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Lisey's story: a novel by Stephen King

Lisey's story: a novel by Stephen King

Author:Stephen King [King, Stephen]
Language: nld
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780743289412
Publisher: New York : Scribner, c2006.
Published: 2009-12-19T21:00:00+00:00


XI. Lisey and The Pool

(Shhhh—Now You Must Be Still)

1

Lisey’s greatest fear, that the late-morning heat would overcome her and she’d pass out halfway between the barn and the house, came to nothing. The sun obliged her by ducking behind a cloud, and a cap of cool breeze materialized to briefly soothe her overheated skin and flushed, swollen face. By the time she got to the back stoop, the deep laceration in her breast was pounding again, but the dark wings stayed away. There was a bad moment when she couldn’t find her housekey, but eventually her fumbling fingers touched the fob—a little silver elf—beneath the wad of Kleenex she usually carried in her right front pocket, so that was all right. And the house was cool. Cool and silent and blessedly hers. Now if it would only remain hers while she tended herself. No calls, no visitors, no six-foot deputies lumbering up to the back door to check on her. Also, please God (pretty please) no return visit from the Black Prince of the Incunks.

She crossed the kitchen and got the white plastic basin out from under the sink. It hurt to bend, hurt a lot, and once more she felt the warmth of flowing blood on her skin and soaking the remains of her shredded top.

He got off on doing it—you know that, don’t you?

Of course she did.

And he’ll be back. No matter what you promise—no matter what you deliver—he’ll be back. Do you know that, too?

Yes, she knew that, too.

Because to Jim Dooley, his deal with Woodbody and Scott’s manuscripts are all just so much ding-dong for the freesias. There’s a reason why he went for your boob instead of your earlobe or maybe a finger.

“Sure,” she told her empty kitchen—shady, then suddenly bright as the sun sailed out from behind a cloud. “It’s the Jim Dooley version of great sex. And next time it will be my pussy, if the cops don’t stop him.”

You stop him, Lisey. You.

“Don’t be silly, dollink,” she told the empty kitchen in her best Zsa Zsa Gabor voice. Once again using her right hand, she opened the cupboard over the toaster, took out a box of Lipton teabags, and put them into the white basin. She added the bloody square of the african from Good Ma’s cedar box, although she had absolutely no idea why she was still carrying it. Then she began trudging toward the stairs.

What’s silly about it? You stopped Blondie, didn’t you? Maybe you didn’t get the credit, but you were the one who did it.

“That was different.” She stood looking up the stairs with the white plastic basin under her right arm, held against her hip so the box of tea and the piece of knitting wouldn’t fall out. The stairs looked approximately eight miles high. Lisey thought there really ought to be clouds swirling around the top.

If it was different, why are you going upstairs?

“Because that’s where the Vicodin is!” she cried to the empty house. “The damned old feel-better pills!”

The voice said one more thing and fell silent.



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