Chapter 13 11

The first pebble landed on Cujo's nose, followed by a thud on the others, and stopped silently. Cujo twitched slightly, sticking out his tongue, which seemed to be grinning.A second stone landed beside it.The third stone hit it on the shoulder. It doesn't move. The woman is still trying to lure it out. Donna stood beside the car, frowning. She heard the first stone hit the gravel with a thud, as did the second, but the third... as if it never fell.Not the slightest click, what does that mean? Suddenly she decided to make sure there was nothing lurking in front of the Pinto before running to the porch door.And then, yes, on the line.

But... just go and have a look. She took one step, two steps, three steps. Cujo was ready, his eyes burning in the dark. Take four steps away from the car door.Her heart was a drum in her breast. Now Cujo could see the woman's hips and thighs: an instant later she could see it, well, it wanted her to see it. Take five steps away from the car door. seventy Donna turned her head.Her neck creaked like a spring on an old screen door. She had a presentiment, a heavy certainty.She turned her head to look at Cujo.Cujo was there.It was always there, crouching low, avoiding her, waiting for her to put her back in the tall bushes.

Their eyes stared at each other for a moment—Donna's wide blue eyes, Cujo's red, cloudy eyes. For a moment she saw herself in its eyes, saw the woman—did it see itself in her eyes? Then it jumped at her. This time she was not paralyzed. She turned quickly, fumbling for the doorknob behind her. It grinned and howled, and saliva flowed from between its teeth in sticky strings. It dropped to where she had been, and its legs slipped stiffly on the ground, giving her a precious extra second. Her thumb found the button under the handle and pressed it. She pulls the door. The door seemed to be locked and did not open.

Cujo lunged at her. It was as if someone had dropped a medicine ball squarely on the soft, vulnerable flesh of her breasts.She felt them reach for her arm - it hurt - when Cujo was at her throat, and she dragged her fingers into his rough fur, trying to push him away from her body.She could hear her quickening breathing. Starlight streamed through Cujo's dark half-moon eyes. Its teeth snapped inches from her face, and she could smell a dead world on its breath, the ultimate disease and senseless murder.She frantically thought of the back-up filth from before her mother's party, the sticky green stuff that sprayed all over the ceiling.

Somehow, when Cujo's hind legs came off the ground and leaped toward her throat again, she threw it away with all her strength.Her hands fumbled helplessly behind her for the door button, and she found it, but before she could press it, Cujo pounced on it again.She kicked at it, and the sole of her sandal hit it on the snout, the inside of which had been smashed when it made a suicidal charge towards the car door.Cujo fell on his back in pain and rage. She found the button embedded in the doorknob again and knew it was her last chance, Ted's last chance.She pushed it in, pulled it with all her strength, and that's when Cujo came again, some creature from hell came, came, came, until she died, or it died.

Her arm was in a position that was useless, and the muscles were misaligned in different directions. She felt a sudden unbearable pain on the swollen shoulder bone, something sprained.The door opened, however, and she had just had time to settle into the booth seat when Cujo arrived. Ted woke up. He saw his mother being pushed toward the Pinto's center console; there was something on his mother's lap, a horrible, shaggy thing with red eyes, and he knew what it was. Oh yes, it's that thing in his closet that professes to get a little closer, a little closer, until it's finally at your bedside, Ted.

Yes, it's here, yes, it's here. "The word of the devil" has failed, the devil is here and now he is murdering his ants.He started screaming, his hands slapped over his eyes. Its snapping jaws were inches from her midriff. She pushed it away as hard as she could, only vaguely feeling her son screaming behind her. Cujo's eyes were fixed on her. Its tail was wagging, it was unbelievable. Its hind legs moved on the gravel behind it, trying to find a solid footing so that it could jump straight in, but the gravel kept slipping and loosening under the stamping of its hind paws.

It pushed in, her hand slipped, and suddenly it was biting her, on the bare flesh just under her white bra, and it was going to gut her— Donna let out a low, bestial howl of pain, and pushed it with both hands. Now she sat down again, blood dripping from the waistband of her trousers. Clutching Cujo with her left hand, she groped for the doorknob with her right, and she found it. She started banging it hard with the door, and every time she swiped it at Cujo's ribs, there was a thud, the sound like a blanket clatter hitting a blanket hanging on a clothesline. Cujo would snort every time the door slammed, blowing hot, misty breath at her.

It retracted a little, was about to jump over again, and she seized the moment and slammed the door on it again with all her strength. This time the door knocked on its head and neck, and she heard a crunching crunch. Cujo burst out in pain, she thought, it's going to retract now, it's going to be, it's going to be, but Cujo lunges forward, its jaws on the top of her knee, a quick bite action, it pulls off a piece. Donna screamed. She slammed the door on Cujo's head over and over, and her screams merged with Tad's, into a gray resting world that Cujo had appeared as she sprinted up and snapped it. It becomes something else, red and cloudy, everything in it is mixed together.

Cujo's head was thick with sticky blood, as black as insect blood under twinkling starlight.It broke in bit by bit, and her strength was constantly weakening. She pulled the door one last time, her head thrown back, her mouth drawn into a quivering circle, her face a livid blur moving in the dark.This is indeed the last time, and there will never be a next time. But suddenly Cujo had had enough. It shrank back, whining and wobbling away from the Pinto, and suddenly collapsed on the gravel, trembling, its legs clutching weakly.It started clawing at its injured head with its right front paw.

