by Stephen King
Jud drained his beer and then put it carefully aside with the other empties. "I guess that's it," he said. "I am talked out."
"Can I ask you one other question?" Louis asked.
"I guess so," Jud said.
Louis said: "Has anyone ever buried a person up there?"
Jud's arm jerked convulsively; two of the beer bottles fell off the table, and one of them shattered.
"Christ on His throne," he said to Louis. "No! And who ever would? You don't even want to talk about such things, Louis!"
"I was just curious," Louis said uneasily.
"Some things it don't pay to be curious about," Jud Crandall said, and for the first time he looked really old and infirm to Louis Creed, as if he were standing somewhere in the neighborhood of his own freshly prepared grave.
And later, at home, something else occurred to him about how Jud had looked at that moment.
He had looked like he was lying.
27
Louis didn't really know he was drunk until he got back in his own garage.
Outside there was starlight and a chilly rind of moon. Not enough light to cast a shadow, but enough to see by. Once he got in the garage, he was blind. There was a little switch somewhere, but he was damned if he could remember anymore just where it was. He felt his way along slowly, shuffling his feet, his head swimming, anticipating a painful crack on the knee or a toy that he would stumble over, frightening himself with its crash, perhaps falling over himself. Ellie's little Schwinn with its red training wheels. Gage's Crawly-Gator.
Where was the cat? Had he left him in?
Somehow he sailed off course and ran into the wall. A splinter whispered into one palm and he cried out "Shit!" to the darkness, realizing after the word was out that it sounded more scared than mad. The whole garage seemed to have taken a stealthy half-turn. Now it wasn't just the light switch; now he didn't know where the fuck anything was, and that included the door into the kitchen.
He began walking again, moving slowly, his palm stinging. This is what it would be like to be blind, he thought, and that made him think of a Stevie Wonder concert he and Rachel had gone to--when? Six years ago? As impossible as it seemed, it had to be. She had been pregnant with Ellie then. Two guys had led Wonder to his synthesizer, guiding him over the cables that snaked across the stage so he wouldn't stumble. And later, when he had gotten up to dance with one of the back-up singers, she had led him carefully to a clear place on the floor. He had danced well, Louis remembered thinking. He had danced well, but he had needed a hand to lead him to the space where he could do it.
How about a hand right now to lead me to my kitchen door? he thought . . . and abruptly shuddered.
If a hand came out of the darkness now to lead him, how he would scream--scream and scream and scream.
He stood still, heart thudding. Come on, he told himself. Stop this shit, come on come on--
Where was that fucking cat?
Then he did slam into something, the rear bumper of the station wagon, and the pain sang up his body from his barked shin, making his eyes water. He grabbed his leg and rubbed it, standing one-legged like a heron, but at least he knew where he was now, the geography of the garage fixed firmly in his mind again, and besides, his night vision was coming, good old visual purple. He had left the cat in, he remembered that now, hadn't really wanted to touch it, to pick it up and put it out and--
And that was when Church's hot, furry body oiled against his ankle like a low eddy of water, followed by its loathsome tail, curling against his calf like a clutching snake, and then Louis did scream; he opened his mouth wide and screamed.
28
"Daddy!" Ellie screamed.
She ran up the jetway toward him, weaving in and out between deplaning passengers like a quarterback on a keeper play. Most of them stood aside, grinning, Louis was a little embarrassed by her ardor, but he felt a large, stupid grin spreading across his own face just the same.
Rachel was carrying Gage in her arms, and he saw Louis when Ellie shouted. "Dayeee!" he yelled exuberantly and began to wriggle in Rachel's arms. She smiled (a trifle wearily, Louis thought) and set him on his feet. He began to run after Ellie, his legs pumping busily. "Dayeee! Dayeee!"
Louis had time to notice that Gage was wearing a jumper he had never seen before--it looked like more of Grandda's work to Louis. Then Ellie hurtled into him and shinnied up him like a tree.
"Hi, Daddy!" she bellowed and smacked his cheek heartily.
"Hi, hon," he said and bent over to catch Gage. He pulled him up into the crook of his arm and hugged them both. "I'm glad to see you back."
