Thinner

by Stephen King

  The upshot was that they wanted him to hang in at Glassman for another week or two (or possibly three). They were going to whip what was wrong with him. They were going to whip it good. They contemplated a series of megavitamins to start with (certainly!), plus protein injections (of course!), and a great many more tests (without a doubt!).

  There was the professional equivalent of dismayed howls -and they were almost literally howls - when Billy told them quietly that he thanked them, but he would have to leave. They remonstrated with him; they expostulated; they lectured. And to Billy, who felt more and more often lately that he must be losing his mind, the trio of doctors began to look eerily like the Three Stooges. He halfexpected them to begin bopping and boinking each other, staggering around the richly appointed office with their white coats flapping, breaking things and shouting in Brooklyn accents.

  'You undoubtedly feel quite well now, Mr Halleck,' one of them said. 'You were, after all, quite seriously overweight to begin with, according to your records. But I need to warn you that what you feel now may be spurious. If you continue to lose weight, you can expect to develop mouth sores, skin problems . . .'

  If you want to see some real skin problems, you ought to check out Fairview's chief of police, Halleck thought. Excuse me, ex-chief.

  He decided, on the spur of the moment and apropos of nothing, to take up smoking again.

  '. . . diseases similar to scurvy or beriberi,' the doctor was continuing sternly. 'You're going to become extremely susceptible to infections - everything from colds and bronchitis to tuberculosis. Tuberculosis, Mr Halleck,' he said impressively. 'Now if you stay here -'

  'No,' Billy said. 'Please understand that it's not even an option.'

  One of the others put his fingers gently to his temples as if he had just developed a splitting headache. For all Billy knew, he had - he was the doctor who had advanced the idea of psychological anorexia nervosa. 'What can we say to convince you, Mr Halleck?'

  'Nothing,' Billy replied. The image of the old Gypsy came unbidden into his mind - he felt again the soft, caressing touch of the man's hand on his cheek, the scrape of the hard calluses. Yes, he thought, I'm going to take up smoking again. Something really devilish like Camels or Pall Malls or Chesterfoggies. Why not? When the goddamn doctors start looking like Larry, Curly, and Moe, it's time to do something.

  They asked him to wait a moment and went out together. Billy was content enough to wait - he felt that he had finally reached the caesura in this mad play, the eye of the storm, and he was content with that ... that, and the thought of all the cigarettes he would soon smoke, perhaps even two at a time.

  They came back, grim-faced but looking somehow exalted -men who had decided to make the ultimate sacrifice. They would let him stay free of charge, they said: he need pay only for the lab work.

  'No,' Billy said patiently. 'You don't understand. The major medical coverage pays for all of ^that anyway; I checked. The point is, I'm leaving. Simply leaving. Bugging out.'

  They stared at him, uncomprehending, beginning to be angry. Billy thought of telling them how much like the Three Stooges they looked, and decided that would be an extremely bad idea. It would complicate things. Such fellows as these were not used to being challenged, to having their gris-gris rejected. He did not think it past possibility that they might call Heidi and suggest that a competency hearing was in order. And Heidi might listen to them.

  'We'll pay for the tests too,' one of them said finally, in a this-is-our-final-offer tone.

  'I'm leaving,' Billy said. He spoke very quietly, but he saw that they finally believed him. Perhaps it was the very quietness of his tone that had finally convinced them that it was not a matter of money, that he was authentically mad.

  'But why? Why, Mr Halleck?'

  'Because,' Billy said, 'although you think you can help me ... ah ... gentlemen, you can't.'

  And looking at their unbelieving, uncomprehending faces, Billy thought he had never felt so lonely in his life.

  On his way home he stopped at a smoke shop and bought a package of Chesterfield Kings. The first three puffs made him feel so dizzy and sick that he threw them away.

  'So much for that experiment,' he said aloud in the car, laughing and crying at the same time. 'Back to the old drawing board, kids.'

  Chapter 14

  156

  Linda was gone.

  Heidi, the normally tiny lines beside her eyes and the corners of her mouth now deep with strain (she was smoking like a steam engine, Billy saw - one Vantage 100 after another), told Halleck she had sent Linda to her Aunt Rhoda's in Westchester County.

