by Stephen King
She took his meaning and nodded. 'Where are L-Lachesis and C-C--'
'On a level where the wind doesn't freeze your ass off, I imagine. Come on. Let's find a door and get the hell off this roof.'
She stayed where she was a moment longer, though, shivering and looking across town. 'What has he done?' she asked in a small voice. 'If he hasn't planted a bomb in there, what can he have done?'
'Maybe he has planted a bomb and the dogs with the educated noses just haven't found it yet. Or maybe it's something the dogs aren't trained to find. A canister stuck up in the rafters, say - a little something nasty Ed whipped up in the bathtub. Chemistry is what he did for a living, after all . . . at least until he gave up his job to become a full-time psycho. He could be planning to gas them like rats.'
'Oh Jesus, Ralph!' She put her hand to her chest just above the swell of her bosom and looked at him with wide, dismayed eyes.
'Come on, Lois. Let's get off this damned roof.'
This time she came willingly enough. Ralph led her toward the roof door . . . which, he fervently hoped, they would find unlocked.
'Two thousand people,' she almost moaned as they reached the door. Ralph was relieved when the knob turned under his hand, but Lois seized his wrist with chilly fingers before he could pull the door open. Her uptilted face was full of frantic hope. 'Maybe those little men were lying, Ralph - maybe they've got their own axe to grind, something we couldn't even hope to understand, and they were lying.'
'I don't think they can lie,' he said slowly. 'That's the hell of it, Lois - I don't think they can. And then there's that.' He pointed at the Civic Center, at the dirty membrane they couldn't see but which both knew was still there. Lois would not turn to look at it. She put her cold hand over his instead, pulled the roof door open, and started down the stairs.
2
Ralph opened the door at the foot of the stairs, peeped into the sixth-floor corridor, saw that it was empty, and drew Lois out of the stairwell. They headed for the elevators, then stopped together outside an open door with DOCTOR'S LOUNGE printed on the wall beside it in bright red letters. Inside was the room they had seen on their way up to the roof with Clotho and Lachesis - Winslow Homer prints hanging crooked on the walls, a Silex standing on a hotplate, hideous Swedish Modern furniture. No one was in the room right now, but the TV bolted to the wall was playing nevertheless, and their old friend Lisette Benson was reading the morning news. Ralph remembered the day he and Lois and Bill had sat in Lois's living room, eating macaroni and cheese as they watched Lisette Benson report on the doll-throwing incident at WomanCare. Less than a month ago that had been. He suddenly remembered that Bill McGovern would never watch Lisette Benson again, or forget to lock the front door, and a sense of loss as fierce as a November gale swept through him. He could not completely believe it, at least not yet. How could Bill have died so quickly and so unceremoniously? He would have hated it, Ralph thought, and not just because he would have considered dying of a heart attack in a hospital corridor in bad taste. He would've considered it bad theater, as well.
But he had seen it happen, and Lois had actually felt it eating away at Bill's insides. That made Ralph think of the deathbag surrounding the Civic Center, and what was going to happen there if they didn't stop the speech. He started toward the elevator again, but Lois pulled him back. She was looking at the TV, fascinated.
'- will feel a lot of relief when tonight's speech by feminist abortion-rights advocate Susan Day is history,' Lisette Benson was saying, 'but the police aren't the only ones who will feel that way. Apparently both pro-life and pro-choice advocates are beginning to feel the strain of living on the edge of confrontation. John Kirkland is live at the Derry Civic Center this morning, and he has more. John?'
The pallid, unsmiling man standing next to Kirkland was Dan Dalton. The button on his shirt showed a scalpel descending toward an infant with its knees drawn up in the fetal position. This was surrounded by a red circle with a diagonal red line slashed across it. Ralph could see half a dozen police cars and two news trucks, one with the NBC logo on its side, in the background of the shot. A uniformed cop strolled across the lawn leading two dogs - a bloodhound and a German Shepherd - on leashes.
'That's right, Lisette, I'm here at the Civic Center, where the mood could be termed one of worry and quiet determination. With me is Dan Dalton, President of The Friends of Life organization which has been so vehemently opposed to Ms Day's speech. Mr Dalton, would you agree with that assessment of the situation?'