Rachel came up then, her traveling bag and pocketbook slung over one arm, Gage's diaper bag slung over the other. I'LL BE A BIG BOY SOON was printed on the other side of the diaper bag, a sentiment probably meant more to cheer up the parents than the diaper-wearing child. She looked like a professional photographer at the end of a long, grueling assignment.
Louis bent between his two kids and planted a kiss on her mouth. "Hi."
"Hi, Doc," she said, and smiled.
"You look beat."
"I am beat. We got as far as Boston with no problem. We changed planes with no problem. We took off with no problem. But as the plane is banking over the city, Gage looks down and says, 'Pretty, pretty,' and then whoopses all over himself."
"Oh, Jesus."
"I got him changed in the toilet," she said. "I don't think it's a virus or anything. He was just airsick."
"Come on home," Louis said. "I've got chili on the stove."
"Chili! Chili!" Ellie screamed in Louis's ear, transported with delight and excitement.
"Chiwwi! Chiwwi!" Gage screamed in Louis's other ear, which at least equalized the ringing.
"Come on," Louis said. "Let's get your suitcases and blow this joint."
"Daddy, how's Church?" Ellie asked as he set her down. It was a question Louis had expected, but not Ellie's anxious face, and the deep worry line that appeared between her dark blue eyes. Louis frowned and then glanced at Rachel.
"She woke up screaming over the weekend," Rachel said quietly. "She had a nightmare."
"I dreamed that Church got run over," Ellie said.
"Too many turkey sandwiches after the big day, that's my guess," Rachel said. "She had a bout of diarrhea too. Set her mind at rest, Louis, and let's get out of this airport. I've seen enough airports in the last week to last me for at least five years."
"Why, Church, is fine, honey," Louis said slowly.
Yes, he's fine. He lies around the house all day long and looks at me with those strange, muddy eyes--as if he'd seen something that had blasted away most of whatever intelligence a cat has. He's just great. I put him out with a broom at night because I don't like to touch him. I just kind of sweep at him with it and he goes. And the other day when I opened the door, Ellie, he had a mouse--or what was left of it. He'd strewed the guts hell to breakfast. And speaking of breakfast, I skipped mine that morning. Otherwise--
"He's just fine."
"Oh," Ellie said, and that furrow between her eyes smoothed out. "Oh, that's good. When I had that dream, I was sure he was dead."
"Were you?" Louis asked, and smiled. "Dreams are funny, aren't they?"
"Dweems!" Gage hollered--he had reached the parrot stage that Louis remembered from Ellie's development. "Dweeeeeems!" He gave Louis's hair a hearty tug.
"Come on, gang," Louis said, and they started down to the baggage area.
They had gotten as far as the station wagon in the parking lot when Gage began saying "Pretty, pretty," in a strange, hiccuping voice. This time he whoopsed all over Louis, who had put on a new pair of double-knit slacks for the plane-meeting occasion. Apparently Gage thought pretty was the code word for I've got to throw up now, so sorry, stand clear.
It turned out to be a virus after all.
By the time they had driven the seventeen miles from the Bangor airport to their house in Ludlow, Gage had begun to show signs of
fever and had fallen into an uncomfortable doze. Louis backed into the garage, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Church slink along one wall, tail up, strange eyes fixed on the car. It disappeared into the dying glow of the day, and a moment later Louis saw a disemboweled mouse lying beside a stack of four summer tires--he had had the snows put on while Rachel and the kids were gone. The mouse's innards glowed pink and raw in the garage's gloom.
Louis got out quickly and purposely bumped against the pile of tires, which were stacked up like black checkers. The top two fell over and covered the mouse. "Ooops," he said.
"You're a spaz, Daddy," Ellie said, not unkindly.
"That's right," Louis said with a kind of hectic cheer. He felt a little like saying Pretty, pretty and blowing his groceries all over everything. "Daddy's a spaz." He could remember Church killing only a single rat before his queer resurrection; he sometimes cornered mice and played with them in that deadly cat way that ultimately ended in destruction, but he or Ellie or Rachel had always intervened before the end. And once cats were fixed, he knew, few of them would do more than give a mouse an interested stare, at least as long as they were well-fed.