  'I did it for a couple of reasons,' Heidi said. 'The first is that ... that she needs a rest from you, Billy. From what's happening to you. She's half out of her mind. It's gotten so I can't convince her you don't have cancer.'

  'She ought to talk to Cary Rossington,' Billy muttered as he went into the kitchen to turn on the coffee. He needed a cup badly - strong and black, no sugar. 'They sound like soulmates.'

  'What? I can't hear you.'

  'Never mind. Just let me turn on the coffee.'

  'She's not sleeping,' Heidi said when he came back. She was twisting her hands together restlessly. 'Do you understand?'

  'Yes,' Billy said, and he did ... but it felt as if there was a thorn lodged somewhere inside of him. He wondered if Heidi understood that he needed Linda too, if she really understood that his daughter was also part of his support system. But part of his support system or not, he had no right to erode Linda's confidence, her psychological equilibrium. Heidi was right about that. She was right about that no matter how much it cost.

  He felt that bright hate surface in his heart again. Mommy had driven his daughter off to auntie's house as soon as Billy had called and said he was on his way. And how come? Why, because the bogey-daddy was coming home! Don't run screaming, dear, it's only the Thin Man ...

  Why that day? Why did you have to pick that day?

  'Billy? Are you all right?' Heidi's voice was oddly hesitant.

  Jesus! You stupid bitch! Here you are married to the Incredible Shrinking Man, and all you can think to ask is if I'm all right?

  'I'm as all right as I can be, I guess. Why?'

  'Because you looked ... strange for a minute.'

  Did I? Did I really? Why that day, Heidi? Why did you pick that day to reach into my pants after all the prim years of doing everything in the dark?

  'Well, I suppose I feel a little strange almost all the time now,' Billy said, thinking: You've got to stop it, my friend. This is pointless. What's done is done.

  But it was hard to stop it. Hard to stop it when she stood there smoking one cigarette after another but looking and seeming perfectly well, and ...

  But you will stop it, Billy. So help me.

  Heidi turned away and stubbed her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray.

  'The second thing is ... you've been keeping something from me, Billy. Something to do with this. You talk in your sleep, sometimes. You've been out nights. Now, I want to know. I deserve to know.' She was beginning to cry.

  'You want to know?' Halleck asked. 'You really want to know?' he felt a strange dry grin surface on his face.

  'Yes! Yes!'

  So Billy told her.

  Houston called him the following day, and after a long and meaningless prologue, he got to the point. Heidi was with him. He and Heidi had had a long chat (did you offer her a toot for the human snoot? Halleck thought of asking, and decided that maybe he had better not). The upshot of their long chat was simply this: they thought Billy was just as crazy as a loon.

  'Mike,' Billy said, 'the old Gypsy was real. He touched all three of us: me, Cary Rossington, Duncan Hopley. Now, a guy like you doesn't believe in the supernatural I accept that. But you sure as shit believe in deductive and inductive reasoning. So you've got to see the possibilities. All three of us were touched by him, all three of us have mysterious physical ailments, Now, for Christ's sake, befo
re you decide I've gone crazy, at least consider the logical link.'

  'Billy, there is no link.'

  'I just -,

  'I've talked to Leda Rossington. She says Cary is in the Mayo being treated for skin cancer. She says it's gone pretty far, but they're reasonably sure he's going to be okay. She further says she hasn't seen you since the Gordons' Christmas party.'

  'She's lying!'

  Silence from Houston . . . and was that the sound of Heidi crying in the background? Billy's hand tightened on the telephone until the knuckles grew white.

  'Did you talk to her in person, or just on the phone?'

  'On the phone. Not that I understand the difference that makes.'

  'If you saw her, you'd know. She looks like a woman who's had most of the life shocked right out of her.'

  'Well, when you find out your husband has skin cancer, and it's reached the serious stage

  'Have you talked to Cary?'

  'He's in intensive care. People in intensive care are allowed telephone calls only under the most extreme circumstances.'

  'I am down to a hundred and seventy,' Billy said. 'That's a net loss of eighty-three pounds, and I call that pretty extreme.'