Donna slammed the door shut, and she collapsed on her seat, sobbing weakly. "Mommy—Mommy—Mommy—" "Ted...well..." "Mommy!" "……All right……" Hands—his hand on hers, flapping like a bird; her hand on his face, groaning, trying to convince himself it was real, then dropped. "Mommy... go home... Mummy... I want my father and my family... I want my father and my family..." "Of course, Ted, we'll...we'll, I swear to God, I'll take you back...we'll..." None of these words make sense.It's okay, she can feel herself becoming blurred little by little, entering the world of shock little by little, those fogs, the fogs she never thought there would be in her heart, and Ted's words, they are becoming into distant strings of sounds, like sounds in an echo chamber.But it's okay.No-- No, it's not all right. Because the dog bit her— —The dog has rabies. Holly told her sister not to be stupid and to just dial directly, but Charity insisted that the operator make the connection and that the family pay the bill.She doesn't like to spend money from others, even if it's just a small thing like long-distance calls after six o'clock. Charity asked the operator to look up the number for Alva Thornton's house in Castle Rock.After a while, Alva's phone rang. "Hello, Thornton Egg Farm." "Hello, Bessie?" "Oh, it's me." "I'm Charlotte Campbell. I'm calling from Connecticut. Is Alva home?" Brett is sitting on the couch, pretending to be reading a book. "Whoa, Charity, he's out. He's got some business at the bowling league tonight. They're all at Pondicherry's in Ridgeton, any trouble?" Charity has been careful.Be clear about what to say.The situation is a bit tricky, and like all the other married women in Fort Rock (Gamba singles excluded and not necessary), Betty loves to chat, and if she finds out that Sand Green Tea and Brett are just visiting their sister in Connecticut, Jo sneaks away Out hunting... well, there's talk at parties, isn't there? "No, it's just that Brett and I were a little worried about the dog." "Your St. Bernard dog?" "Yes, Cujo. Right now Brett and I are at my sister's, and Joe's in Portsmouth on business." Open-eyed nonsense, but it's a safe word, and Joe does occasionally go to Portsmouth to buy some parts ( No sales tax there), or attend car auctions. "I'm just sure he got someone to feed our dogs, you know how those men do things." "Well, I think Joe came here yesterday, maybe the day before yesterday." Bei Miao said doubtfully. Actually last Thursday.Bessie was not a very bright woman (her aunt, the late Evie Chalmers, was fond of saying to everyone who heard her speak aloud "Perhaps Bessie can't pass any intelligence test, but she have a good heart").Her life on Alva's chicken farm was tough, and her most fulfilling life was in her "stories"—when The World Spinned, The Doctor, All My Children (she had tried reading " Young and Restless Bunch", but found it "too nasty").She prefers the nebulous parts of life to feeding and drinking chickens.Adjust the music that is piped into the coop instead of lighting eggs with candles, separating eggs, or mopping floors.Do laundry, wash dishes, sell eggs, and tend the garden.She didn't like winter either, and in winter she had to tell someone who asked the exact date of the next meeting of the Castle Rock Snow Devils, the snowmobile club to which she and Alva belonged. Joe went to the Thorntons on Thursday to deliver a tractor tire he had given Alvacio.Joe did this work for free, because the cooks bought all their eggs at half price from Alva's, and Alva raked Joe's little garden every April, so Joe was happy to fix their tires.This is how people in the village live together. Charity knew very well that Joe had delivered tires to Alva's last Thursday, and she knew that Beqian was always mixing up the dates, which put her in a dilemma. She could ask if Joe had brought a wheel with him when he came yesterday or the day before.Damn, if Bessie says "Oh, of course, you remembered me as soon as you mentioned it, he brought it", it means that Joe hasn't seen Alva since last Thursday, it means that Joe Not letting Alva feed Cujo meant that Alva knew nothing about Cujo's well-being. Or she could end the conversation in a daze about Ciri now and go back to comfort Brett. They can be here.Having enjoyed the rest of the time, not having to think about home all the time... well, she's a little jealous of Cujo now, really, and it's embarrassing to think about it. It was Cujo who had been distracting Bright during what might have been the most important trip of his life. She wanted the child to see a whole new life, a whole new set