"Are you going to stand there dreaming or help me with this kid?" Rachel asked. "Come back from Planet Mongo, Dr. Creed. Earth people need you." She sounded tired and irritable.
"I'm sorry, babe," Louis said. He came around to get Gage, who was now as hot as the coals in a banked stove.
So only the three of them ate Louis's famous South Side Chili that night; Gage reclined on the living room sofa, feverish and apathetic; drinking a bottle filled with lukewarm chicken broth and watching a cartoon show on TV.
After dinner Ellie went to the garage door and called Church. Louis, who was doing the dishes while Rachel unpacked upstairs, hoped the cat wouldn't come, but he did--he came in walking in his new slow lurch, and he came almost at once, as if he--as if it--had been lurking out there. Lurking. The word came immediately to mind.
"Church!" Ellie cried. "Hi, Church!" She picked the cat up and hugged it. Louis watched out of the corner of his eye; his hands, which had been groping on the bottom of the sink for any leftover silverware, were still. He saw Ellie's happy face change slowly to puzzlement. The cat lay quiet in her arms, its ears laid back, its eyes on hers.
After a long moment--it seemed very long to Louis--she put Church down. The cat padded away toward the dining room without looking back. Executioner of small mice, Louis thought randomly. Christ, what did we do that night?
He tried honestly to remember, but it already seemed far away, dim and distant, like the messy death of Victor Pascow on the floor of the infirmary's reception room. He could remember carriages of wind passing in the sky and the white glimmer of snow in the back field which rose to the woods. That was all.
"Daddy?" Ellie said in a low, subdued voice.
"What, Ellie?"
"Church smells funny."
"Does he?" Louis asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Yes!" Ellie said, distressed. "Yes, he does! He never smelled funny before! He smells like . . . he smells like ka-ka!"
"Well, maybe he rolled in something bad, honey," Louis said. "Whatever that bad smell is, he'll lose it."
"I certainly hope so," Ellie said in a comical dowager's voice. She walked off.
Louis found the last fork, washed it, and pulled the plug. He stood at the sink, looking out into the night while the soapy water ran down the drain with a thick chuckling sound.
When the sound from the drain was gone he could hear the wind outside, thin and wild, coming from the north, bringing down winter, and he realized he was afraid, simply, stupidly afraid, the way you are afraid when a cloud suddenly sails across the sun and somewhere you hear a ticking sound you can't account for.
*
"A hundred and three!" Rachel asked. "Jesus, Lou! Are you sure?"
"It's a virus," Louis said. He tried not to let Rachel's voice, which seemed almost accusatory, grate on him. She was tired. It had been a long day for her; she had crossed half the country with her kids today. Here it was eleven o'clock, and the day wasn't over yet. Ellie was deeply asleep in her room. Gage was on their bed in a state that could best be described as semiconscious. Louis had started him on Liquiprin an hour ago. "The aspirin will bring his fever down by morning, hon."
"Aren't you going to give him ampicillin or anything?"
Patiently, Louis said, "If he had the flu or a strep infection, I would. He doesn't. He's got a virus, and that stuff doesn't do doodly-squat for viruses. It would just give him the runs and dehydrate him more."
"Are you sure it's a virus?"
"Well, if you want a second opinion," Louis snapped, "be my guest."
"You don't have to shout at me!" Rachel shouted.
"I wasn't shouting!" Louis shouted back.
"You were," Rachel began, "you were shuh-shuh-shouting--" And then her mouth began to quiver and she put a hand up to her face. Louis saw there were deep gray-brown pockets under her eyes and felt badly ashamed of himself.
"I'm sorry," he said, and sat down beside her. "Christ, I don't know what's the matter with me, I apologize, Rachel."
"Never complain, never explain," she said, smiling wanly. "Isn't that what you told me once? The trip was a bitch. And I've been afraid you'd hit the roof when you looked in Gage's dresser drawers. I guess maybe I ought to tell you now, while you're feeling sorry for me."
"What's to hit the roof about?"
She smiled wanly. "My mother and father bought him ten new outfits. He was wearing one of them today."
"I noticed he had on something new," he said shortly.
"I noticed you noticing," she replied and pulled a comic scowl that made him laugh, although he didn't feel much like laughing. "And six new dresses for Ellie."
