sk.cujo-第55部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


That　strange　and　jealous　part　of　his　mind　…　he　hadn't　even　been　aware　of　that　part　in　him　until　that　afternoon　in　Deering　Oaks　…　had　an　answer　for　everything；　and　in　the　dark　it　didn't　seem　to　matter　that　most　of　the　answers　were　irrational。
He　was　doing　a　slow　dance　back　and　forth　between　two　sharpened　points：　Kemp　on　one　（DO　YOU　HAVE　ANY　QUESTIONS？）；　a　vision　of　the　telephone　ringing　on　and　on　in　their　empty　Castle　Rock　house　on　the　other。　She　could　have　had　an　accident。　She　and　Tad　could　be　in　hospital。　Someone　could　have　broken　in。　They　could　be　lying　murdered　in　their　bedrooms。　Of　course　if　she'd　had　an　accident；　someone　official　would　have　been　in　touch　…the　office　as　well　as　Donna　knew　in　which　Boston　hotel　he　and　Roger　were　staying　…　but　in　the　dark　that　thought；　which　should　have　been　a　fort　since　no　one　had　been　in　touch；　only　inclined　his　thoughts　more　toward　murder。
Robbery　and　murder；　his　mind　whispered　as　he　lay　awake　in　the　dark。　Then　it　danced　slowly　across　to　the　other　sharpened　point　and　took　up　its　original　litany：　Gone　off　with　Kemp。
In　between　these　points；　his　mind　saw　a　more　reasonable　explanation；　one　that　made　him　feel　helplessly　angry。　Perhaps　she　and　Tad　had　decided　to　spend　the　night　with　someone　and　had　simply　forgotten　to　call　and　tell　him。　Now　it　was　too　late　to　just　start　calling　around　and　asking　people　without　alarming　them。　He　supposed　he　could　call　the　sheriff's　office　and　ask　them　to　send　someone　up　and　check。　But　wouldn't　that　be　overreacting？
No；　his　mind　said。
Yes；　his　mind　said；　definitely。
She　and　Tad　are　both　dead　with　knives　stuck　in　their　throats；　his　mind　said。　You　read　about　it　in　the　papers　all　the　time。　It　even　happened　in　Castle　Rock　just　before　we　came　to　town。　That　crazy　cop。　That　Frank　Dodd。
Gone　off　with　Kemp；　his　mind　said。
At　midnight　he　tried　again；　and　this　time　the　constant　ringing　of　the　phone　with　no　one　to　pick　it　up　froze　him　into　a　deadly　certainty　of　trouble。　Kemp；　robbers；　murderers；　something。　Trouble。　Trouble　at　home。
He　dropped　the　phone　back　into　its　cradle　and　turned　on　the　bed　lamp。　'Roger；'　he　said。　'Wake　up。'
'Huh。　Wuh。　Hzzzzzz。　。　。　。'　Roger　had　his　arm　over　his　eyes；　trying　to　block　out　the　light。　He　was　in　his　pajamas　with　the　little　yellow　college　pennants。
'Roger。　Roger！'
Roger　opened　his　eyes；　blinked；　looked　at　the　Travel…Ette　clock。
'Hey；　Vic；　it's　the　middle　of　the　night。'
'Roger。。。'　He　swallowed　and　something　clicked　in　his　throat。　'Roger；　it's　midnight　and　Tad　and　Donna　still　aren't　home。　I'm　scared。'
Roger　sat　up　and　brought　the　clock　close　to　his　face　to　verify　what　Vic　had　said。　It　was　now　four　past　the　hour。
'Well；　they　probably　got　freaked　out　staying　there　by　themselves；　Vic。　Sometimes　Althea　takes　the　girls　and　goes　over　to　Sally　Petrie's　when　I'm　gone。　She　gets　nervous　when　the　wind　blows　off　the　lake　at　night；　she　says。'
'She　would　have　called。'　With　the　light　on；　with　Roger　sitting　up　and　talking　to　him；　the　idea　that　Donna　might　have　just　run　off　with　Steve　Kemp　seemed　absurd　…he　couldn't　believe　he　had　even　indulged　it。　Forget　logic。　She　had　told　him　it　was　over；　and　he　had　believed　her。　He　believed　her　now。
