sk.cujo-第52部分

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He　thanked　her　and　told　her　he　would　ring　back　toward　the　end　of　the　month。　He　hung　up　before　she　could　ask　for　his　number；　since　the　office　of　the　House　of　Lights；　Inc。；　was　in　a　Congress　Street　phone　booth　across　from　Joe's　Smoke　Shop。
Now　here　he　was；　eating　cheeseburgers　and　wondering　what　to　do　next。　As　if　you　didn't　know；　an　interior　voice　whispered。
He　started　the　van　up　and　headed　for　Castle　Rock。　By　the　time　he　finished　his　lunch　（the　Dilly　Bar　was　practically　running　down　the　stick　in　the　heat）；　he　was　in　North　Windham。　He　threw　his　trash　on　the　floor　of　the　van；　where　it　joined　a　drift　of　like　stuff　…　plastic　drink　containers；　Big　Mac　boxes；　returnable　beer　and　soda　bottles；　empty　cigarette　packs。　Littering　was　an　antisocial；　anti…environmentalist　act；　and　he　didn't　do　it。
Steve　got　to　the　Trenton　house　at　just　half　past　three　on　that　hot；　glaring　afternoon。　Acting　with　almost　subliminal　caution；　he　drove　past　the　house　without　slowing　and　parked　around　the　er　on　a　side　street　about　a　quarter　of　a　mile　away。　He　walked　back。
The　driveway　was　empty；　and　he　felt　a　pang　of　frustrated　disappointment。　He　would　not　admit　to　himself　…　especially　now　that　it　looked　like　she　was　out　…　that　he　had　intended　to　give　her　a　taste　of　what　she　had　been　so　eager　to　have　during　the　spring。　Nevertheless；　he　had　driven　all　the　way　from　Westbrook　to　Castle　Rock　with　a　semi…erection　that　only　now　collapsed　pletely。
She　was　gone。
No；　the　car　was　…gone。　One　thing　didn't　necessarily　prove　the　other；　did　it？
Steve　looked　around　himself。
What　we　have　here；　ladies　and　gents；　is　a　peaceful　suburban　street　on　a　summer's　day；　most　of　the　kiddies　in　for　naps；　most　of　the　little　wifies　either　doing　likewise　or　glued　to　their　TVs；　checking　out　Love　of　Life　or　Search　for　Tomorrow。　All　the　Handsome　Hubbies　are　busy　earning　their　way　into　higher　tax　brackets　and　very　possibly　a　bed　in　the　Intensive　Care　ward　at　the　Eastern　Maine　Medical　Center。　Two　little　kids　were　playing　hopscotch　on　a　blurred　chalk　grid；　they　were　wearing　bathing　suits　and　sweating　heavily。　An　old　balding　lady　was　trundling　a　wire　shopping　caddy　back　from　town　as　if　both　she　and　it　were　made　of　the　finest　bone　china。　She　gave　the　kids　playing　hopscotch　a　wide　berth。
In　short；　not　much　happening。　The　street　was　dozing　in　the　heat。
Steve　walked　up　the　sloping　driveway　as　if　he　had　every　right　to　be　there。　First　he　looked　in　the　tiny　one…car　garage。　He　had　never　known　Donna　to　use　it；　because　the　doorway　was　so　narrow。　If　she　put　a　dent　in　the　car；　Handsome　Hubby　would　give　her　hell　…　no；　excuse　me；　he　would　give　her　beck。
The　garage　was　empty。　No　Pinto；　no　elderly　jag　
Donna's　Handsome　Hubby　was　into　what　was　known　as　sports　car　menopause。　She　hadn't　liked　him　saying　that；　but　Steve　had　never　seen　a　more　obvious　case。
Steve　left　the　garage　and　went　up　the　three　steps　to　the　back　stoop。　Tried　the　door。　Found　it　unlocked。　He　went　inside　without　knocking　after　another　casual　glance　around　to　make　sure　no　one　was　m　sight。
He　closed　the　door　on　the　silence　of　the　house。　Once　more　his　heart　was　knocking　heavily　in　his　chest；　seeming　to　shake　his　whole　ribcage。　And　once　again　he　was　not　admitting　things。　He　didn't　have　to　admit　them。　They　were　there　just　the　same。
'Hi！　Anybody　home？'　His　voice　was　loud；　honest；　pleasant；　inquiring。
'Hi？'　He　was　halfway　down　the　hall　now。
Obviously　no　one　home。　The　house　had　a　silent；　hot；　waiting　feel。　An　empty　house　full　of　furniture　was　somehow　creepy　when　it　wasn't　your　house。　You　felt　watched。
'Hello？　Anybody　home？'　One　last　time。
Give　her　something　to　remember　you　by；　then。　And　split。
He　went　into　the　living　room　and　stood　looking　around。　His　shirtsleeves　were　rolled　up；　his　forearms　lightly　slicked　with　sweat。　Now　things　could　be　admitted。　How　he　had　wanted　to　kill　her　when　she　called　him　a　son　of　a　bitch；　her　spittle　spraying　on　his　face。　How　he　had　wanted　to　kill　her　for　making　him　feel　old　and　scared　and　not　able　to　keep　on　top　of　the　situation　any　more。　The　letter　had　been　something；　but　the　letter　hadn't　been　enough。
