Gerald's Game(90)
"It wasn't Gerald," she croaked. "I would have seen him."
Then she realized that wasn't necessarily so-she had headed for the bathroom as soon as they were in the house. He could have done it then. She bent down, grasped the flat white ribbon that went from the back of the phone to the connector-box on the baseboard behind the chair, and pulled. She thought she felt a little give at first, and then nothing. Even that initial give might have been just her imagination; she knew perfectly well that her senses were no longer very trustworthy. The jack might just be bound up on the chair, but-
No, Goody said. It won't come because it's still plugged in-Geraldnever disconnected it at all, The reason the phone doesn't work is becausethat thing that was in here with you last night cut the wire.
Don't listen to her; underneath that loud voice of hers, she's scared ofher own shadow, Ruth said. The connector-plug's hung up on one of the chair's back legs-I practically guarantee it. Besides, it's easy enough tofind out, isn't it?
Of course it was. All she had to do was pull the chair out and take a look behind it. And if the plug was out, put it back in.
What if you do all that and the phone still doesn't work? Goody asked. Then you'll know something else, won't you?
Ruth: Stop dithering-you need help, and you need it fast.
It was true, but the thought of pulling out the chair filled her with weary gloom. She could probably do it-the chair was big, but it still couldn't weigh a fifth of what the bed had weighed, and she had managed to move that all the way across the room but the thought was heavy. And pulling the chair out would only be the beginning. Once it was moved, she would have to get down on her knees... crawl into the dim, dusty corner behind it to find the connector-box...
Jesus, tootsie! Ruth cried. She sounded alarmed. You don't haveany choice! I thought that at long last we all agreed on at least onething, that you need help, and you need it f-
Jessie suddenly slammed the door on Ruth's voice, and slammed it hard. Instead of moving the chair, she bent over it, picked up the culotte skirt, and carefully pulled it up her legs. Drops of blood from the soaked bandage on her wrist splattered across the front of it at once, but she hardly saw them. She was busy ignoring the jangle of angry, perplexed voices, and wondering just who had let all these weird people into her head in the first place. It was like waking up one morning and discovering your home had become a boarding hotel overnight. All the voices were expressing horrified disbelief at what she was planning to do, but Jessie suddenly discovered she didn't give much of a shit. This was her life. Hers.
She picked up the blouse and slipped her head into it. To her confused, shocked mind, the fact that yesterday had been warm enough for this casual sleeveless top seemed to conclusively prove the existence of God. She didn't think she would have been able to bear sliding her stripped right hand down a long sleeve.
Never mind that, she thought, this is nuts, and I don't need anymake-believe voices to tell me so, I'm thinking about driving out of here-about trying, anyway-when the only thing I have to do is move that chair and plug the phone back in. It must be the blood-loss-it's drivenme temporarily insane. This is a nutty idea. Christ, that chair can'tweigh fifty pounds...I'm almost home and dry!
Yes, except it wasn't the chair, and it wasn't the idea of the Rescue Services guys finding her in the same room as the naked, chewed corpse of her husband. Jessie had a pretty good idea she would be preparing to leave in the Mercedes even if the phone were in perfect working order and she had already summoned the police, the ambulance, and the Deering High School Marching Band. Because the phone wasn't the important thing-not at all. The important thing was... well...
The important thing is that I have to get the f**k out of here rightaway, she thought, and suddenly she shuddered. Her bare arms broke out in gooseflesh. Because that thing is going to come back.
Bullseye. The problem wasn't Gerald, or the chair, or what the Rescue Services guys might think when they got down here and saw the situation. It wasn't even the question of the telephone. The problem was the space cowboy; her old friend Dr Doom. That was why she was putting on her clothes and splashing a little more of her blood around instead of making an effort to re-establish communications with the outside world. The stranger was someplace close by; of that she felt certain. It was only waiting for dark, and dark was close now. If she passed out while she was trying to push the chair away from the wall, or while she was crawling gaily around in the dust and the cobwebs behind it, she might still be here, all alone, when the thing with the suitcase of bones arrived. Worse, she might still be alive.
Besides, her visitor had cut the line. She had no way of knowing this... but her heart knew it just the same. If she went through all the rigamarole of moving the chair and plugging the t-connector back in, the phone would still be dead, just like the one in the kitchen and the one in the front hall.
And what's the big deal, anyway? she told her voices. I'm planningto drive out to the main road, that's all. Compared to performingimpromptu surgery with a water-glass and pushing a double bed across the room while losing a pint of blood, it'll be a breeze. The Mercedes isa good car, and it's a straight shot up the driveway. I'll putter out toRoute 117 at ten miles an hour, and if I feel too weak to drive all theway to Dakin's Store once I make the highway, I'll just pull across theroad, put on the four-way flashers, and lay on the horn when I see someonecoming. No reason why that shouldn't work, with the roadflat and openfor a mile and a half in either direction. The big thing about the car isthe locks. Once I'm in it, there'll be doors I can lock. It won't be able toget in.