　his　elbows　like　a　soldier　advancing　beneath　heavy　machine…gun　fire。　He　heard　the　thud　of　first　one　knee　from　behind　him；　then　the　other；　then　the　first　again。　She　was　still　ing。　She　was　as　solid　as　he　had　always　feared。　He　had　burned　her　broken　her　back　stuffed　her　tubes　full　of　paper　and　still　still　still　she　was　ing。
　〃BIRT！〃　Annie　screamed　now。　〃DIRT　。　。　。　BIRT！〃　One　of　his　elbows　came　down　on　a　hook　of　glass　and　it　jabbed　up　into　his　arm。　He　crawled　forward　anyway　with　it　sticking　out　of　him　like　a　push…pin。
　Her　hand　closed　over　his　left　calf。
　AW！　GAW　。　。　。　OOO　OW　。　。　。　AW！〃　He　turned　back　again　and　yes；　her　face　had　gone　black；　a　dusky　rotted…plum　black　from　which　her　bleeding　eyes　bulged　wildly。　Her　pulsing　throat　had　swelled　up　like　an　inner…tube；　and　her　mouth　was　writhing。　She　was；　he　realized；　trying　to　grin。
　The　door　was　just　in　reach。　Paul　stretched　out　and　laid　hold　of　the　jamb　in　a　death　grip。
　〃GAW　。　。　。　OOO　。　。　。　OW！〃　Her　right　hand　on　his　right　thigh。
　Thud。　One　knee。　Thud。　The　other。
　Closer。　Her　shadow。　Her　shadow　falling　over　him。
　〃No；　he　whimpered。　He　felt　her　tugging；　pulling。　He　held　onto　the　jamb　grimly；　eyes　now　squeezed　shut。
　〃GAW　。　。　。　OOO　。　。　。　AW！〃　Over　him。　Thunder。　Goddess…thunder。
　Now　her　hands　scuttled　up　his　back　like　spiders　and　settled　upon　his　neck。
　〃GAW　。　。　。　OOO　。　。　。　DIRT　。　。　。　BIRT！〃　His　air　was　gone。　He　held　the　jamb。　He　held　the　jamb　and　felt　her　over　him　felt　her　hands　sinking　into　his　neck　and　he　screamed　Die　can't　you　die　can't　you　ever　die　can't　you　…　〃GA　W　。　。　。　G　…　〃　The　pressure　slackened。　For　a　moment　he　could　breathe　again。　Then　Annie　collapsed　on　top　of　him；　a　mountain　of　slack　flesh；　and　he　couldn't　breathe　at　all。
　
　
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　He　worked　his　way　out　from　under　her　like　a　man　burrowing　his　way　out　of　a　snowshde。　He　did　it　with　the　last　of　his　strength。
　He　crawled　through　the　door；　expecting　her　hand　to　settle　around　his　ankle　again　at　any　moment；　but　that　did　not　happen。　Annie　lay　silent　and　face…down　in　blood　and　spilled　champagne　and　fragments　of　green　glass。　Was　she　dead？　She　must　be　dead。　Paul　did　not　believe　she　was　dead。
　He　slammed　the　door　shut。　The　bolt　she　had　put　on　looked　like　something　halfway　up　a　high　cliff；　but　he　clawed　his　way　up　to　it；　shot　it；　and　then　collapsed　in　a　shuddery　huddle　at　the　door's　foot。
　He　lay　in　a　stupor　for　some　unknown　length　of　time。　What　roused　him　from　it　was　a　low；　minute　scratching　sound。　The　rats；　he　thought。　It's　the　r…　Then　Annie's　thick；　blood…grimed　fingers　poked　under　the　door　and　tugged　mindlessly　at　his　shirt。
　He　shrieked　and　jerked　away　from　them；　his　left　leg　creaking　with　pain。　He　hammered　at　the　fingers　with　his　fist。　Instead　of　pulling　back；　they　jerked　a　little　and　lay　still。
　Let　that　be　the　end　of　her。　Please　God　let　that　be　the　end　or　her。