  Silence from the other end. Except for that sound that might be Heidi crying.

  'Will you talk to him? Will you try?'

  'If his doctors allow him to take a call, and if he'll talk to me, yes. But, Billy this hallucination of yours-'

  IT IS NO FUCKING HALLUCINATION!' Don't shout, God, don't do that.

  Billy closed his eyes.

  'All right, all right,' Houston soothed. 'This idea. Is that a better word? All I wanted to say is that this idea is not going to help you get better. In fact, it may be the root cause of this psycho-anorexia, if that's really what you're suffering from, as Dr Yount believes. You -'

  'Hopley,' Billy said. Sweat had broken out on his face. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He had a flicker-flash of Hopley, that face that really wasn't a face anymore but a relief map of hell. Crazy inflammations, trickling wetness, and the sound, the unspeakable sound when he raked his nails down his cheek.

  There was a long silence from Houston's end.

  'Talk to Duncan Hopley. He'll confirm -'

  'I can't, Billy. Duncan Hopley committed suicide two days ago. He did it while you were in the Glassman Clinic. Shot himself with his service pistol.'

  Halleck closed his eyes tightly and swayed on his feet. He felt as he had when he tried to smoke. He pinched his cheek savagely to keep from fainting dead away.

  'Then you know,' he said with his eyes still closed. 'You know, or someone knows - someone saw him.'

  'Grand Lawlor saw him,' Houston said. 'I called him just a few minutes ago.'

  Grand Lawlor. For a moment Billy's confused, frightened mind didn't understand - he believed that Houston had uttered a garbled version of the phrase grand jury. Then it clicked home. Grand Lawlor was the county coroner. And now that he thought of it, yes, Grand Lawlor had testified before a grand jury or two in his time.

  This thought brought on an irrational giggling fit. Billy pressed his palm over the phone's mouth piece and hoped Houston wouldn't hear the giggles; if he did, Houston would think he was crazy for sure.

  And you'd really like to believe I'm crazy, wouldn't you, Mike? Because if I was crazy and I decided to start babbling about the little bottle and the little ivory spoon, why, no one would believe me anyway, would they? Goodness, no.

  And that did it; the giggles passed.

  'You asked him -'

  'For a few details concerning the death? After the horror story your wife told me, you're damned right I asked him.' Houston's voice grew momentarily prim. 'You just ought to be damned glad that when he asked me why I wanted to know, I hung tough.'

  'What did he say?'

  'That Hopley's complexion was a mess, but nothing like the horror show you described to Heidi. Grand's description leads me to believe that it was a nasty outbreak of the adult acne I'd treated Duncan for off and on ever since I first examined him back in 1974. The outbreaks depressed him quite badly, and that came as no surprise to me - I'd have to say that adult acne, when it's severe, is one of the most psychologically bruising nonlethal ailments I know of.'

  'You think he got depressed over the way he looked and killed himself.'

  'In essence, yes.'

  'Let me get this straight,' Billy said. 'You believe this was a more or less ordinary outbreak of the adult acne he'd had for years ... but at the same time you believe he killed himself because of what he was seeing in the mirror. That's a weird diagnosis, Mike.'

  'I never said it was the skin outbreak alone,' Houston said. He sounded annoyed. 'The worst thing about problems is the way they seem to come in pairs and trios and whole gangs, never one by one. Psychiatrists have the most suicides per ten thousand members of the profession, Billy, but cops aren't far behind. Probably there was a combination of factors - this latest outbreak could have just been the straw that broke the camel's back.'

  'You should have seen him,' Billy said grimly. 'That wasn't a straw, that was the fucking World Trade Center.'

  'He didn't leave a note, so I guess we'll never know, will we?'

  'Christ,' Billy said, and ran a hand through his hair. 'Jesus Christ.'

  'And the reasons for Duncan Hopley's suicide are almost beside the point, aren't they?'

  'Not to me,' Billy said. 'Not at all.'

