sk.cujo-第67部分

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m　losing　my　son。
Now　his　teeth　suddenly　clashed　down；　drawing　blood　from　her　probing　fingers　and　from　his　own　cracked　and　blistered　lips。　Blood　ran　down　his　chin。　She　was　hardly　aware　of　the　pain。　Tad's　feet　began　to　rattle　a　mad　tattoo　against　the　floormat　of　the　Pinto。　She　groped　for　the　tip　of　his　tongue　desperately。　She　had　it。。。　and　it　slipped　through　her　fingers　again。
（the　dog　the　goddamned　dog　it's　his　fault　goddam　dog　goddam　hellhound　I'LL　KILL　YOU　I　SWEAR　TO　GOD）
Tad's　teeth　clamped　down　on　her　fingers　again；　and　then　she　had　his　tongue　again　and　this　time　she　did　not　hesitate：　she　dug　her　fingernails　into　its　spongy　top　and　underside　and　pulled　it　forward　like　a　woman　pulling　a　windowshade　down；　at　the　same　time　she　put　her　other　hand　under　his　chin　and　tipped　his　head　back；　creating　the　maximum　airway。　Tad　began　to　gasp　again　…　a　harsh；　rattling　sound；　like　the　breathing　of　an　old　man　with　emphysema。　Then　he　began　to　whoop。
She　slapped　him。　She　didn't　know　what　else　to　do；　so　she　did　that。
Tad　uttered　one　final　tearing　gasp；　and　then　his　breathing　waled　into　a　rapid　pant。　She　was　panting　herself。　Waves　of　dizziness　rushed　over　her。　She　had　twisted　her　bad　leg　somehow；　and　there　was　the　warm　wetness　of　fresh　bleeding。
'Tad！'　She　swallowed　harshly。　'Tad；　can　you　hear　me？'
His　head　nodded。　A　little。　His　eyes　remained　closed。
'Take　it　as　easy　as　you　can。　I　want　you　to　relax。'
。。。　want　to　go　home　。。。　Mommy　。。。　the　monster。　。
'Shhh；　Tadder。　Don't　talk；　and　don't　think　about　monsters。　Here。'　The　Monster　Words　had　fallen　to　the　floor。　She　picked　the　yellow　paper　up　and　put　it　in　his　hand。　Tad　gripped　it　with　panicky　tightness。　'Now　concentrate　on　breathing　slowly　and　regularly；　Tad。　That's　the　way　to　get　home。　Slow　and　regular　breaths。'
Her　eyes　wandered　past　him　and　once　again　she　saw　the　splintery　bat；　its　handle　wrapped　in　friction　tape；　lying　in　the　high　weeds　at　the　right　side　of　the　driveway。
'Just　take　it　easy；　Tadder；　can　you　try　to　do　that？'
Tad　nodded　a　little　without　opening　his　eyes。
'Just　a　little　longer；　hon。　I　promise。　I　promise。'
Outside；　the　day　continued　to　brighten。　Already　it　was　warm。　The　temperature　inside　the　small　car　began　to　climb。
Vic　got　home　at　twenty　past　five。　At　the　time　his　wife　was　pulling　his　son's　tongue　out　of　the　back　of　his　mouth；　he　was　walking　around　the　living　room；　putting　things　slowly　and　dreamily　to　rights；　while　Bannerman；　a　State　Police　detective；　and　a　detective　from　the　state　Attorney　General's　office　sat　on　the　long　sectional　sofa　drinking　instant　coffee。
'I've　already　told　you　everything　I　know；'　Vic　said。　'If　she　isn't　with　the　people　you've　contacted　already；　she's　not　with　anybody。'　He　had　a　broom　and　a　dustpan；　and　he　had　brought　in　the　box　of　Hefty　bags　from　the　kitchen　closet。　Now　he　let　a　panful　of　broken　glass　slide　into　one　of　the　bags　with　an　atonal　jingle。　'Unless　it's　Kemp。'
There　was　an　unfortable　silence。　Vic　couldn't　remember　ever　being　as　tired　as　he　was　now；　but　he　didn't　believe　he　would　be　able　to　sleep　unless　someone　gave　him　a　shot。　He　wasn't　thinking　very　well。　Ten　minutes　after　he　arrived　the　telephone　had　rung　and　he　had　sprung　at　it　like　an　animal；　not　heeding　the　A。　G。's　man's　mild　statement　that　it　was　probably　for　him。　It　hadn't　been；　it　was　Roger；　wanting　to　know　if　Vic　had　gotten　there；　and　if　there　was　any　news。
There　was　some　news；　but　all　of　it　was　maddeningly　inconclusive。　There　had　been　fingerprints　all　over　the　house；　and　a　fingerprint　team；　also　from　Augusta；　had　taken　a　number　of　sets　from　the　living　quarters　adjacent　to　the　small　stripping　shop　where　Steven　Kemp　had　worked　until　recently。　Before　long　the　matching　would　be　done　and　they　would　know　conclusively　if　Kemp　had　been　the　one　who　had　turned　the　downstairs　floor　upside　down。　To　Vic　it　was　so　much　redundancy；　he　knew　in　his　guts　that　it　had　been　Kemp。
