Four Past Midnight - Stephen King [375]
'What did you tell Mom?' Kevin asked.
'That it was man-to-man stuff.' Mr Delevan smiled a little. 'I think she thinks you want to talk about masturbating.'
Kevin flushed.
Mr Delevan looked concerned. 'You don't, do you? I mean, you know about -'
'I know, I know,' Kevin said hastily; he was not about to tell his father (and wasn't sure he would have been able to put the right string of words together, even if he had wanted to) that what had thrown him momentarily off-track was finding out that not only did his father know about whacking off - which of course shouldn't have surprised him at all but somehow did, leaving him with feelings of surprise at his own surprise - but that his mother somehow did, too.
Never mind. All this had nothing to do with the nightmares, or with the new certainty which had locked into place in his head.
'It's about Pop, I told you. And some bad dreams I've been having. But mostly it's about the camera. Because Pop stole it somehow, Dad.'
'Kevin -'
'I beat it to pieces on his chopping block, I know. But it wasn't my camera. It was another camera. And that isn't even the worst thing. The worst thing is that he's still using mine to take pictures! And that dog is going to get out! When it does, I think it's going to kill me. In that other world it's already started to j-j-j '
He couldn't finish. Kevin surprised himself again - this time by bursting into tears.
By the time John Delevan got his son calmed down it was ten minutes of eight, and he had resigned himself to at least being late for work. He held the boy in his arms - whatever it was, it really had the kid shook, and if it really was nothing but a bunch of dreams, Mr Delevan supposed he would find sex at the root of the matter someplace.
When Kevin was shivering and only sucking breath deep into his lungs in an occasional dry-sob, Mr Delevan went to the door and opened it cautiously, hoping Kate had taken Meg downstairs. She had; the hallway was empty. That's one for our side, anyway, he thought, and went back to Kevin.
'Can you talk now?' he asked.
'Pop's got my camera,' Kevin said hoarsely. His red eyes, still watery, peered at his father almost myopically. 'He got it somehow, and he's using it.'
'And this is something you dreamed?'
'Yes ... and I remembered something.'
'Kevin ... that was your camera. I'm sorry, son, but it was. I even saw the little chip in the side.'
'He must have rigged that somehow -'
'Kevin, that seems pretty farf -'
'Listen,' Kevin said urgently, 'will you just listen?'
'All right. Yes. I'm listening.'
'What I remembered was that when he handed me the camera - when we went out back to crunch it, remember?'
'Yes ... and I remembered something.'
'I looked in the little window where the camera keeps count of how many shots there are left. And it said three, Dad! It said three!'
'Well? What about it?'
'It had film in it, too! Film! I know, because I remember one of those shiny black things jumping up when I squashed the camera. It jumped up and then it fluttered back down.'
'I repeat: so what?'
'There wasn't any film in my camera when I gave it to Pop! That's so-what.'
I had twenty-eight pictures. He wanted me to take thirty more, for a total of fifty-eight. I might have bought more film if I'd known what he was up to, but probably not. By then I was scared of the thing
'Yeah. I was, a little, too.'
Kevin looked at him respectfully. 'Were you?'
'Yeah. Go on. I think I see where you're heading.'
'I was just going to say, he chipped in for the film, but not enough - not even half. He's a wicked skinflint, Dad.'
John Delevan smiled thinly. 'He is that, my boy. One of the world's greatest, is what I mean to say. Go on and finish up. Tempus is fugiting away like mad.'
Kevin glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. Although neither of them knew it, Pop would wake