Needful Things - Stephen King [252]
"Holy Joe!" the driver exclaimed. "You okay, buddy?"
A faint wheezing cry drifted to his ears: . help .
The driver ran inside and discovered Henry Beaufort, barely alive, crumpled behind the bar.
28
"Ith Lethter Pratt," John LaPointe croaked. Supported by Norris on one side and Sheila on the other, he had hobbled over to where Alan knelt by the body.
"Who?" Alan asked. He felt as if he had accidentally stumbled into some mad comedy. Ricky and Lucy Go to Hell. Hey Lester, you got some 'splainin to do.
"Lethter Pratt," John said again with painful patience. "He'th the Phidthical Educaythun teather at the high thcool."
"What's he doing here?" Alan asked.
John LaPointe shook his head wearily. "Dunno, Alan. He jutht came in and went cray the."
"Somebody give me a break," Alan said. "Where's Hugh Priest?
Where's Clut? What in God's name is going on here?"
29
George T. Nelson stood in the doorway of his bedroom, looking around unbelievingly. The place looked as if some punk band-the Sex Pistols, maybe the Cramps-had had a party in it, along with all their fans.
"What-" he began, and could say no more. Nor did he need to. He knew what. It was the coke. Had to be. He'd been dealing among the faculty at Castle Rock High for the last six years (not all the teachers were appreciators of what Ace Merrill sometimes called Bolivian Bingo Dust, but the ones who were qualified as big appreciators), and he'd left half an ounce of almost pure coke under the mattress. It was the blow, sure it was. Someone had talked and someone else had gotten greedy. George supposed he'd known that as soon as he'd pulled into the driveway and saw the broken kitchen window.
He crossed the room and yanked up the mattress with hands that felt dead and numb. Nothing underneath. The coke was gone.
Nearly two thousand dollars' worth of almost pure coke, gone. He sleepwalked toward the bathroom to see if his own small stash was still in the Anacin bottle on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet.
He'd never needed a hit as badly as he did just now.
He reached the doorway and stopped, eyes wide. It wasn't the mess that riveted his attention, although this room had also been turned upside down with great zeal; it was the toilet. The ring was down, and it was thinly dusted with white stuff.
George had an idea that white stuff was not Johnson's Baby Powder.
He walked across to the toilet, wetted his finger, and touched it to the dust. He put his finger in his mouth. The tip of his tongue went numb almost at once. Lying on the floor between the john and the tub was an empty plastic Baggie. The picture was clear.
Crazy, but clear. Someone had come in, found the coke and then flushed it down the crapper. Why? Why? He didn't know, but he decided when he found the person who had done this, he would ask. just before he tore his head right off his shoulders. it couldn't hurt.
His own three-gram stash was intact. He carried it out of the bathroom and then stopped again as a fresh shock struck his eyes.
He hadn't seen this particular abomination as he crossed the bedroom from the hall, but from this angle it was impossible to miss.
He stood where he was for a long moment, eyes wide with amazed horror, his throat working convulsively. The nests of veins at his temples beat rapidly, like the wings of small birds. He finally managed to produce one small, strangled word: mom .!"
Downstairs, behind George T. Nelson's oatmeal-colored sofa, Frank jewett slept on.
30
The bystanders on Lower Main, who had been called out to the sidewalk by the yelling and the gunshot, were now being entertained by a new novelty: the slow-motion escape of their Head Selectman.
Buster leaned as far into his Cadillac as he could and turned the ignition switch to the oN position. He then pushed the button that lowered the power window on the driver's side. He closed the door again and carefully began to wriggle in through the window.
He was