The　State　Police　detective　had　run　a　make　on　Kemp's　van。　It　was　a　1971　Ford　Econoline；　Maine　license　641…644。　The　color　was　light　gray；　but　they　knew　from　Kemp's　landlord　…they　had　routed　him　out　of　bed　at　4　Am。　…　that　the　van　had　desert　murals　painted　on　the　sides：　buttes；　mesas；　sand　dunes。　There　were　two　bumper　stickers　on　the　rear；　one　which　said　SPLIT　WOOD；　NOT　ATOMS　and　one　which　said　RONALD　REAGAN　SHOT　J。R。　A　very　hinny　guy；　Steve　Kemp；　the　murals　and　the　bumper　stickers　would　make　the　van　easier　to　identify；　and　unless　he　had　ditched　it；　he　would　almost　certainly　he　spotted　before　the　day　was　out。　The　MV　alert　had　gone　out　to　all　the　New　England　states　and　to　upstate　New　York。　In　addition；　the　FBI　in　Portland　and　Boston　had　been　alerted　to　a　possible　kidnapping；　and　they　were　now　running　Steve　Kemp's　name　through　their　files　in　Washington。　They　would　find　three　minor　busts　dating　back　to　the　Vietnam　war　protests；　one　each　for　the　years　1968…1970。
'There's　only　one　thing　about　all　of　this　that　bothers　me；'　the　A。　G。's　man　said。　His　pad　was　on　his　knee；　but　anything　Vic　could　tell　he　had　already　told　them。　The　man　from　Augusta　was　only　doodling。　'If　I　may　be　frank；　it　bothers　the　shit　out　of　me。'
'What's　that？'　Vic　asked。　He　picked　up　the　family　portrait；　looked　down　at　it；　and　then　tilted　it　so　the　shattered　glass　facing　tumbled　into　the　Hefty　bag　with　another　evil　little　jingle。
'The　car。　Where's　your　wife's　car？'
His　name　was　Masen　…　Masen　with　an　'e'；　he　had　informed　Vic　as　they　shook　hands。　Now　he　went　to　the　window；　slapping　his　pad　absently　against　his　leg。　Vic's　battered　sports　car　was　in　the　driveway；　parked　to　one　side　of　Bannerman's　cruiser。　Vic　had　picked　it　up　at　the　Portland　jetport　and　dropped　off　the　Avis　car　he　had　driven　north　from　Boston。
'What's　that　got　to　do　with　it？'　Vic　asked。
Masen　shrugged。　'Maybe　nothing。　Maybe　something。　Maybe　everything。　Probably　nothing；　but　I　just　don't　like　it。　Kemp　es　here；　right？　Grabs　your　wife　and　son。　Why？　He's　crazy。　That's　reason　enough。　Can't　stand　to　lose。　Maybe　it's　even　his　twisted　idea　of　a　joke。'
These　were　all　things　Vic　himself　had　said；　repeated　back　almost　verbatim。
'So　what　does　he　do？　He　bundles　them　into　his　Ford　van　with　the　desert　murals　on　the　sides。　He's　either　running　with　them　or　he's　holed　up　somewhere。　Right？'
'Yes；　that's　what　I'm　afraid　…'
Masen　turned　from　the　window　'to　look　at　him。　'So　where's　her　car？'
'Well　…'　Vic　tried　hard　to　think。　It　was　hard。　He　was　very　tired。　'Maybe　…'
'Maybe　he　had　a　confederate　who　drove　it　away；'　Masen　said。　'That　would　probably　mean　a　kidnapping　for　ransom。　If　he　took　them　on　his　own；　it　was　probably　just　a　crazy　spur…of…the…moment　thing。　If　it　was　a　kidnapping　for　money；　why　take　the　car　at　all？　To　switch　over　to？　Ridiculous。　That　Pinto's　every　bit　as　hot　as　the　van；　if　a　little　harder　to　recognize。　And　I　repeat；　if　there　was　no　confederate；　if　he　was　by　himself；　who　drove　the　car？'
'Maybe　he　came　back　for　it；'　the　State　Police　detective　rumbled。　'Stowed　the　boy　and　the　missus　and　came　back　for　the　car。'
That　would　present　some　problems　without　a　confederate；'　Masen　said；　'but　I　suppose　he　could　do　it。　Take　them　someplace　close　and　walk　back　for　Mrs。　Trenton's　Pinto；　or　take　them　someplace　far　away　and　thumb　a　ride　back。　But　why？'
Bannerman　spoke　for　the　first　time。　'She　could　have　driven　it　herself。'
Masen　swung　to　look　at　him；　his　eyebrows　going　up。
'If　he　took　the　boy　with　him　…Bannerman　looked　at　Vic　and　nodded　a　little。　'I'm　sorry；　Mr。　Trenton；　but　if　Kemp　took　the　boy　with　him；　belted　him　in；　held　a　gun　on　him；　and　told　your　wife　to　follow　dose；　and　that　something　might　happen　to　the　boy　if　she　tried　anything　clever；　like　turning　off　or　flashing　her　lights　…'
Vic　nodded；　feeling　sick　at　the　picture　it　made。
Masen　seemed　irritated　with　Bannerman；　perhaps　because　he　hadn't　thought　of　the　possibility　himself。　'I　repeat：　to　what　purpose？'
Bannerman　shook　his　head。　Vic　himself　couldn't　think　of　a　single　reason　why　Kemp　would　want　Donna's　car。
Masen　lit　a　Pall　Mall；　coughed；　and　looked　around　for　an　ashtray。
'I'm　sorry；'　Vic　said；　again　feeling　Iike　an　actor；　someone　outside　himself；　saying　lines　that　had　been　written　for　him。　'The　two　ashtrays　in　here　were　broken。　I'll　get　you　one　from　the　kitchen。'
Masen　walked　out　with　him；　took　an　ashtray；　and　said；　'Let's　go　out　on　the　steps