Needful Things - Stephen King [286]
"Yes," Alan said gratefully.
"Rounds aren't until eight, so if you were in his room, she probably wouldn't notice you. Of course if she did, you would tell her that I followed hospital directives and refused you admission.
That you snuck in while the desk was temporarily unattended.
Wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Alan said. "You bet I would."
"You could leave by the stairs at the far end of the corridor. If you went into Sean Rusk's room, that is. Which, of course, I told you not to do."
Alan stood up and impulsively kissed her cheek.
Miss Hendrie blushed.
"Thanks," Alan said.
"For what? I haven't done a thing. I believe I'll go get my tea now. Please sit right where you are until I'm gone, Sheriff."
Alan obediently sat down again. He sat there, his head positioned between Simple Simon and the pie-man until the double doors had whooshed most of the way shut behind Miss Hendrie.
Then he got up and walked quietly down the brightly painted corridor, with its litter of toys and jigsaw puzzles, to Room 9.
9
Sean Rusk looked totally awake to Alan.
This was the pediatric wing and the bed he was in was a small one, but he still seemed lost in it. His body created only a small hump beneath the counterpane, making him seem like a disembodied head resting on a crisp white pillow. His face was very pale.
There were purple shadows, almost as dark as bruises, beneath his eyes, which looked at Alan with a calm lack of surprise. A curl of dark hair lay across the center of his forehead like a comma.
Alan took the chair by the window and pulled it to the side of the bed, where bars had been raised to keep Sean from falling out.
Sean did not turn his head, but his eyes moved to follow him.
"Hello, Sean," Alan said quietly. "How are you feeling?"
"My throat is dry," Sean said in a husky whisper.
There was a pitcher of water and two glasses on the table by the bed. Alan poured a glass of water and bent with it over the hospital bars.
Sean tried to sit up and couldn't do it. He fell back against the pillow with a small sigh that hurt Alan's heart. His mind turned to his own son-poor, doomed Todd. As he slipped a hand beneath Sean Rusk's neck to help him sit up, he had a moment of hellish total recall. He saw Todd standing by the Scout that day, answering Alan's goodbye wave with one of his own, and in the eye of memory a kind of nacreous, failing light seemed to play around Todd's head, illuminating every loved line and feature.
His hand shook. A little water spilled down the front of the hospital Johnny Sean wore.
"Sorry."
"S'okay," Sean replied in his husky whisper, and drank thirstily.
He almost emptied the glass. Then he burped.
Alan lowered him carefully back down. Sean seemed a little more alert now, but there was still no luster in his eyes. Alan thought he had never seen a little boy who looked so dreadfully alone, and his mind tried once again to call up that final image of Todd.
He pushed it away. There was work to do here. It was distasteful work, and damned ticklish in the bargain, but he felt more and more that it was also desperately important work. Regardless of what might be going on in Castle Rock right now, he felt increasingly sure that at least some of the answers lay here, behind that pale forehead and those sad, lusterless eyes.
He looked around the room and forced a smile. "Boring room," he said.
"Yeah," Sean said in his low, husky voice. "Totally dopey."
"Maybe a few flowers would liven it up," Alan said, and passed his right hand in front of his left forearm, deftly plucking the folding bouquet from its palming well beneath his watchband.
He knew he was pressing his luck but had decided, on the spur of the moment, to go for it anyway. He was almost sorry. Two of the tissue-paper blooms tore as he slipped the loop and popped the bouquet open. He heard the spring give a tired twang. It was undoubtedly the final performance of this version