Christine - Stephen King [133]
'Good night,' he repeated. 'Good night, Rudy.'
Junkins looked at him a moment longer, troubled, and then left.
Arnie began to shake all over. The trembling started in his hands and spread up his forearms to his elbows, and then it was suddenly everywhere. He grabbed blindly for the doorhandle, found it at last, and slipped into Christine, into the comforting smells of car and fresh upholstery. He turned the key to ACC, the dash lights glowed, and he felt for the radio dial.
As he did so his eyes fell on the swinging leather tab with R.D.L. branded into it and his dream recurred with sudden terrible force: the rotting corpse sitting where he was sitting now; the empty eyesockets staring out through the windshield; the fingerbones gripping the wheel; the empty grin of the skull's teeth as Christine bore down on Moochie Welch while the radio, tuned to WDIL, played 'Last Kiss' by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers.
He suddenly felt sick - puking-sick. Nausea fluttered sickeningly in his stomach and in the back of his throat. Arnie scrambled out of the car and ran for the head, his footfalls hammering crazily in his cars. He just made it. Everything came up; he vomited again and again until there was nothing left but sour spit. Lights danced in front of his eyes. His ears rang and the muscles in his gut throbbed tiredly.
He looked at his pale, harried face in the spotty mirror, at the dark circles under his eyes and the lank spill of hair across his forehead, Junkins was right. He looked like hell.
But his pimples were all gone.
He laughed crazily. He wouldn't give Christine up, no matter what. That was the one thing he wouldn't do. He -
And suddenly he had to do it, again, only there was nothing left to come up: only ripping, clenching dry-heaves and that electric taste of spit in his mouth again.
He had to talk to Leigh. Quite suddenly he had to talk to Leigh.
He let himself into Will's office, where the only sound was the thump of the time clock bolted on the wall turning up fresh minutes. He dialled the Cabots' number from memory but miscued twice because his fingers were trembling so badly.
Leigh herself answered, her voice sounding sleepy.
'Arnie?'
'I have to talk to you, Leigh. I have to see you.'
'Arnie, it's almost ten o'clock. I just got out of the shower and into bed I was almost asleep.'
'Please,' he said, and shut his eyes.
'Tomorrow,' she said. 'It can't be tonight, my folks wouldn't let me out so late - '
'It's only ten. And it's Friday.'
'They really don't want me to see so much of you Arnie. They liked you at first, and my dad still does but they both think you've gotten a little spooky There was a long, long pause at Leigh's end. 'I think you have, too,' she said finally.
'Does that mean you don't want to see me anymore?' he asked dully. His stomach hurt, his back hurt, everything hurt.
'No.' Now the faintest reproach crept into her voice. 'I was kind of getting the idea that you didn't want to see me not at school, and nights you're always down there at the garage. Working on your car.'
'That's all done,' he said. And then, with a monstrous effort: 'It's the car I want to - oww, goddammit!' He grabbed at his back, where there had been another huge bolt of pain, and got only a handful of back brace.
'Arnie?' She was alarmed. 'Are you all right?'
'Yeah. I had a twinge in my back.'
'What were you going to say?'
'Tomorrow,' he said. 'We'll drive over to Baskin-Robbins and have an ice cream and maybe do some Christmas shopping and have some supper and I'll have you home by seven. And I won't be weird, I promise.'
She laughed a little, and Arnie felt a great, sweeping relief. It was like balm. 'You dummy.'
'Does that mean okay?'
'Yes, it means okay.' Leigh paused and then said softly, 'I said my parents didn't want me to see so much of you. I didn't say I wanted that.'
'Thanks,' he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. 'Thanks for that.'
'What do you want to talk to me about?'
Christine. I want to talk to you about her - and about my dreams. And about why I look like hell. And