'That there's a lot of worry and determination in the air?' Dalton asked. To Ralph his smile looked both nervous and disdainful. 'Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. We're worried that Susan Day, one of this country's greatest unindicted criminals, will succeed in her efforts to confuse the central issue here in Derry: the murder of twelve to fourteen helpless unborn children each and every day.'
'But Mr Dalton--'
'And,' Dalton overrode him, 'we are determined to show a watching nation that we are not willing to be good Nazis, that we are not all cowed by the religion of political correctness - the dreaded pee-cee.'
'Mr Dalton--'
'We are also determined to show a watching nation that some of us are still capable of standing up for our beliefs, and to fulfill the sacred responsibility which a loving God has--'
'Mr Dalton, are The Friends of Life planning any sort of violent protest here?'
That shut him up for a moment and at least temporarily drained all the canned vitality from his face. With it gone, Ralph saw a dismaying thing: underneath his bluster, Dalton was scared to death.
'Violence?' he said at last. He brought the word out carefully, like something that could give his mouth a bad cut if mishandled. 'Good Lord, no. The Friends of Life reject the idea that two wrongs can ever make a right. We intend to mount a massive demonstration - we are being joined in this fight by pro-life advocates from Augusta, Portland, Portsmouth, and even Boston - but there will be no violence.'
'What about Ed Deepneau? Can you speak for him?'
Dalton's lips, already thinned down to little more than a seam, now seemed to disappear altogether. 'Mr Deepneau is no longer associated with The Friends of Life,' he said. Ralph thought he detected both fear and anger in Dalton's tone. 'Neither are Frank Felton, Sandra McKay, and Charles Pickering, in case you intended to ask.'
John Kirkland's glance at the camera was brief but telling. It said that he thought Dan Dalton was as nutty as a bag of trail-mix.
'Are you saying that Ed Deepneau and these other individuals - I'm sorry, I don't know who they are - have formed their own anti-abortion group? A kind of offshoot?'
'We are not anti-abortion, we are pro-life!' Dalton cried. 'There's a big difference, but you reporters seem to keep missing it!'
'So you don't know Ed Deepneau's whereabouts, or what - if anything - he might be planning?'
'I don't know where he is, I don't care where he is, and I don't care about his . . . offshoots, either.'
You're afraid, though, Ralph thought. And if a self-righteous little prick like you is afraid, I think I'm terrified.
Dalton started off. Kirkland, apparently deciding he wasn't wrung completely dry yet, walked after him, shaking out his microphone cord as he went.
'But isn't it true, Mr Dalton, that while he was a member of The Friends of Life, Ed Deepneau instigated several violence-oriented protests, including one last month where dolls soaked with artificial blood were thrown--'
'You're all the same, aren't you?' Dan Dalton asked. 'I'll pray for you, my friend.' He stalked off.
Kirkland looked after him for a moment, bemused, then turned back to the camera. 'We tried to get hold of Mr Dalton's opposite number - Gretchen Tillbury, who has taken on the formidable job of coordinating this event for WomanCare - but she was unavailable for comment. We've heard that Ms Tillbury is at High Ridge, a women's shelter and halfway house which is owned and operated by WomanCare. Presumably, she and her associa
tes are out there putting the finishing touches on plans for what they hope will be a safe, violence-free rally and speech at the Civic Center tonight.'
Ralph glanced at Lois and said, 'Okay - now we know where we're going, at least.'
The TV picture switched to Lisette Benson, in the studio. 'John, are there any real signs of possible violence at the Civic Center?'
Back to Kirkland, who had returned to his original location in front of the cop cars. He was holding up a small white rectangle with some printing on it in front of his tie. 'Well, the private security police on duty here found hundreds of these file-cards scattered on the Civic Center's front lawn this morning just after first light. One of the guards claims to have seen the vehicle they were dumped from. He says it was a Cadillac from the late sixties, either brown or black. He didn't get the license number, but says there was a sticker on the back bumper reading ABORTION IS MURDER, NOT CHOICE.'
Back to the studio, where Lisette Benson was looking mighty interested. 'What's on those cards, John?'
Back to Kirkland.
'I guess you'd have to say it's sort of a riddle.' He glanced down at the card. '"If you have a gun loaded with only two bullets and you're in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and an abortionist, what do you do?"' Kirkland looked back up into the camera and said, 'The answer printed on the other side, Lisette, is "Shoot the abortionist twice."
