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R Yes it' Visit our shop: "There is one thought I would like to leave you with. Thomas Szasz? We think we know so much, but we really don't know any more than a rat in a trap ? a rat with a broken back that thinks it still wants to live. He supposed he should count himself lucky that she hadn't re-broken his legs with a baseball bat or given him a battery-acid manicure or something similar to indicate her displeasure with the way he had begun her book ? such critical responses were always possible, given Annie's unique view of the world. I also knew that there is rarely such a thing as a "minor accident»on those twisty upcountry roads. Paul regarded this a moment, then opened his pad, picked up a pencil, and found the hole in the paper. As she fell this time her head twisted at an angle and he saw her eyes looking at him with an _expression_ that was questioning and somehow terrible: What happened, Paul?The pain! "I just want that one single cigarette. you know don't you? ""I know you're not,»he said, becoming more nervous still. He answered with no hesitation at all. He was as scared of her as ever, but her hold over him had nonetheless diminished. I thought the stuff in them had been sort of stirred around, and I was pretty sure that one of the cartons that was on the bottom before was on top of some of the other cartons now, but I couldn't be sure. He was surprised at how calm he felt ? the strongest emotion in him right now was mild annoyance at being interrupted just when it was starting to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. "He was watching her shrewdly, and again saw a flicker of uncertainty, of wanting to believe, in her eyes. I guess I'll go in on foot and check when the water goes down a little, but I'm almost positive it's safe. He got out of his well-kept Chevrolet Bel Air, holding part of the Camaro's bumper in one hand and its steering wheel in the other. Identical rows of men (with identical bottles of nutrient hung from identical IV trays beside their beds) filled the place. Sometimes thoughts came, and sometimes there was pain, and sometimes, dimly, he heard Annie's voice, sounding the way it had when the burning manuscript in the barbecue had threatened to get out of control: "Drink this, Paul. "Novril,»he muttered, raking wildly through the box while sweat ran down his face and his legs pounded and throbbed. Impossible to tell what they were, of course, but in his imagination (your MIND your CREATIVITY that is all I meant) he could see her pushing bales of hay out of the loft with the heel of her boot, could see them tumbling to the barn floor. Following the amputation of his thumb there had been a dim period when Paul's greatest single accomplishment, other than working on the novel, had been to keep track of the days. If she had insisted on testifying in her own behalf at her trial, Paul thought, her lawyer probably would have shot her to shut her up. And that other voice returned at once: I don't know if you'll be damned by God or saved by him, Paulie, but one thing I do know: if you don't find a way to bring Misery back to life a way she can believe ? she's going to kill you. He had time enough to realize his foot was now only held on his leg by the meat of his calf before blade came down again, directly into the gash, shear through the rest of his leg and burying itself deep in mattress. He wasn't sure he would have taken the chance even if the white powder inside the capsules had been almost or completely tasteless. "Suddenly she kicked the front bumper of Mr Rancho Grande's car, kicked it hard enough to knock packed chunks of snow out of the wheel-wells. If it was obvious to him even through the haze of pain he had been living in, it would surely have been obvious to her colleagues. He had set out to get a video recorder and had gotten something much better instead. Pry open the medicine cabinet door and then just knock a bunch of stuff out into the basin. But during this electric three-week period, which came to an end with the rainstorm of April 15th, Paul averaged twelve pages a day ? seven in the morning, five more in an evening session. It was only the thought of the pills, the Novril that she kept somewhere in the house, which got him moving. He grasped the right wheel, shuddering, (think of the pills, think of the relief of the pills) and bore down on it as hard as he could. |