  'It seems to me that the real point is that your mind played you a nasty trick, Billy. It guilt-tripped you. You had this ... this bee in your bonnet about Gypsy curses ... and when you went over to Duncan Hopley's that -night, you simply saw something that wasn't there.' Now Houston's voice took on a cozy, you-can-tell-me tone. 'Did you happen to drop into Andy's Pub for a couple before you went over to Duncan's house? Just to, you know, get yourself up for the encounter a little?'

  'No.'

  'You sure? Heidi says you've been spending quite a bit of time in Andy's.'

  'If I had,' Billy said, 'your wife would have seen me there, don't you think?'

  There was a long period of silence. Then Houston said colorlessly: 'That was a damned low blow, Billy. But it's also exactly the sort of comment I'd expect from a man who is under severe mental stress.'

  'Severe mental stress. Psychological anorexia. You guys have got a name for everything, I guess. But you should have seen him. You should have. . .'Billy paused, thinking of the flaming pimples on Duncan Hopley's cheeks, the oozing whiteheads, the nose that had become almost insignificant in the gruesome, erupting landscape of that haunted face.

  'Billy, can't you see that your mind is hunting a logical explanation for what's happening to you? It feels guilt about the Gypsy woman, and so -'

  'The curse ended when he shot himself,' Billy heard himself saying. 'Maybe that's why it didn't look so bad. It's like in the werewolf movies we saw when we were kids, Mike. When the werewolf finally gets killed, it turns back into a man again!'

  Excitement replaced the confusion he had felt at the news of Hopley's suicide and Hopley's more or less ordinary skin ailment. His mind began to race down this new path, exploring it quickly, ticking off the possibilities and probabilities.

  Where does a curse go when the cursee finally kicks it? Shit, might as well ask where a dying man's last breath goes.

  Or his soul. Away. It goes away. Away, away, away. Is there maybe a way to drive it away?

  Rossington - that was the first thing. Rossington, out there at the Mayo Clinic, clinging desperately to the idea that he had skin cancer, because the alternative was so much worse. When Rossington died, would he change back to ... ?

  He became aware that Houston had fallen silent. And there was a noise in the background, unpleasant but familiar ... Sobbing? Was that Heidi, sobbing?

  'Why's she crying?' Billy rasped.

  'Billy -'

  'Put her on!'

  'Billy, if you could hear yourself

  'Goddamm
it, put her on!'

  'No. I won't. Not while you're like this.'

  'Why, you cheap coke-sniffing little

  'Billy, quit it!'

  Houston's roar was loud enough to make Billy hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. When he put it back, the sobbing had stopped.

  'Now, listen,' Houston said. 'There are no such things as werewolves and Gypsy curses. I feel foolish even telling you that.'

  'Man, don't you see that's part of the problem?' Billy asked softly. 'Don't you understand that's how these guys have been able to get away with this stuff for the last twenty centuries or so?'

  'Billy, if there's a curse on you, it's been laid by your own subconscious mind. Old Gypsies can't lay curses. But your own mind, masquerading as an old Gypsy, can.'

  'Me, Hopley, and Rossington,' Halleck said dully, 'all at the same time. You're the one who's blind, Mike. Add it up. '

  'It adds up to coincidence, and nothing more. How many times do we have to go around the mulberry bush, Billy? Go back to the Glassman. Let them help you. Stop driving your wife crazy.'

  For a moment he was tempted to just give in and believe Houston - the sanity and rationality in his voice, no matter how exasperated, were comforting.

  Then he thought of Hopley turning the Tensor lamp so that it shone savagely up onto his face. He thought of Hopley saying I'd kill him very slowly - I will spare you the details.

  'No,' he said. 'They can't help me at the Glassman, Mike.'

  Houston sighed heavily. 'Then who can? The old Gypsy?'

  'If he can be found, maybe,' Halleck said. 'Just maybe. And there's another guy I know who might be of some help. A pragmatist, like you.'

  Ginelli. The name had surfaced in his mind as he was speaking.

  'But mostly, I think I've got to help myself.'

  'That's what I've been telling you!'

  'Oh - I was under the impression you'd just advised me to check back into the Glassman Clinic.'

  Houston sighed. 'I think your brains must be losing weight, too. Have you thought about what you're doing to your wife and daughter? Have you thought about that at all?'