of possibilities, so that years later, when he had to decide which doors to walk through and which doors to close, he would be prepared. Maybe she's wrong to think that she can guide his self-righteousness, but at least it will give him a chance to make up his own mind. Was he just letting his anxiety about that damn dog get in the way of the most important thing he could do? "Charlotte? Are you listening, I mean I want to—" "Well, I'm listening, Bessie, he may indeed be asking Alva to feed him." "Well, I'll ask him when he comes home, Charity. I'll let you know, too." "Very well, thank you very much, Bessie." "Don't say that." "Okay, bye." Charity hung up the phone, realizing immediately that Bessie had forgotten to ask Jim and Holly for their phone numbers.This is good.She turned to Brett with a sullen face. She would not lie to her son. "Bessie said your father called on Alva on Sunday night," said Charity. "He must have looked after Cujo." "Oh." Brett looked at her suspiciously, which made her a little uncomfortable, "but you didn't talk to Alva himself." "No, he went out to play bowling, but Bei Miao said she would tell us the result—" "She doesn't have a number here." Was there a hint of disapproval in Brett's tone?Or is it just her conscience blaming herself? "Okay, I'll call again tomorrow morning." Charity said, hoping to end the conversation and put some plaster on her conscience. "Dad brought a tractor tire to their house last week," said Brett thoughtfully. "Maybe Mrs. Thornton mixed up the times." "I don't think Bessie Thornton's brains are so bad," said Charity, but she didn't think so at all. "And she never mentioned tires to me." "Yes, but you didn't ask either." "Then you go and make another phone call for her!" Charity suddenly became angry. A sudden, helpless rage swept over her, the same ugly feeling she'd experienced after Brett mischievously judged Holly and her credit card.When his father's tone echoed in him from time to time, even when the pattern of his father's speech crept into his voice, it seemed to her that the only result of the trip was to prove to her, once and for all, that Brett Who it belongs to - he belongs to that and grabs the machine.A man with a butt and a barrel. "mom" "No, you go and call her again, the number is on this pad. You tell the operator to pay the bill with our home number, not Holly's. You send all your questions Bring it all to Bessie! I've done the best I can." See, she thought with a dejected, bitter self-mockery, I was trying not to lie to him just five minutes ago. Yesterday afternoon, her anger provoked his anger, but today he just said, "No, forget it." "If you want, we can call someone else and ask them to go up the mountain and check it out," Charity said, ready to apologize to him for her irritation. "Who are we looking for?" Brett asked. "Well, how's Brother Mulberry Root?" Brett just looked at her. "Probably not a good idea," agreed Charity. The Milligan Brothers had an old Chevy Bel-Air, and Joe Campbell and John Miller had had a heated argument late last winter over how much Joshua would pay for that car. The Campbells and the Millikans had spoken very little since then.Charity had tried to say a kind word to Freddie's daughter, Kim Milligan, the last time she was playing bingo at Laurent's mouth, but Kim ignored her and walked away with her head thrown back, as if she Never acted like a little whore in front of half the boys at Castle Rock. She thought now of how remote their home at the end of Town Road 3 was.It made her feel lonely, even chilling.She couldn't find a single person and convince him or her to go up the hill with a flashlight, find Cujo, and make sure it was all right. "It doesn't matter." Brett said indifferently, "Maybe my idea is stupid, but it is indeed possible to eat beef parts or something like that." "Listen," said Charity, putting an arm around him, "you're not stupid at all, Brett. I'll call Alva himself in the morning and ask him to go up the mountain and we'll go to bed together. I'll just call, okay?" "Would you, Mom?" "yes." "That's great. I'm sorry I forced you to say that, but I really can't let it go." Jim poked his head in. "I found a Scrabble board, who wants to play?" "I suppose," said Bradley, rising to his feet, "but you'll tell me how to play." "And you, Charity?" Charity smiled. "I don't want to right now. I want to go get some popcorn." Brett went out with his uncle.She sat on the couch looking at the phone, thinking of Brett's sleepwalking, of him feeding phantom dogs with phantom dog food in her sister's kitchen. Cujo wasn't hungry anymore, not