'This is John Kirkland, reporting live from the Derry Civic Center.'
3
'I'm starving,' Lois said as Ralph carefully guided the Oldsmobile down the series of parking-garage ramps which would presumably set them free . . . if Ralph didn't miss any of the exit signs, that was. 'And if I'm exaggerating, I'm not doing it by much.'
'Me too,' Ralph said. 'And considering that we haven't eaten since Tuesday, I guess that's to be expected. We'll grab a good sit-down breakfast on the way out to High Ridge.'
'Do we have time?'
'We'll make time. After all, an army fights on its stomach.'
'I suppose so, although I don't feel very army-ish. Do you know where--'
'Hush a second, Lois.'
He stopped the Oldsmobile short, put the gearshift lever in Park, and listened. There was a clacking sound from under the hood that he didn't like very much. Of course the concrete walls of places like this tended to magnify sounds, but still . . .
'Ralph?' she asked nervously. 'Don't tell me something's wrong with the car. Just don't tell me that, okay?'
'I think it's fine,' he said, and began creeping toward daylight again. 'I've just kind of fallen out of touch with old Nellie here since Carol died. Forgotten what kinds of sounds she makes. You were going to ask me something, weren't you?'
'If you know where that shelter is. High Ridge.'
Ralph shook his head. 'Somewhere out near the Newport town line is all I know. I don't think they're supposed to tell men where it is. I was kind of hoping you might have heard.'
Lois shook her head. 'I never had to use a place like that, thank God. We'll have to call her. The Tillbury woman. You've met her with Helen, so you can talk to her. She'll listen to you.'
She gave him a brief glance, one that warmed his heart - Anyone with any sense would listen to you, Ralph, it said - but Ralph shook his head. 'I bet the only calls she's taking today are ones that come from the Civic Center or from wherever Susan Day is.' He shot her a glance. 'You know, that woman's got a lot of guts, coming here. Either that or she's donkey-dumb.'
'Probably a little of both. If Gretchen Tillbury won't take a call, how will we get in touch with her?'
'Well, I tell you what. I was a salesman for a lot of what Faye Chapin would call my real life, and I bet I can still be inventive when I need to be.' He thought of the information-lady with the orange aura and grinned. 'Persuasive, too, maybe.'
'Ralph?' Her voice was small.
'What, Lois?'
'This feels like real life to me.'
He patted her hand. 'I know what you mean.'
4
A familiar skinny face poked out of the pay-booth of the hospital parking garage; a familiar grin - one from which at least half a dozen teeth had gone AWOL - brightened it.
'Eyyyy, Ralph, dat you? Goddam if it ain't! Beauty! Beauty!'
'Trigger?' Ralph asked slowly. 'Trigger Vachon?'
'None udder!' Trigger flipped his lank brown hair out of his eyes so he could get a better look at Lois. 'And who's dis marigold here? I know her from somewhere, goddam if I don't!'
'Lois Chasse,' Ralph said, taking his parking ticket from its place over the sun-visor. 'You might have known her husband, Paul--'
'Goddam right I did!' Trigger cried. 'We was weekend warriors togedder, back in nineteen-seb'ny, maybe seb'ny-one! Closed down Nan's Tavern more'n once! My suds n body! How is Paul dese days, ma'am?'
'Mr Chasse passed on a little over two years ago,' Lois said.
'Oh, damn! I'm sorry to hear it. He was a champ of a guy, Paul Chasse. Just an all-around champ of a guy. Everybody liked him.' Trigger looked as distressed as he might have done if she had told him it had happened only that morning.
'Thank you, Mr Vachon.' Lois glanced at her watch, then looked up at Ralph. Her stomach rumbled, as if to add one final point to the argument.
Ralph handed his parking ticket through the open window of the car, and as Trigger took it, Ralph suddenly realized the stamp would show that he and Lois had been here since Tuesday night. Almost sixty hours.
'What happened to the dry-cleaning business, Trig?' he asked hastily.
