Gerald's Game - Stephen King [48]
Her life? Was that really possible? Did she actually have to admit such a horrid idea into her calculations after all? Jessie was reluctantly coming to believe that she did. She might be here for quite awhile before someone discovered her, and yes, she supposed it was just barely possible that the difference between life and death could come down to a single drink of water. The idea was surreal but it no longer seemed patently ridiculous.
Same thing as before, dear — slow and easy wins the race.
Yes . . . but who would ever have believed the finish-line would turn out to be situated in such weird countryside?
She did move slowly and carefully, however, and was relieved to discover that manipulating the blow-in card one-handed was not as difficult — as she had feared it might be. This was partly because it was about six inches by four — almost the size of two playing cards laid side by side — but mostly because she wasn't trying to do anything very tricky with it.
She held the card lengthwise between her first and second fingers, then used her thumb to bend the last half-inch of the long side all the way down. The fold wasn't even, but she thought it would serve. Besides, nobody was going to come along and judge her work; Brownie Crafts Hour on Thursday nights at the First Methodist Church of Falmouth was long behind her now.
She pinched the purple card firmly between her first two fingers again and folded over another half-inch. It took her almost three minutes and seven fold-overs to get to the end of the card. When she finally did, she had something that looked like a bomber joint clumsily rolled in jaunty purple paper.
Or, if you stretched your imagination a little, a straw.
Jessie stuck it in her mouth, trying to hold the crooked folds together with her teeth. When she had it as firmly as she thought she was going to get it, she began feeling around for the glass again.
Stay careful, Jessie, Don't spoil it all with impatience now!
Thanks for the advice. Also for the idea. It was great — I really mean that, Now, however, Id like you to shut up long enough for me to take my shot. Okay?
When her fingertips touched the smooth surface of the glass, she slid them around it with the gentleness and caution of a young lover slipping her hand into her boyfriend's fly for the first time.
Gripping the glass in its new position was a relatively simple matter. She brought it around and lifted it as far as the chain would allow. The last slivers of ice had melted, she saw; tempus had gone fugiting merrily along despite her feeling that it had stopped dead in its tracks around the time the dog had put in its first appearance. But she wouldn't think about the dog. In fact, she was going to work hard at believing that no dog had ever been here.
You're good at unhappening things, aren't you, tootsie-wootsie?
Hey, Ruth — I'm trying to keep a grip on myself as well as on the damned glass, in case you didn't notice. If playing a few mind-games helps me do that, I don't see what the big deal is. just shut up for awhile, okay? Give it a rest and let me get on with my business.
Ruth apparently had no intention of giving it a rest, however. Shut up.' she marvelled. Boy, how that takes me back — it's better than a Beach Boys oldie on the radio. You always did give good shut up, Jessie — remember that night in the dorm after we came back from your first and last consciousness-raising session at Neuworth?
I don't want to remember, Ruth.
I'm sure you don't, so I'll remember for both of us, how's that for a deal? You kept saying it was the girl with the scars on her breasts