anymore, not anymore. Her arms suddenly tightened, and she trembled violently. We'll do it tomorrow morning, she promised herself.Either this, or that, or we go back and look after Cujo ourselves.It's a promise, Brett. At ten o'clock in the evening, Vic called home again. No one answered. He called again at eleven o'clock, and the phone rang twenty times, but still no one answered.At ten o'clock he started to be afraid, and at eleven o'clock he was really terrified—what was he afraid of?He couldn't say for sure. Roger is sleeping.Vic dialed in the dark, listened to the distant ringing in the dark, and hung up the phone in the dark.He felt alone, lost, like a child.He didn't know what to do, or what to think.There was only one simple sentence in his mind, repeated over and over again: she went out with Kemp, she went out with Kemp, she went out with Kemp. All logical reasoning told him it was wrong. He went over and over every word he and Donna had ever said—he went over and over, he listened to the words in his head, he scrutinized every nuance of what was said. She and Kemp had broken up, and she told him to fuck off, which pissed him off, and he sent that hugging text.Today's situation is not like two crazy lovers elope. Just because you broke up once doesn't mean you won't get back together in the future.His mind retorted in a sombre and obstinate composure. But what about Ted?She's not going to take Ted, is she?From Donna's description, though she didn't say it directly, it sounded like Kemp was some kind of psychopath.Vic had a feeling that the day she blasted the ground had come close to horrific violence. People who are in love do weird things all the time. That strange, envious shadow in his mind--a shadow in the back of his mind of which he had been unaware until the afternoon he went to Deering Oaks--had an answer to everything, though Most of the answers were irrational, but in the dark it didn't seem to matter at all. His mind dances slowly between two sharp points: Camp at one (do you have any questions); a picture of their empty house in Castle Rock ringing over and over The phantom is at another point. She might have had an accident, she and Ted might be in the hospital. Someone could break in, they could be murdered in their bed.Of course if something happened to her, someone in the public office would always be told what had happened--the company and Donna knew about the hotel where he and Rollo were staying in Boston, but no one had been told what had happened.It should have been a consolation, but in the dark it made it easier for him to think about murder. Robbery and murder, whispered his thoughts as he lay awake in the dark.Then it hops slowly to another sharp point and starts repeating the line again: Out with Kemp. Between the two points, his mind saw a sane explanation, and it made him feel a helpless rage.Maybe she and Ted decided to spend the night with someone and just forgot to call to tell him.It's too late to call around and ask, that'll just wake people up.Maybe, he thought, he could call the chief's office and ask them to send someone to see if that was an overkill request? No, said his mind. Yes, his mind said: absolutely. Both she and Ted were dead, with knives stuck in their necks.His thought said, you can see a lot of this stuff in the papers all day long, and it just happened here before we moved to Castle Rock.That crazy cop, that Frank Dodd. Out with Kemp, his thought said. He tried again in the middle of the night, and the bell rang for a long time without answering, and he sat there dumbfounded, convinced that something was wrong at home.Camp, robbery, murder, all kinds of trouble, trouble at home. He put the microphone back and turned on the bedside lamp. "Roger," he said, "wake up." "Uh, uh, uh—" Roger stretched his arms over his eyes, trying to block the light.He was wearing pajamas covered in yellow college flags. "Roger, Roger!" Roger opened his eyes, blinked, and he glanced at the small travel clock. "Hey, Vic, it's midnight." "Roger..." He seemed to be swallowing something, and something crackled in his throat, "Roger, it's midnight, and Ted and Donna aren't home yet. I'm scared." Roger sat up and grabbed the clock in front of him to confirm what Vic had said. It was four past twelve. "Suck, maybe the two of them have been alone for so long and it's become weird in the end. Vic, sometimes when I leave the house, Orthea will take the two girls to Sally Beadley's. She said that at night the lake When the wind blows, she gets nervous." "She should make a phone call." With the lights on and Roger sitting