'Called？'　Roger　said。　He　was　still　having　trouble　tracking　things。
'She　knows　I　call　home　almost　every　night　when　I'm　awayShe　would　have　called　the　hotel　and　left　a　message　if　she　was　going　to　be　gone　overnight。　Wouldn't　Althea？'
Roger　nodded。　'Yeah。　She　would。'
'She'd　call　and　leave　a　message　so　you　wouldn't　worry。　Like　I'm　worrying　now。'
'Yeah。　But　she　might　have　just　forgotten；　Vic。'　Still；　Roger's　brown　eyes　were　troubled。
'Sure；'　Vic　said。　'On　the　other　hand；　maybe　something's　happened。'
'She　carries　ID；　doesn't　she）　If　she　and　Tad　were　in　an　accident；　God　forbid；　the　cops　would　try　home　first　and　then　the　office。　The　answering　service　would　…'
'I　wasn't　thinking　about　an　accident；'　Vic　said。　'I　was　thinking　about　。　。　。'　His　voice　began　to　tremble。　'I　was　thinking　about　her　and　Tadder　being　there　alone；　and　。。。　shit；　I　don't　know　。。。　I　just　got　scared；　that's　all。'
'Call　the　sheriff's　office；'　Roger　said　promptly。
'Yeah；　but　…'
'Yeah；　but　nothing。　You　aren't　going　to　scare　Donna；　that's　for　sure。　She's　not　there。　But　what　the　hell；　set　your　mind　at　rest。　It　doesn't　have　to　be　sirens　and　flashing　lights。　Just　ask　if　they　can　send　a　cop　by　to　check　and　make　sure　that　everything　looks　normal。　There　must　be　a　thousand　places　she　could　be。　Hell；　maybe　she　just　tied　into　a　really　good　Tupperware　party。'
'Donna　hates　Tupperware　parties。'
'So　maybe　the　girls　got　playing　penny…ante　poker　and　lost　track　of　the　time　and　Tad's　asleep　in　someone's　spare　room。'
Vic　remembered　her　telling　him　how　she　had　steered　clear　of　any　deep　involvement　with　'the　girls'　…　I　don't　want　to　be　one　of　those　faces　you　see　at　the　bake　sales；　she　had　said。　But　he　didn't　want　to　tell　Roger　that；　it　was　too　close　to　the　subject　of　Kemp。
'Yeah；　maybe　something　like　that；'　Vic　said。
'Have　you　got　an　extra　key　to　the　place　tucked　away　somewhere？'
'There's　one　on　a　hook　under　the　eave　of　the　front　porch。'
'Tell　the　cops。　Someone　can　go　in　and　have　a　good　look　around　。。。　unless　you've　got　pot　or　coke　or　something　you'd　just　as　soon　they　didn't　stumble　over。'
'Nothing　like　that。'
'Then　do　it；'　Roger　said　earnestly。　'She'll　probably　call　here　while　they're　out　checking　and　you'll　feel　like　a　fool；　but　sometimes　it's　good　to　feel　like　a　fool。　You　know　what　I　mean？'
'Yeah；'　Vic　said；　grinning　a　little。　'Yeah；　I　do。'
He　picked　the　telephone　up　again；　hesitated；　then　tried　home　again　first。　No　answer。　Some　of　the　fort　he　had　gotten　from　Roger　evaporated。　He　got　directory　assistance　ocr　Maine　and　jotted　down　the　number　of　the　Castle　County　Sheriff's　Department。　It　was　now　nearly　fifteen　minutes　past　twelve　on　Wednesday　morning。
Donna　Trenton　was　sitting　with　her　hands　resting　lightly　on　the　steering　wheel　of　the　Pinto。　Tad　had　finally　fallen　asleep　again；　but　his　sleep　was　not　restful；　he　twisted；　turned；　sometimes　moaned。　She　was　afraid　he　was　reliving　in　his　dreams　what　had　happened　earlier。