"Six dresses!" he said, strangling the urge to yell. He was suddenly furious--sickly furious and hurt in a way he couldn't explain. "Rachel, why? Why did you let him do that? We don't need . . . we can buy . . ."
He ceased. His rage had made him inarticulate, and for a moment he saw himself carrying Ellie's dead cat through the woods, shifting the plastic bag from one hand to the other . . . and all the while Irwin Goldman, that dirty old fuck from Lake Forest, had been busy trying to buy his daughter's affection by unlimbering the world-famous checkbook and the world-famous fountain pen.
For one moment he felt himself on the verge of shouting He bought her six dresses and I brought her goddamn cat back from the dead, so who loves her more?
He clamped down on the words. He would never say anything like that. Never.
She touched his neck gently. "Louis," she said. "It was both of them together. Please try to see. Please. They love the children, and they don't see them much. And they're getting old. Louis, you'd hardly recognize my father. Really."
"I'd recognize him," Louis muttered.
"Please, honey. Try to see. Try to be kind. It doesn't hurt you."
He looked at her for a long time. "It does though," he said finally. "Maybe it shouldn't, but it does."
She opened her mouth to reply, and then Ellie called out from her room: "Daddy! Mommy! Somebody!"
Rachel started to get up, and Louis pulled her back down. "Stay with Gage. I'll go." He thought he knew what the trouble was. But he had put the cat out, damn it; after Ellie had gone to bed, he had caught it in the kitchen sniffing around its dish and had put it out. He didn't want the cat sleeping with her. Not anymore. Odd thoughts of disease, mingled with memories of Uncle Carl's funeral parlor, had come to him when he thought of Church sleeping on Ellie's bed.
She's going to know that something's wrong and Church was better before.
He had put the cat out, but when he went in, Ellie was sitting up in bed, more asleep than awake, and Church was spread out on the counterpane, a batlike shadow. The cat's eyes were open and stupidly gleaming in the light from the hall.
"Daddy, put him out," Ellie almost groaned. "He stinks so bad."
<
br /> "Shhh, Ellie, go to sleep," Louis said, astounded by the calmness of his own voice. It made him think of the morning after his sleepwalking incident, the day after Pascow had died. Getting to the infirmary and ducking into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror, convinced that he must look like hell. But he had looked pretty much all right. It was enough to make you wonder how many people were going around with dreadful secrets bottled up inside.
It's not a secret, goddammit! It's just the cat!
But Ellie was right. It stank to high heaven.
He took the cat out of her room and carried it downstairs, trying to breathe through his mouth. There were worse smells; shit was worse, if you wanted to be perfectly blunt. A month ago they'd had a go-round with the septic tank, and as Jud had said when he came over to watch Puffer and Sons pump the tank, "That ain't Chanel Number Five, is it, Louis?" The smell of a gangrenous wound--what old Doctor Bracermunn at med school had called "hot flesh"--was worse too. Even the smell which came from the Civic's catalytic converter when it had been idling in the garage for a while was worse.
But this smell was pretty damn bad. And how had the cat gotten in, anyway? He had put it out earlier, sweeping it out with the broom while all three of them--his people--were upstairs. This was the first time he had actually held the cat since the day it had come back, almost a week ago. It lay hotly in his arms, like a quiescent disease, and Louis wondered, What bolthole did you find, you bastard?
He thought suddenly of his dream that other night--Pascow simply passing through the door between the kitchen and the garage.
Maybe there was no bolthole. Maybe it had just passed through the door, like a ghost.
"Bag that," he whispered aloud, and his voice was slightly hoarse.
Louis became suddenly sure that the cat would begin to struggle in his arms, that it would scratch him. But Church lay totally still, radiating that stupid heat and that dirty stink, looking at Louis's face as if it could read the thoughts going on behind Louis's eyes.
He opened the door and tossed the cat out into the garage, maybe a little too hard. "Go on," he said. "Kill another mouse or something."
Church landed awkwardly, its hindquarters bunching beneath it and momentarily collapsing. It seemed to shoot Louis a look of green, ugly hate. Then it strolled drunkenly off and was gone.