in front of him, the idea of ​​Donna and Kemp running away seemed absurd—he couldn't even believe he'd thought about it for long.Forget logic.She had told him it was over, and he had believed her.He trusts her now too. "Calling?" Roger said.His mind hadn't started spinning yet. "She knows I call home almost every day when I'm out. If she's going out overnight, she'll call the hotel and leave a message. Isn't that what Orthea is?" Roger nodded: "Yes, she will." "She'll leave a message so you don't have to worry." "Yes, but she may just have forgotten, Vic." However, Rogge's brown eyes were already anxious. "Of course," Vic said. "On the other hand, something could have happened." "She had her ID, didn't she? If something happened to her and Ted, of course God forbid it would happen, but the police would call home first, then the office, and the answering device would—" "I didn't think it was going to happen," Vic said. "I was thinking..." His voice started to tremble, 'Oh thinking she'd be lonely there with Ted, and...shit, I don't know ...I'm just terrified, that's all. " "Call the chief's office." Roger said decisively. "That's fine, but—" "Okay, but it's nothing. You don't want to startle Donna, of course. She's not there either. But what the hell, it's all over. We don't have to sound the alarm or flash the spotlights around, just Ask if they can send a policeman to see if everything is alright. She could have a thousand places she could go. Maybe she's at a party." "Donna doesn't like parties." "Probably lost time while playing some small stakes game with the girls, and Ted just fell asleep in some empty room." Vic remembered saying how she wanted to stay out of the way, not want to get close to the "girls"—I didn't want to be a face at those bake parties, she had said.But he wasn't going to tell Roger; it was too close to Kemp. "Yes. Probably something like that," Vic said. "Have you hidden an extra key somewhere?" "There's one on a hook under the eaves on the front porch." "Tell the police. So the guys they send can go in and look around... unless you have marijuana or cocaine or something, don't want them to stumble." "There is no such thing." "Come on then," said Roger eagerly. "Maybe they're checking in there and she's calling when you're feeling like a dork. But it's good to feel like a dork sometimes. You know me mean?" "Yes." Roger said, grinning slightly, "Yes, I know." He picked up the phone again, hesitated for a while, and called home first, but no one answered. His new comfort from Rollo was fading. Then he dialed the directory help desk in Maine and took down the phone number for the County Sheriff's Department.It was almost twelve-fifteen in the morning on Wednesday. Donna Trenton sat with her hands resting lightly on the Pinto's steering wheel.Tad finally fell back to sleep, a restless sleep; writhing, tossing, and sometimes moaning.Was the scene just now reappearing in his dream? She touched his forehead, and he murmured something, shrinking away from her hand.His eyelids rolled and closed again. He was running a fever - almost certainly the result of the constant nervousness and shock.She felt like she was running a fever too, and she was in a lot of pain.Her stomach was wounded, just superficially, a little more than a scrape.The wound Cujo had inflicted on her leg was much worse, the gash (the bite, her mind insisted, as if it would lessen the fear in it) deep, bad, and bled profusely before congealing, though There was a first-aid kit in the glove box at the back of the car, but she didn't try to put on the bandage immediately, and in a daze, she hoped that the bleeding would wash the wound... Was it really washed? Is this just an old woman's story?she does not know.There was so much she didn't know, so much. By the time the open wound finally clotted, her thighs and the driver's compartment seat were covered with her sticky blood.It took three sheets of gauze from the first-aid kit to cover the wound, the last three in the kit, time to change, she thought, which made her briefly giggle hysterically. In the dim light of the stars, the flesh next to her knees looked like plowed black earth.There has been a constant throbbing pain there since the dog bite.She found two aspirins from the medicine cabinet and swallowed them dry, but they did little to help the excruciating pain.Her head hurt badly, too, as if a bundle of wire was slowly getting tighter and tighter in each temple. Stretching and pulling the legs intensified the pain, turning the throbbing pain into a violent, crushing pounding. She no longer knew if she could walk