To　his　right；　knickknacks　stood　on　a　series　of　glass　shelves。　He　turned　and　gave　the　bottom　shelf　a　sudden　hard　kick。　It　disintegrated。　The　frame　tottered　and　then　fell　over；　spraying　glass；　spraying　little　china　figurines　of　cats　and　shepherds　and　all　that　happy　bourgeois　horseshit。　A　pulse　throbbed　in　the　center　of　his　forehead。　He　was　grimacing；　unaware　of　the　fact。　He　walked　carefully　over　the　unbroken　figurines；　crushing　them　into　powder。　He　pulled　a　family　portrait　from　the　wall；　looked　curiously　at　the　smiling　face　of　Vic　Trenton　for　a　moment　（Tad　was　sitting　on　his　lap；　and　his　arm　was　around　Donna's　waist）；　and　then　he　dropped　the　picture　to　the　floor　and　stamped　down　hard　on　the　glass。
He　looked　around；　breathing　hard；　as　if　he　had　just　run　a　race。　And　suddenly　he　went　after　the　room　as　if　it　were　something　alive；　something　that　had　hurt　him　badly　and　needed　to　be　punished；　as　if　it　were　the　room　that　had　caused　his　pain。　He　pushed　over　Vic's　La…Z…Boy　recliner。　He　upended　the　couch。　It　stood　on　end　for　a　moment；　rocking　uneasily；　and　then　went　down　with　a　crash；　breaking　the　back　of　the　coffee　table　which　had　stood　in　front　of　it*。　He　pulled　all　the　books　out　of　the　bookcases；　cursing　the　shitty　taste　of　the　people　who　had　bought　them　under　his　breath　as　he　did　it。　He　picked　up　the　magazine　stand　and　threw　it　overhand　at　the　mirror　over　the　mantelpiece；　shattering　it。　Big　pieces　of　black…backed　mirror　fell　onto　the　floor　like　chunks　of　a　jigsaw　puzzle。　He　was　snorting　now；　like　a　bull　in　heat。　His　thin　cheeks　were　almost　purple　with　color。
He　went　into　the　kitchen　by　way　of　the　small　dining　room。　As　he　walked　past　the　dining…room　table　Donna's　parents　had　bought　them　as　a　housewarming　present；　he　extended　his　arm　straight　out　and　swept　everything　off　onto　the　floor　…　the　lazy　Susan　with　its　plement　of　spices；　the　cut…glass　vase　Donna　had　gotten　for　a　dollar　and　a　quarter　at　the　Emporium　Galorium　in　Bridgton　the　summer　previous；　Vic's　graduation　beer　stein。　The　ceramic　salt　and　pepper　shakers　shattered　like　bombs。　His　erection　was　back　now；　raging。　Thoughts　of　caution；　of　possible　discovery；　had　departed　his　mind。　He　was　somewhere　inside。　He　was　down　a　dark　hole。
In　the　kitchen　he　yanked　the　bottom　drawer　of　the　stove　out　to　its　stop　and　threw　pots　and　pans　everywhere。　They　made　a　dreadful　clatter；　but　there　was　no　satisfaction　in　mere　clatter。　A　rank　of　cupboards　ran　around　three　of　the　room's　four　sides。　He　pulled　them　open　one　after　the　other。　He　grabbed　plates　by　the　double　handful　and　threw　them　on　the　floor。　Crockery　jingled　musically。　He　swept　the　glasses　out　and　grunted　as　they　broke。　Among　them　was　a　set　of　eight　delicate　long…stemmed　wine　glasses　that　Donna　had　had　since　she　was　twelve　years　old。　She　had　read　about　'hope　chests'　in　some　magazine　or　other　and　had　determined　to　have　such　a　chest　of　her　own。　As　it　turned　out；　the　wine　glasses　were　the　only　thing　she　had　actually　put　in　hers　before　losing　interest　（her　original　grand　intention　had　been　to　lay　by　enough　to　pletely　furnish　her　bridal　house　or　flat）；　but　she　had　had　them　for　more　than　half　her　life；　and　they　were　treasured。
The　gravy　boat　went。　The　big　serving　platter。　The　Sears　radioltape　player　went　on　the　floor　with　a　heavy　crunch。　Steve　Kemp　danced　on　it；　he　boogied　on　it。　His　penis；　hard　as　stone；　throbbed　inside　his　pants。　The　vein　in　the　center　of　his　forehead　throbbed　in　counterpoint。　He　discovered　booze　under　the　small　chromium　sink　in　the　corner。　He　yanked　out　half…　and　three…quarters…full　bottles　by　the　armload　and　then　flung　them　at　the　closed　door　of　the　kitchen　closet　one　by　one；　throwing　them　overhand　as　hard　as　he　could；　the　next　day　his　right　arm　would　be　so　stiff　and　sore　he　would　barely　be　able　to　lift　it　to　shoulder　level。　Soon　the　blue　closet　door　was　running　with　Gilbey's　Pi；　jack　Daniel's；　J　&　B　whisky；　sticky　green　creme　de　menthe；　the　amaretto　that　had　been　a　Christmas　present　from　Roger　and　Althea　Breakstone。　Glass　twinkled　benignly　in　the　hot　afternoon　sunlight　pouring　through　the　windows　over　the　sink。
Steve　tore　into　the　laundry　room；　where　he　found　boxes　of　bleach；　Spic　'n　Span；　Downy　fabric　softener　in　a　larg