Pet Sematary(63)

She's going to know that something's wrong and Church was better before.

He had put the cat out, but when be 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 hail.

"Daddy, put him out," Ellie almost groaned. "He stinks so bad."

"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.

Christ, Jud, he thought, but I wish you'd kept your mouth shut. He went to the sink and washed his hands and forearms vigorously, as if scrubbing for an operation. You do it because it gets hold of you... you make up reasons...

they seem like good reasons... but mostly you do it because once you've been up there, it's your place, and you belong to it... and you make up the sweetest-smelling reasons in the world.

No, he couldn't blame Jud. He had gone of his own free will and he couldn't blame Jud.

He turned off the water and began to dry his hands and arms. Suddenly the towel stopped moving and he stared straight ahead, looking out into the little piece of night framed in the window over the sink.

Does that mean it's my place now? That it's mine too?

No. Not if I don't want it to be.

He slung the towel over the rack and went upstairs.

Rachel was in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and Gage was tucked in neatly beside her. She looked at Louis apologetically. "Would you mind, hon?

Just for tonight? I'd feel better having him with me. He's so hot."

"No," Louis said. "That's fine. I'll pull out the hide-a-bed downstairs."

"You really don't mind?"

"No. It won't hurt Cage, and it'll make you feel better." He paused, then smiled. "You're going to pick up his virus, though. That comes almost guaranteed. I don't suppose that changes your mind, does it?"

She smiled back and shook her head. "What was Ellie fussing about?"

"Church. She wanted me to take Church away."

"Ellie wanted Church taken away? That's a switch."

"Yeah, it is," Louis agreed and then added, "She said he smelled bad, and I did think he was a little fragrant. Maybe he rolled in a pile of someone's mulch, or something."

"That's too bad," Rachel said, rolling over on her side. "I really think Ellie missed Church as much as she missed you."

"Uh-huh," Louis said. He bent and kissed her mouth softly. 'Go to sleep, Rachel."

"I love you, Lou. I'm glad to be home. And I'm sorry about the couch."

"It's okay," Louis said, and turned out the light.

Downstairs, he stacked the couch cushions, pulled out the hide-a-bed, and tried to prepare himself mentally for a night of having the rod under the thin mattress dig into the small of his back. The bed was sheeted, at least; he wouldn't have to make it up from scratch. Louis got two blankets from the top shelf in the front hail closet and spread them on the bed. He began to undress, then paused.

You think Church is in again? Fine. Take a walk around and have a look. As you told Rachel, it won't hurt. May even help. And checking to make sure all the doors are on the latch won't even catch you a virus.