on her legs, let alone run to that door.But does it really matter?The dog was sitting on the gravel between her car door and the porch door, and it was ugly.The already tattered head was bowed...but its eyes were always on the car, on her. For some reason, she didn't think Cujo would move anymore, at least not tonight. Tomorrow, if the sun is still as hot as yesterday, it will be driven back to the barn. "It's going to get me," she murmured, her lips blistered.This is real.This is the logic enacted by fate, or the unknowable logic of the dog itself, and it wants to catch her. When it collapsed on the gravel, she was sure it was going to die.Nothing living could take the blows she gave it with the door, not even its fur could cushion those deadly blows, and she could see a St. Bernard with one ear hanging, at most It is connected to its head by a string of meat. But it started to stand up little by little.She could hardly believe her eyes...she didn't want to believe her eyes. "No!" she screamed, completely out of control, "No, lie down, you're supposed to be dead, lie down, lie down and die, you bloody dog!" "Mommy, don't!" Ted said lowly, holding his head, "It hurts...it hurts me..." After that, nothing changed in the situation. Time resumed its slow crawl. A few times she put the watch to her ear, trying to make sure it was still ticking, because her hand never seemed to move. Twelve twenty. What do we know about rabies? Precious point.Probably a vague fragment from the Sunday extras.There was also a pamphlet that was idly flipped through.When she was in New York, she had a house cat, Dina, whom Donna took to the vet for a distemper shot, sorry, a distemper and rabies shot. Rabies, a disease that attacks the central nervous system—the good old central nervous system.It causes a slow destruction of the central nervous system - but how?She didn't know anything about it, and probably neither did the doctors, otherwise the disease wouldn't be considered very dangerous.Of course, she thought hopefully, I don't even know if this dog is really rabid.The only rabid dog I ever saw was the one Gregory Parker shot with his rifle in To Kill a Mockingbird, except that the dog wasn't really rabid.It's probably just an ugly mutt they found from a local stockyard and they slathered Geely Foam on it... She cleared her mind.Better to do what Vick calls a worst-case analysis, at least as it stands now. Also, in Donna's mind, she was sure that the dog had rabies—how else could it be behaving so wildly?It's really a sick dog. And it bit her, hard, what does that mean? She knew that she would also get rabies and die of terror. Maybe it's the worst.There is a vaccine against it, and the course of treatment is a series of injections.The injection was quite painful, although it was probably not as painful as the dog in front of me was, of course.but…… She recalls only two rabies patients surviving the advanced stages of the disease—the first patient was a small child who was only detected after showing symptoms and was later fully cured.Another patient, an animal researcher, was left with permanent brain damage, a collapse of the old good central nervous system. The longer you stay dead from rabies, the less chance you have of surviving. Her hand slid across her forehead, slipping through a thin layer of cold sweat. How long is too long?How many hours?How many days?How many weeks?Maybe a month?She doesn't know. Suddenly the car seemed to shrink.It was now the size of a Honda, then it was the size of one of those weird little trikes that disabled people in the UK ride in, then it was the size of an enclosed motorcycle sidecar, and finally it was the size of an urn.A double urn for her and Ted. They must go out, out-- Her hand fumbled for the doorknob, but finally she controlled herself.Her heart was racing, intensifying the pounding on her head. Please, she thought, it was bad enough without being claustrophobic, so please... please... please. She was thirsty again, very thirsty. She could see Cujo was staring at her relentlessly, his body split in half by a crack in the windowpane. Help us, someone, she was thinking, please, please, help us. Roscoe Fisher was parked in a hidden spot next to Jiri Sitger's when the call came.He pretended to be watching for speeders when he actually dozed off. At twelve-thirty on Wednesday morning, there was a dead silence on Three Doorway.He had a little alarm clock in his head, and he believed it would wake him up at one o'clock, when the Norwegian open-air cinema was on and there might be action. "Number Three, call back, Number Three, over." Rothko