　In　horrible　pain　now；　Paul　began　to　crawl　slowly　toward　the　bathroom。　He　got　halfway　there　and　looked　back。　Her　fingers　were　still　poking　out　from　under　the　door。　As　bad　as　his　pain　was；　he　could　not　stand　to　look　at　that；　or　even　think　of　that；　and　so　he　reversed　direction；　went　back；　and　pushed　them　under。　He　had　to　nerve　himself　to　do　it；　he　was　certain　that　the　moment　he　touched　them；　they　would　clutch　him。
　He　finally　reached　the　bathroom；　every　part　of　him　throbbing。　He　pulled　himself　inside　and　shut　the　door。
　God；　what　if　she's　moved　the　dope？
　But　she　hadn't。　The　untidy　litter　of　boxes　was　still　there；　including　the　ones　containing　the　sample　packets　of　Novril。　He　took　three　dry；　then　crawled　back　to　the　door　and　lay　down　against　it；　blocking　it　with　the　weight　of　his　body。
　Paul　slept。
　
　
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　When　he　woke　up　it　was　dark；　and　at　first　he　didn't　know　where　he　was　…　how　had　his　bedroom　gotten　so　small？　Then　he　remembered　everything；　and　with　his　remembering　a　queer　certainty　came：　she　was　not　dead；　even　now　not　dead。　She　was　standing　right　outside　this　door；　she　had　the　axe；　and　when　he　crawled　out　she　would　amputate　his　head。　It　would　go　rolling　off　down　the　hallway　like　a　bowling　ball　while　she　laughed。
　That　is　crazy；　he　told　himself；　and　then　he　heard　thought　he　did　…　a　little　rustling　sound；　the　sound　of　a　woman's　starched　skirt；　perhaps；　brushing　lightly　against　the　wall。
　You　just　made　it　up。　Your　imagination　。　。　。　ii's　so　vivid。
　I　didn't。　I　heard　it。
　He　hadn't。　He　knew　that。　His　hand　reached　for　the　door　knob；　then　fell　uncertainly　back。　Yes；　he　knew　he　had　heard　nothing　。　。　。　but　what　if　he　had？
　She　could　have　gone　out　the　window。
　Paul；　she's　DEAD！
　The　return；　implacable　in　its　illogic：　The　goddess　never　dies。
　He　realized　he　was　frantically　biting　his　lips　and　made　himself　stop　it。　Was　this　what　going　crazy　was　like？　Yes。　He　was　close　to　that；　and　who　had　a　better　right？　But　if　he　gave　in　to　it；　if　the　cops　finally　returned　tomorrow　or　the　day　after　to　find　Annie　dead　in　the　guest…room　and　a　blubbering　ball　of　protoplasm　in　the　downstairs　bathroom；　a　blubbering　ball　of　protoplasm　who　had　once　been　a　writer　named　Paul　Sheldon；　wouldn't　that　be　Annie's　victory？
　You　bet。　And　now；　Paulie；　you're　going　to　be　a　good　little　Do…Bee　and　follow　the　scenario。　Right？
　Okay。
　His　hand　reached　for　the　knob　again　。　。　。　and　faltered　again。　He　couldn't　follow　the　original　scenario。　In　it　he　had　seen　himself　lighting　the　paper　and　her　picking　it　up；　and　that　had　happened。　Only　he　was　to　have　bashed　her　brains　in　with　the　fucking　typewriter　instead　of　hitting　her　in　the　back　with　it。　Then　he　had　meant　to　work　his　way　out　into　the　parlor　and　light　the　house　on　fire。　The　scenario　had　called　for　him　to　effect　his　escape　through　one　of　the　parlor　windows。　He　would　take　a　hell　of　a　thump；　but　he　had　already　seen　how　fastidious　Annie　was　about　locking　her　doors。　Better　thumped　than　crisped；　as　he　believed　John　the　Baptist　had　once　said。
