Needful Things - Stephen King [232]
But what, in God's name
Polly sat on the Shaker bench in the hallway and began to read the letter. As she did so, a remarkable series of emotions lensed across her face, like cloud formations on an unsettled, windy day: puzzlement, understanding, shame, horror, anger, and finally fury.
She screamed aloud once "No!"-and then went back and forced herself to read the letter again, slowly, all the way to the end.
San Francisco Department of Child Welfare 666 Geary Street San Francisco, California 94112 September 23, 1991 Sheriff Alan J. Pangborn Castle County Sheriff's Office 2 The Municipal Building Castle Rock, Maine 04055 Dear Sheriff Pangborn:
I am in receipt of your letter of September 1, and am writing to tell you I can offer you no help whatever in this matter. It is the policy of this Department to give out information on applicants for Aid to Dependent Children (A.D.C) only when we are compelled to do so by a valid court order. I have shown your letter to Martin D. Chung, our chief legal counsel, who instructs me to tell you that a copy of your letter has been forwarded to the California Attorney General's Office.
Mr. Chung has asked for an opinion as to whether your request may be illegal in and of itself. Whatever the result of that inquiry, I must tell you that I find your curiosity about this woman's life in San Francisco to be both inappropriate and offensive.
I suggest, Sheriff Pangborn, that you lay this matter to rest before you incur legal difficulties.
Sincerely, John L. Perlmutter Deputy Director cc: Patricia Chalmers After her fourth reading of this terrible letter, Polly rose from the bench and walked into the kitchen. She walked slowly and gracefully, more like one who swims than one who walks. At first her eyes were dazed and confused, but by the time she had taken the handset from the wall-mounted phone and tapped out the number of the Sheriff's Office on the oversized pads, they had cleared.
The look which lit them was simple and unmistakable: an anger so strong it was nearly hate.
Her lover had been sniffing around in her past-she found the idea simultaneously unbelievable and strangely, hideously plausible.
She had done a lot of comparing herself to Alan Pangborn in the last four or five months, and that meant she had done a lot of coming off second best. His tears; her deceptive calm, which hid so much shame and hurt and secret defiant pride. His honesty; her little stack of lies. How saintlike he had seemed! How dauntingly perfect!
How hypocritical her own insistence that he put the past away!
And all the time he had been sniffing around, trying to find out the real story on Kelton Chalmers.
"You bastard," she whispered, and as the telephone began to ring, the knuckles of the hand holding the telephone turned white with strain.
14
Lester Pratt usually left Castle Rock High in the company of several friends; they would all go down to Hemphill's Market for sodas, then head off to someone's house or apartment for a couple of hours to sing hymns or play games or just shoot the bull. Today, however, Lester left school alone with his knapsack on his back (he disdained the traditional teacher's briefcase) and his head down. If Alan had been there to watch Lester walk slowly across the school lawn toward the faculty parking lot, he would have been struck by the man's resemblance to Brian Rusk.
Three times that day Lester had tried to get in touch with Sally, to find out what in the land of Goshen had made her so mad. The last time had been during his period five lunch-break. He knew she was at the Middle School, but the closest he got