woke up with a jump and poured cold coffee from a Stelo plastic cup on his shoulder. "Oh, bastard," said Rothko mournfully, "this is the time, bastard!" "Number three, are you talking back? Finished?" He grabbed the microphone and pressed a button on the side. "I'll call back, Headquarters." He was on the point of adding that it felt good for him to sit there with his eggs in a puddle of cold coffee, but you'd never know who was sitting at him or her. A well-functioning binturong scanner monitors police calls. "Would like you to go down to Eighty-Three Lachey Street," Billy said, "Victor Trenton's, and check it out, over." "Looking at what, headquarters? Over." "Trenton's in Boston, no one answering his phone. He thinks someone's home, over." Well, that's great, isn't it?Roscoe Fisher thought sourly.I made a whopping four bucks a night, and if I was going to catch a speeding guy, the guy would think I was so desperate to catch one that he'd be pissed off. "Signal received, put the call on hold," Roscoe said, and he started the patrol car, "Over. "I reckon you'll be there at twelve thirty-four," said Billy. "There's a peg under the eaves of the front porch, and there's a key on it. Number three, Mr. Trenton wants you to come in." Inside, see if there's no one there. Over." "Understood, headquarters, over, suspend the call." "Stop calling." Roscoe turned on his headlights and drove up the empty Main Street in Castle Rock.He drove past the Common City and the bandstand whose conical roof rose silently in the night.车开上山坡，向右驶进拉切大街，过拐角后的第二幢房子就是特伦顿家。 他看得出来，白天天亮的时候，从这里可以把罗克堡迷人的景致尽收眼底。罗斯科把长官部愤怒三号停在边石前，他钻了出来，轻轻关上门。 黑暗中，街道还在沉睡。 他站了一会儿，把制服裤子上的湿块从胯下向一边拉了拉，进技边做了一个鬼脸，然后走上了汽车道。汽车道上没有车，它尽头的那间单车小车库里也没有车，里面只有一辆大轮牌儿童三轮车，正好和他儿子的那辆一样。 罗斯科关上车库门，向前门廊绕过去。他看见这个星期的《呼唤》报靠在门上。 他把报纸捡起来，伸手试了试门。门没有锁，他走了进去，感觉自己像是个非法闯入者。 他把报纸扔到摆动沙发椅上，按下内门旁的门铃。屋里的铃响了，但没有人声。他又按了两次，每次隔了三分钟。如果里面有个女士，她就有时间起来，穿上饱子，下楼来。 但仍没有人声。他推了推门，门锁着。 他想，丈夫不在，她大概是出去和朋友一起过夜了——但她没有通知自己的丈夫，这让罗斯科·菲什尔略微有些奇怪。 他在上屋檐下换了摸，手指碰到一个东西，没等他反应过来，它已经叮当一声掉到了地上，这就是特伦顿家搬进来不久后，维克挂在那儿的那把额外的钥匙。 他把它捡起来，打开了前门——如果他像坎普那样先试试厨房门，他就可以直接走进去了。多娜蒙罗克堡的大多数人一样，在关门问题上总是很马虎。 罗斯科走了进去。他带了手电，但他现在不想用它，这会让他感觉自己像个非法闯入老——一个胯下沾着一大块咖啡污迹的小偷。他摸索着找开关屏，最后终于找到了一个，上面有两个开关。上面的开关打开的时候，门廊的灯亮了，他迅速把它关了。底下的开关打开了起居室的灯。 他四下看了相当一会儿，开始焦虑起来——起先他以为是自己的眼睛出了什么错，可能是它们还没从光线下调整过来。但眼前的景象一直没有变，他的心跳加快了。 绝对不能碰什么东西，他想，木能把东西弄乱了。他已经忘了裤子上的湿斑点，忘了感觉像个闯入者。他只觉得惊恐、激动。 这里发生过什么事，是的，起居室像是被人翻过，已经乱七八糟的。一个小摆饰架倒在地上，已经散了架，到处是碎玻璃；家具被掀翻，书东一本西一本地散落在地板上；壁炉上的镜子也破了。 罗斯科突然发现自己在想弗兰克·杜德，杜德过去经常和他同乘一辆警车。弗兰克·杜德，这个友善的小镇警察，却也是个心理变态者，他谋杀女人和孩子。罗斯科的手臂上突然起了鸡皮疙瘩。这里不是想弗兰克，杜德的地方。 他穿过餐室进了厨房。 厨房被糟蹋得更厉害，厨桌上的东西都被扫到了地上——他只能踮着脚走，小心翼翼地不让自己踩到地上的那些东西。他开始感到有一阵寒意爬上了脊梁。 有什么人在这里完全疯了。 条格碗柜的门都开着，有人把这个狭长的厨房当作了县运动会上的“扔，直到你赢”的赛道了。地上到处是碎瓶罐，还有一些白色的东西，像雪，但肯定是肥皂粉。 留言板上草草地写着一行正体大字： I left something for you upstairs, dear. 罗斯科·菲什尔突然不想上搂了，他现在最不想做的事，就是上楼。 他参与清理过弗兰克·杜德留下的三堆东西，其中有玛丽·凯特·汉德拉森的尸体，她是在共同城的音乐台被强奸后杀死的。 他再也不愿意看见那一类东西了……那个女人会不会在上面被枪杀，或劈死，或被勒死？罗斯科在自己的巡视中曾目睹过许多暴力事件，也已经勉强习惯了。前年夏天，他。比利还有班那曼就从土豆分级机里抱出过一个男人的碎块，这件事又可以告诉你的孙子孙女了。但自从那个女孩亨德拉森之后，他没有再见到过凶杀，他也不想再见到。 见到特伦顿夫妇床单上的东西时，他不知道自己的感觉是宽慰，还是恶心。 他回到自己的车上向总部回话。 电话铃响的时候，维克和罗洛都不在睡觉，他们默不作声地坐在电视机前，闷头抽着烟。电视里正在放原版电影《弗兰肯斯坦》。时间是凌晨一点二十分。 第一声电话铃还没结束，维克已经把话筒抓了起来：“你好，多娜？您是——” “您是特伦顿先生吗？”一个男人胸声音。 "yes?" “我是行政司法长官班那曼，特伦顿先生。我怕有一些相当沮丧的消息要告诉您，我很难—一” “他们死了吗？”维克问。他突然觉得自己完全离开了现实，活在一个平面上，他再真实不过地觉得自己只不过是一张屏幕上一闪而过的脸，只不过是他和罗格正在看的这类老电影背景里的一张群众演员的脸。问题以一种纯粹的对话的口气中提了出来。维克从眼角看见罗格的影子忽地站了起来。这没什么要紧，其它事也没什么要紧。在接电话之后的短短几秒里，维克有机会好好回顾一下自己的生活，他满眼看到的只是舞台布景，虚假的前景。 “特伦顿先生，我们派了菲什尔警官——” “别打官腔，回答我的问题，他们死了吗？” 他转向罗格，罗格脸色灰白，非常惊异。他身后的电视屏幕上，一座虚假的风车正在虚假的天空下转着，“罗格，给支烟。” 罗格递给他一支。 “特伦顿先生，您听着吗？”“是的，他们死了吗？” “现在我们一点不清楚你妻子和儿子在什么地方。”班那曼说。 维克突然感到胸中所有的东西都落回了原位，世界恢复了一点原来的色彩。他开始打哆嗦。烟尚未点着，在他的唇间战战兢兢地抖着。 “发生了什么？你们知道了什么？你说你是班那曼？” “堡县行政司法长官班那曼，是我。请听我慢慢说，我给你描述一个图象。” “好的。”他现在很害怕，每一件事发生得太快。 “今天凌晨十二点三十四分，应你的要求，菲什尔警官被派往拉切大街八十三号你的住所；他肯定在汽车道和车库里都没有汽车；他按了若干次门铃，没有人出来开门；他用门廊屋檐上的那把钥匙打开门进去了；他发现整个住宅受到严重破坏，家具被掀翻，酒瓶被打破，肥皂粉被撒在地板上，厨房里的各种设施——” “上帝，坎普。”维克喃喃道。 他翻腾的思想又在凝视着那张条子：你有什么问题吗？他记起对这张条子的思考本身，就像一个男人心理的躁动的索引。一个被踢开的人怨毒的复仇。坎普现在又做了什么？他除了像个暴怒、残酷、贪婪的鸟妖那样在他家中横冲直撞外，还做了什么？ “特伦顿先生？” “我听着。” 班那曼清了清喉咙，好像继续下去有困难，“菲什尔警官紧接着就上了楼，楼上没有受到明显破坏，但他在主卧室的床单上发现了一些——嗯，发白的液体，很有可能是精液。”他像不知不觉地加了一个有喜剧效果的省略号，然后说，“看上去没有人在床上睡过。” “我的妻子在哪里？”维克向话筒里吼道，“我的儿子在哪里？你们有一点数吗？” “不要太紧张。”罗格说，他的一只手搭上了维克的肩头。罗格可以有心情说不要太紧张。他的妻子在家中的床上。他的双胞胎女儿也在那儿。维克摇了摇肩，把他的手摇开了。 “特伦顿先生，我现在能告诉你的是，有一个州警察署的侦探小组正在现场，我手下的人在协助他们。看上去主卧室和你儿子的小卧室都没有受到破坏。” “你的意思是，除了我们床上的精液！”维克粗鲁地吼道，罗格像遭到重击那样缩了一下，下嘴唇挂下来，嘴张得大大的。 “是的，嗯．是这样。”班那曼的声音里有一丝尴尬，“但我的意思是没有迹象表明——嗯，这里发生过针对一个或多个人的暴力事件。看上去只是单纯的破坏。” “那么多娜或泰德在那里？”厉声的诘责破裂了，他的语调中只有困惑，他感到一种孩子般无助的眼泪在眼角刺痛着他。 “现在我们还不清楚。” 坎普……我的天，如果坎普抓走了他们怎么办？ 有一个瞬间他前天晚上做过的梦又重现出来，在他眼前可疑地闪动了一下——多娜和泰德被某种可怕的野兽围困着，躲在一个洞穴里——然后梦消失了。 “你有没有想过可能是谁，特伦顿先生？” “我准备去机场，然后租一辆车。”