'Ahhh, dey laid me off,' Trigger said. 'Didn't I tell you? Laid almos everybody off. I was downhearted at first, but I caught on here last April, and . . . eyyy! I like dis all kindsa better. I got my little TV for when it's slow, and there ain't nobody beepin their horns at me if I don't go the firs second a traffic-light turns green, or cuttin me off out dere on the Extension. Everyone in a hurry to get to the nex place, dey are, jus why I dunno. Also, I tell you what, Ralph: dat damn van was colder'n a witch's tit in the winter. Pardon me, ma'am.'
Lois did not reply. She seemed to be studying the backs of her hands with great interest. Ralph, meanwhile, watched with relief as Trigger crumpled up the parking ticket and tossed it into his wastebasket without so much as a glance at the time-and-date stamp. He punched one of the buttons on his cash-register, and $0.00 popped up on the screen in the booth's window.
'Jeez, Trig, that's really nice of you,' Ralph said.
'Eyyy, don't mention it,' Trigger said, and grandly punched another button. This one raised the barrier in front of the booth. 'Good to see you. Say, you member dat time out by the airport? Gosh! Hotter'n hell, it was, and dose two fella almos got in a punchup? Den it rained like a bugger. Hailed some, too. You was walkin and I give you a ride home. Oney seen you once or twice since den.' He took a closer look at Ralph. 'You look a hell of a lot better today than you did den, Ralphie, I'll tell you dat. Hell, you don't look a day over fifty-five. Beauty!'
Beside him, Lois's stomach rumbled again, louder this time. She went on studying the backs of her hands.
'I feel a little older than that, though,' Ralph said. 'Listen, Trig, it was good to see you, but we ought to--'
'Damn,' Trigger said, and his eyes had gone distant. 'I had sumpin to tell you, Ralph. At least I t'ink I did. Bout dat day. Gosh, ain't I got a dumb old head!'
Ralph waited a moment longer, uncomfortably poised between impatience and curiosity. 'Well, don't feel bad about it, Trig. That was a long time ago.'
'What the hell . . .?' Trigger asked himself. He gazed up at the ceiling of his little booth, as if the answer might be written there.
'Ralph, we ought to go,' Lois said. 'It's not just wanting breakfast, either.'
'Yes. You're right.' He got the Oldsmobile rolling slowly again. 'If you think of it, Trig, give me a call. I'm in the book. It was good to see you.'
Trigger Vachon ignored this completely; he no longer seemed aware of Ralph at all, in fact. 'Was it sumpi
n we saw?' he enquired of the ceiling. 'Or sumpin we did? Gosh!'
He was still looking up there and scratching the frizz of hair on the nape of his neck when Ralph turned left and, with a final wave, guided his Oldsmobile down Hospital Drive toward the low brick building which housed WomanCare.
5
Now that the sun was up, there was only a single security guard, and no demonstrators at all. Their absence made Ralph remember all the jungle epics he'd seen as a young man, especially the part where the native drums would stop and the hero - Jon Hall or Frank Buck - would turn to his head bearer and say he didn't like it, it was too quiet. The guard took a clipboard from under his arm, squinted at Ralph's Olds, and wrote something down - the plate number, Ralph supposed. Then he came ambling toward them along the leaf-strewn walk.
At this hour of the morning, Ralph had his pick of the ten-minute spaces across from the building. He parked, got out, then came around to open Lois's door, as he had been trained.
'How do you want to handle this?' she asked as he took her hand and helped her out.
'We'll probably have to be a little cute, but let's not get carried away. Right?'
'Right.' She ran a nervous, patting hand down the front of her coat as they crossed, then flashed a megawatt smile at the security guard. 'Good morning, officer.'
'Morning.' He glanced at his watch. 'I don't think there's anyone in there just yet but the receptionist and the cleaning woman.'
'The receptionist is who we want to see,' Lois said cheerfully. It was news to Ralph. 'Barbie Richards. Her aunt Simone has a message for her to pass along. Very important. Just say it's Lois Chasse.'
The security guard thought this over, then nodded toward the door. 'That won't be necessary. You go on right ahead, ma'am.'
Lois said, smiling more brilliantly than ever,'We won't be two shakes, will we, Norton?'
'Shake and a half, more like it,' Ralph agreed. As they approached the building and left the security man behind he leaned toward her and murmured: 'Norton? Good God, Lois, Norton?'
'It was the first name that came into my head,' she replied. 'I guess I was thinking of The Honeymooners - Ralph and Norton, remember?'