She　felt　his　forehead；　he　muttered　something　and　pulled　away　from　her　touch。　His　eyelids　fluttered　and　then　slipped　dosed　again。　He　felt　feverish　…　almost　surely　a　result　of　the　constant　tension　and　fear。　She　felt　feverish　herself；　and　she　was　in　severe　pain。　Her　belly　hurt；　but　those　wounds　were　superficial；　little　more　than　scratches。　She　had　been　lucky　there。　Cujo　had　damaged　her　left　leg　more。　The　wounds　there　（the　bites；　her　mind　insisted；　as　if　relishing　the　horror　of　it）　were　deep　and　ugly。　They　had　bled　a　lot　before　dotting；　and　she　hadn't　tried　to　apply　a　bandage　right　away；　although　there　was　a　first…aid　kit　in　the　Pinto's　glovebox。　Vaguely　she　supposed　she　had　hoped　that　the　flowing　blood　would　wash　the　wound　clean　。。。　did　that　really　happen；　or　was　it　just　an　old　wives'　tale？　She　didn't　know。　There　was　so　much　she　didn't　know；　so　goddam　much。
By　the　time　the　lacerated　punctures　had　finally　clotted；　her　thigh　and　the　driver's　bucket　seat　were　both　tacky　with　her　blood。　She　needed　three　gauze　pads　from　the　first…aid　kit　to　cover　the　wound。　They　were　the　last　three　in　the　kit。　Have　to　replace　those；　she　thought；　and　that　brought　on　a　short；　hysterical　fit　of　the　giggles。
In　the　faint　light；　the　flesh　just　above　her　knee　had　looked　like　dark　plowed　earth。　There　was　a　steady　throbbing　ache　there　that　had　not　changed　since　the　dog　bit　her。　She　had　dry…swallowed　a　couple　of　aspirin　from　the　kit；　but　they　didn't　make　a　dent　in　the　pain。　Her　head　ached　badly　too；　as　if　a　bundle　of　wires　were　slowly　being　twisted　tighter　and　tighter　inside　each　temple。
Flexing　the　leg　brought　the　quality　of　the　pain　up　from　a　throbbing　ache　to　a　sharp；　glassy　beat。　She　had　no　idea　if　she　could　even　walk　on　the　leg　now；　let　alone　run　for　the　porch　door。　And　did　it　really　matter？　The　dog　was　sitting　on　the　gravel　between　her　car　door　and　the　door　which　gave　on　the　porch；　its　hideously　mangled　head　drooping　。。。　but　with　its　eyes　fixed　unfailingly　on　the　car。　On　her。
Somehow　she　didn't　think　Cujo　was　going　to　move　again；　at　least　not　tonight。　Tomorrow　the　sun　might　drive　him　into　the　barn；　if　it　was　as　hot　as　it　had　been　yesterday。
'It　wants　me；'　she　whispered　through　her　blistered　lips。　It　was　true。　Somehow　it　was　true。　For　reasons　decreed　by　Fate；　or　for　its　own　unknowable　ones；　the　dog　wanted　her。
When　it　had　fallen　on　the　gravel；　she　had　been　sure　it　was　dying。　No　living　thing　could　have　taken　the　pounding　she　had　given　it　with　the　door。　Even　its　thick　fur　hadn't　been　able　to　cushion　the　blows。　One　of　the　Saint　Bernard's　ears　appeared　to　be　dangling　by　no　more　than　a　string　of　flesh。
But　it　had　regained　its　feet；　little　by　little。　She　hadn't　been　able　to　believe　her　eyes　。。。　hadn't　wanted　to　believe　her　eyes。
'No！'　she　had　shrieked；　totally　out　of　control。　'No；　lie　down；　you're　supposed　to　be　dead；　lie　down；　lie　down　and　die；　you　shit　dog！'
'Mommy；　don't；'　Tad　had　murmured；　holding　his　head。　'It　hurts　。　。　。　it　hurts　me　。　。　。'
Since　then；　nothing　in　the　situation　had　changed。　Time　had　resumed　its　former　slow　crawl。　She　had　put　her　watch　to　her　ear　several　times　to　make　sure　it　was　still　ticking；　because　the　hands　never　seemed　to　change　position。
Twenty　past