维克说，“我准备五点到那儿。” 班那曼耐心地说：“这很好，特伦领先生。但如果你的妻子和儿子的失踪和这次破坏有某种联系，时间将是个极其宝贵的因素。你是否有最模糊的概念，实际上，或想象中，有什么人可能对你或你妻子心怀嫉恨—一” “坎普。”维克的声音很低，像是被什么人扼住了脖子。 他已经控制不住自己的眼泪，眼泪就要流了出来，然后他感到它在他的脸上流了下来，“是坎普干的。我肯定是坎普干的，噢，我的天，如果他抓住他们怎么办？” “这个坎普是谁？”班那曼问，他的声音已经不尴尬了，它是一种严厉的命令。 他的右手拿着话筒，把左手放在眼睛上，挡住罗格，挡住这间旅馆的客问，电视的声音，一切。现在他在黑暗中，那儿只有他自己的声音，横流的热泪。 “斯蒂夫·坎普。”他说，“斯蒂夫·坎普，他在镇上开过一家叫村庄剥皮者的店。他现在已经离开了。他和我的妻子……多娜……他们……他们有过……好吧，他们有过那事。时间不长，她告诉他一切结束了。我知道这些事，是因为坎普给过我一张纸条，我想那是他的反击。我想他不愿意被刷到一边。这件事……它听起来像是那张条子的一个大翻版。” 他的手重重地抹向自己的眼睛，这让他眼前红星四射。 “可能我们的婚姻没有崩溃让他很不快，或可能地只是……精神紊乱了，多娜说他打网球输了的时候就会精神紊乱，不肯把手伸过网和对手握手。问题是……”突然他的声音消失了，他不得不清了清嗓子，声音才又出来。他的胸中有一根大绷带，收紧，放松，然后又收紧。“我想问题是他可能走多远。他可能抓住了他们，班那曼，从我对他的了解，他做得出来。” 话筒的那一端沉默了一段时间，不，不是无声的沉默，有铅笔在纸上沙沙划过的声音。罗格又把他的手放到了维克的肩头，这一次他让它留在那里，它的温暖让他感激。他感到很冷。 “特伦顿先生，坎普给你的条子还在你那儿吗？” “不，我把它撕碎了。很抱歉，但在那种情况下……” “它是否正巧是用正体字写上去的？” “是的，是的；它是的。” “菲什尔警官发现厨房的留言板上有一句留言，写道，'我在楼上给你留了一些东西，亲爱的。'” 维克嘴里咕噜了一声，最后一丝这可能是其他什么人——一个贼，或可能只是些孩子——干的希望，泡沫般飞散了。到楼上来看看我在床上留了些什么，这正是坎普干的事，家中留言指示器上的那一行字也和坎普的小纸条相吻合。 “留言似乎显示出他破坏的时候你妻子不在。”班那曼说，但即使仍处在震惊中，维克也已经听出来长官的话中有错误。 “有可能在他还在那里的时候多娜走了进去，你是知道的，”维克阴沉地说，“多娜可能买东西回来，或修她车上的化油器回来，各种可能都有。” “坎普开什么汽车？你知道吗？” “我想他没有汽车，他有一辆货车。” “颜色？” "I have no idea." “特伦领先生，我想建议你从波士顿过来，我还想建议你，如果你租一辆车，你开的时候别紧张。如果最后发现你的家人安然无羔，你却在州际交通线上死于车祸，就太可悲了。” “我接受你的建议。”然而无论快与慢，他并不想开车，他只想躲起来。 他更想最后六天还远远地呆在这里。 “还有一件事，特伦顿先生。” "what?" “你过来的途中，试着在脑子中列一个你妻子在本地区的朋友和熟人的名单。仍有很大可能她今晚只是找什么人一起去过夜了。” "certainly." “最重要的是请记住，现在还没有任何暴力的迹象。” “楼下整个被砸烂了。”维克说，“在我听起来那就是十足的暴力了。” “是的。”班那曼很不舒服地说，“好了。” “我会去了。”维克说。He hung up the phone. “维克，我很难过。”罗格说。 维克的眼睛无法看向他老朋友的眼睛。 长着那些角，他想，英语中是不是这么说的？现在罗格知道我正长着那些角。 “没什么。”维克说，他开始穿衣服。 “你脑子中都是这些事……你还是来赴这次旅行了？” “如果留在了家里又有什么好处。”维克说，“它发生了。我直到上星期四才发现。我想……一些距离……有时间想……前途……我理不清头绪。现在又发生了这件事。” “不是你的错。”罗格真诚地说。 “罗格，这件事上我不知道什么是我的错，什么不是。我很为多娜担心，也为泰德担心得要发疯。我只想回到那儿。我想亲手揍那个奸夫坎普。我想……”他的声音已经升起来了，接着又突然停了下来。他的双肩塌着。有一刻他看起来推悻。衰老，完全地精疲力竭了。然后他走到地板上的手提包前，开始翻找新衣服。“给机场的埃维斯出租汽车公司去个电话，行吗，帮我要辆车。我的钱包在床头几上。他们会要美国捷运信用卡的号码。” “我会给我们两个都要车，我要和你一起回去。” "No. "but--" “没有但是。”维克匆匆穿上一件深蓝色衬衫。他把扣子扣上了一半，发现扣错了，一边高一边低。他把它们解开又重新开始扣。他现在兴奋起来了，兴奋起来要好一些，但他始终摆脱不了那种非现实的感觉。他总在想那些电影布景，布景中的大理方实际只是些凸凹纸，所有的房屋实际风建到摄像机视线的尽头，背景中总有鬼鬼祟祟拿着场记板的人。“第41个镜头，维克说服罗格继续苦干，拍一张。”他是一个群众演员，这是一部疯狂荒诞的片子。但不可否认，人兴奋时会更好一些。 “嗨，伙计——” “罗格，这不会引起伍尔克斯和夏普之间局势的任何改变。在知道多娜和这个坎普有染后我之所以还是来了，，想保持工作进度只是部分原因——不会有人在发现妻子和别人通奸后还有心思做广告——主要原因是，我知道无论我的妻子决定和谁上床，工作上依赖我们的人都还要吃饭。” “轻松点，维克，别想得那么多。” “我没有办法轻松。”维克说，“直至现在我都没有办法放松。” “我也不能装做什么事都没发生那样去纽约。” “据我们所知，还没有发生什么事，警方一直在向我强调这点。你可以继续下去，你可以把它干到底，可能最后发现噩运早就注定了。但……人们不得不去试，罗洛。没有其它办法。而且，除了把它干到底，你回到缅因也做不了什么事。” “天哪，错了，好像什么都错了。” “没有出错。我到了比尔特摩后一有消息就打电话通知你。”维克拉上裤子上的拉链，穿上平底鞋，“继续下去，另外给我向埃维斯要一辆车。我下楼后会拦辆计程车去洛根机场。我现在把我的捷运卡号码写给你。” 他找了张纸匆匆写下了那个号码。他拿起外套向门走去的时候，罗格只是默默地站在一边。 他转过身，罗格笨拙地拥抱了他，他手出奇地有力。维克也紧紧地拥抱着他，他的面颊靠在罗格的肩头。 “我会祈祷上帝一切正常的。”罗格的声音哽咽了。 “就这样吧。”维克说，然后他出去了。 电梯下降时轻微地嗡嗡响着——实际根本没有动，他想，只是一种声音的效果。 他从休息室那层出来时，两个醉汉相互支撑着进了电梯。他想，群众演员。 他和看门人——另一个群众演员——说了几句话，五分钟后，一辆计程车开进了旅馆的蓝色遮阳篷。 计程车的司机是个言语不多的黑人。他把收音机调到了一个黑人调频台，汽车穿过空旷的大街，带着他向洛报机场驶去，一路上“诱惑”乐队无休无止地唱着“力量”。极好的电影布景，他想。 “诱惑”的歌声渐渐地消失后，一个花言巧语的节目主持人出来预报天气。昨天很热，他说，但这只和前几天一样，兄弟们，姐妹们，明天会是入夏以来最热的一天，可能会创记录。大G台的天气预报员阿尔蒂都德·楼·麦克马利预报说，内陆地区的气温会达到100度，沿海地区的气温也低不到哪里去。一团暖空气已经从南方北上，目前在高气压的束缚下停滞在新英格兰上空。“所以如果你不知道要到哪儿去，你就去海滩。”饶舌的主持人最后说，“呆在城市里会很不妙，为了证明这点，迈克尔·杰克逊来了，他要去'墙外'。” 天气预报对维克几乎毫无意义。但如果多娜知道，她会更加恐惧。 就像前一天那样，沙绿蒂在破晓前醒了过来。她躺在床上听着，有一刻她甚至不知道要听什么。然后她想起来了，她在等地板的吱呀声、脚步声，她在听她的儿子会不会又溜出来梦游。 但房子静悄悄的。 她下床走到门口，向厅里看去。 厅里空无一人。 想了一会儿后，她下楼去了布莱特的屋门口，向里面看进去。他的床单下除了他的一些头发外，就没有其它东西了。如果他梦游过，他在她醒来之前就梦游过了。 他现在正沉睡着。 沙绿蒂进了屋，在他床边坐下。她看向窗外，地平线上有一丝暗淡的白线。她清楚她的决定已经做出了，当她还在睡时，秘密地做出了。现在，在一天中第一丝清凉的光里，她能检查一下她所做的决定，她觉得她能付得起代价。 她想，她一直就没能像预想的那样不让自己成为妹妹的负担。如果不是昨天午饭时信用卡的事，她大概还会继续做她的负担。 昨天晚上霍莉告诉她这东西，那东西，还有另外等等花了多少钱——布伊克四门货车，索尼彩电，还有走廊里的木条镶花地板。在霍莉的脑海里，这些东西都贴着看不见的价格标签，而且会永远贴下去。 沙绿蒂仍然喜欢她的妹妹。霍莉平易，亲切，任性，温暖，充满情义。但她的生活方式迫使她把自己和一些无情的事实隔离开来，这些事实就是她和沙绿蒂是在缅国乡下的贫困里长大的，这些事实或多或少地迫使沙绿蒂和乔·坎伯结了婚，而霍莉幸运地——这和沙绿蒂赢得彩票没什么区别——遇到了吉姆，永远地从家乡的一切中逃脱了出来。 她害怕告诉霍莉说她为了能南下，花了几年时间才取得乔的许可，最后只是靠她冷酷的将军般的谋略和斗争她才得以成行，而这几乎使她遭到他皮带的毒打……她担心如果她告诉霍莉这些事，妹妹的反应会是恐惧和愤怒，而不会有任何理智，也不会有任何帮助。可能是因为，在人类灵魂的深处，那些布伊克货车，那些用三枪显示器的索尼彩电，和那些木条镶花地板永远不会产生出让人平静的效果，霍莉会认识到，她也许只差最细的一根丝，才避开一场相似的婚姻，一种相似的生活。 她没有说，因为霍莉已经在她中上阶层的郊区生活外挖出深深的壕沟，像一个散兵洞里警觉的士兵那样时刻守卫在那儿。她没有说，因为恐惧和愤怒解决不了任何问题。 她没有说，因为没有人喜欢自己看起来像一个杂耍戏里的畸形人，整日，整周，整月地和一个令人不快，不知道交流，有时甚至令人恐惧的男人生活在一起。沙绿蒂已经发现有些事你不愿意说。羞耻还不是原因，有时把事情维持下去本身的确更好，更仁慈。 她不愿意说，最主要是因为这些事都是她的事。在布莱特身上发生的问题不过是她的问题……经过过去的两天，她已经越来越相信布莱特的未来最后怎样，只会较少地由她和乔决定，更多地，要看他自己。 她不会离婚。 为了孩子的心灵……为了一切对他好的，她会把对乔开展的游击战持续不断地开展下去。在她对布莱特想效法他父亲的忧虑中，她可能已经忘了——或忽略了——一个事实，即终有一天，孩子们会站在宣判席上，而他们的父母——母亲和父亲——会站在被告席上。布莱特已经注意到霍莉卖弄地出示她的那些信用卡。沙绿蒂希望布莱特在注意到其它事时，也能注意到他父亲吃饭时还戴着帽子。 破晓了，天渐渐亮了起来。 她从门后取下睡袍穿上。她想冲个澡，但想等宅子里的其他人开始忙碌后再去。外人，这就是他们。甚至霍莉的脸对她也很陌生，那张脸和她带来的家庭像集中的快照只有一点点模糊的相似……甚至霍莉自己看这些照片时也现出轻微的迷惑。 他们会回到罗克堡，回到3号镇道尽头的那幢宅子，会回到乔身边。她将沿续她的生活，所有的事都将继续下去。这会最好。 她提醒自己快七点的时候给阿尔瓦打个电话，他要在那时吃早饭。