Pet Sematary(92)



Ellie carried the picture, but she didn't talk much.

Louis was unable to see the condition of either his wife or his daughter; he ate his breakfast and his mind replayed the accident over and over and over, except in this mind-movie the conclusion was different.

In the mind-movie he was quicker, and all that happened was that Gage got a spanking for not stopping when they yelled.

It was Steve who really saw how it was going with Rachel and with Ellie as well.

He forbade Rachel to go to the morning viewing (although "viewing" was really a misnomer because of the closed coffin; if it was open, Louis thought, they'd all run screaming from the room, me included) and forbade Ellie to go at all. Rachel protested. Ellie only sat, silent and grave, with the picture of her and Gage in one hand.

It was Steve who gave Rachel the shot she needed and who gave Ellie a teaspoon of a colorless liquid to drink. Ellie usually whined and protested about taking medicine-any kind of medicine-but she drank this silently and without a grimace.

By ten o'clock that morning she was asleep in her bed (the picture of her and Gage still held in her hand) and Rachel was sitting in front of the television set, watching "Wheel of Fortune." Her responses to Steve's questions were slow.

She was stoned, but her face had lost that thoughtful look of madness which had so worried-and frightened-the P. A. when he came in that morning at a quarter past eight.

Jud, of course, had made all the arrangements. He made them with the same calm efficiency that he had made them for his wife three months before. But it was Steve Masterton who took Louis aside just before Louis left for the funeral home.

"I'll see that she's there this afternoon, if she seems capable of handling it,"

he told Louis.

"Okay."

"The shot will have worn off by then. Your friend Mr. Crandall says he'll stay with Ellie during the afternoon viewing hours-"

"Right."

"-and play Monopoly or something with her-"

"Uh-huh."

"But-"

"Right."

Steve stopped. They were standing in the garage, Church's stomping ground, the place where he brought his dead birds and dead rats. The ones that Louis owned.

Outside was May sun-shine, and a robin bopped across the head of the driveway, as if it had important business somewhere. Maybe it did.

"Louis," Steve said, "you've got to get hold of yourself."

Louis looked at Steve, politely questioning. Not much of what Steve had said had gotten through-he had been thinking that if he had been a little quicker he could have saved his son's life-but a little of this last registered.

"I don't think you've noticed," Steve said, "but Ellie isn't vocalizing. And Rachel has had such a bad shock that her very conception of time seems to have been twisted out of shape."

"Right!" Louis said. More force in reply seemed to be indicated here. He wasn't sure why.

Steve put a hand on Louis's shoulder. "Lou," he said, "they need you more now than they ever have in their life. More than they ever will again, maybe.

Please, man... I can give your wife a shot, but... you... see, Louis, you gotta... oh, Christ, Louis, what a cock-knocking, motherf*cking mess this is!"

Louis saw with something like alarm that Steve was starting to cry. "Sure," he said, and in his mind he saw Gage running across the lawn toward the road. They were yelling at Gage to come back, but he wouldn't-lately the game had been to run away from Mommy-Daddy-and then they were chasing him, Louis quickly outdistancing Rachel, but Gage had a big lead, Gage was laughing, Gage was running away from Daddy-that was the game-and Louis was closing the distance but too slowly, Gage was running down the mild slope of the lawn now to the verge of Route 15, and Louis prayed to God that Gage would fall down-when little kids ran fast, they almost always fell down because a person's control over his legs didn't get really cool until he was maybe seven or eight. Louis prayed to God that Gage would fall down, fall down, yes, fall down bloody his nose crack his skull need stitches whatever, because now he could hear the drone of a truck coming toward them, one of those big ten-wheelers that went back and forth endlessly between Bangor and the Orinco plant in Bucksport, and he had screamed Gage's name then, and he believed that Gage had heard him and tried to stop.

Gage seemed to realize that the game was over, that your parents didn't scream at you when it was just a game, and he had tried to put on the brakes, and by then the sound of the truck was very loud, the sound of it filled the world. It was thundering. Louis had thrown himself forward in a long flying tackle, his shadow tracking the ground beneath him as the shadow of the Vulture had tracked the white late-winter grass of Mrs. Vinton's field that day in March, and he believed that the tips of his fingers had actually brushed the back of the light jacket Gage had been wearing, and then Gage's forward motion had carried him out into the road, and the truck had been thunder, the truck had been sunlight on high chrome, the truck had been the deep-throated, shrieking bellow of an air horn, and that had been Saturday, that had been three days ago.

"I'm okay," he said to Steve. "I ought to go now."

"If you can get yourself together and help them," Steve said, swiping at his eyes with the arm of his jacket, "you'll be helping yourself too. The three of you have got to get through it together, Louis. That's the only way. That's all anybody knows."

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