　In　a　book；　all　would　have　gone　according　to　plan　。　。　。　but　life　was　so　fucking　untidy　…　what　could　you　say　for　an　existence　where　some　of　the　most　crucial　conversations　of　your　life　took　place　when　you　needed　to　take　a　shit；　or　something？　An　existence　where　there　weren't　even　any　chapters？
　〃Very　untidy；〃　Paul　croaked。　〃Good　thing　there's　guys　like　me；　just　to　keep　things　rinsed。〃　He　cackled。
　The　champagne　bottle　hadn't　been　in　the　scenario；　but　that　was　minor　pared　with　the　woman's　hideous　vitality　and　his　current　painful　uncertainty。
　And　until　he　knew　whether　or　not　she　was　dead；　he　couldn't　burn　the　house　down；　making　a　beacon　that　would　bring　help　on　the　run。　Not　because　Annie　might　still　be　alive；　he　could　roast　her　alive　with　no　qualms　at　all。
　It　wasn't　Annie　that　was　holding　him　back；　it　was　the　manuscript。　The　real　manuscript。　What　he　had　burned　had　been　nothing　more　than　an　illusion　with　a　title　page　on　top　…　blank　pages　interspersed　with　written　rejects　and　culls。　The　actual　manuscript　of　Misery's　Return　had　been　safely　deposited　under　the　bed；　and　there　it　still　was。
　Unless　she's　still　alive。　If　she's　still　alive；　maybe　she's　in　there　reading　it。
　So　what　are　you　going　to　do？
　Wait　right　in　here；　part　of　him　advised。　…Right　in　here；　where　it's　nice　and　safe。
　But　another；　braver；　part　of　him　urged　him　to　go　through　with　the　scenario　…　as　much　of　it　as　he　could；　anyway。　Get　to　the　parlor；　break　the　window；　get　out　of　this　awful　house。　Work　his　way　to　the　edge　of　the　road　and　flag　down　a　car。　Under　previous　circumstances　this　might　have　meant　waiting　for　days；　but　not　anymore。　Annie's　house　had　bee　a　drawing　card。
　Summoning　all　of　his　courage；　he　reached　for　the　doorknob　and　turned　it。　The　door　swung　slowly　open　on　darkness；　and　yes；　there　was　Annie；　there　was　the　goddess；　standing　there　in　the　shadows；　a　white　shape　in　a　nurse's　uniform　…　He　blinked　his　eyes　tightly　shut　and　then　opened　them。　Shadows；　yes。　Annie；　no。　Except　in　the　newspaper　photographs；　he　had　never　seen　her　in　her　nurse's　uniform。　Only　shadows。　Shadows　and　（so　vivid）　imagination。
　He　crawled　slowly　into　the　hall　and　looked　back　down　toward　the　guest…room。　It　was　shut；　blank；　and　he　began　to　crawl　toward　the　parlor。
　It　was　a　pit　of　shadows。　Annie　could　be　hidden　in　any　of　them；　Annie　could　be　any　of　them。　And　she　could　have　the　axe。
　He　crawled。
　There　was　the　overstuffed　sofa；　and　Annie　was　behind　it。　There　was　the　kitchen　door；　standing　open；　and　Annie　was　behind　that。　The　floorboards　creaked　in　back　of　him　。　。　。　of　course！　Annie　was　behind　him！
　He　turned；　heart　hammering；　brains　squeezing　at　his　temples；　and　Annie　was　there；　all　right；　the　axe　upraised；　but　only　for　a　second。　She　blew　apart　into　shadows。　He　crawled　into　the　parlor　and　that　was　when　he　heard　the　drone　of　an　approaching　motor。　A　faint　wash　of　headlights　illuminated　the　window；　brightened。　He　heard　the　tires　skid　in　the　dirt　and　understood　they　had　seen　the　chain　she　had　strung　across　the　dr