Needful Things - Stephen King [51]
When he got to the door he would not pause to ring the bell, oh no. He would simply barge in. If Brian's Ma tried to get in his way he would push her aside. If Brian's Pa tried to get in his way he would knock him down. And if Brian's little brother, Sean, tried to get in his way he would heave him the length of the house, like a quarterback throwing a Hail Mary. He would stride upstairs, bellowing Brian's name, and the roses on the wallpaper would wilt when that hangman's shadow passed over them.
He'dfind me, too, Brian thought. His face as he stood by the side of the jerzyck house was a study in dismay. It wouldn't matter if I tried to hide. It wouldn't matter if I went all the way to Bombay.
He'd find me. And when he did. He tried to block the picture, to turn it off, and couldn't. He saw Mr. Gaunt's eyes growing, turning into blue chasms which went down and down into some horrid indigo eternity. He saw Mr. Gaunt's long hands, with their queerly even fingers, turning into claws as they descended upon his shoulders. He felt his skin crawl at that loathsome touch. He heard Mr. Gaunt bellowing: You have something of mine, Brian, and you haven't Paidfor it!
I'll give it back! he heard himself screaming at that twisted, burning face. Please oh please I'll give it back I'll give it back, Just don't hurt me!
Brian returned to himself, as dazed as he had been when he came out of Needful Things on Tuesday afternoon. The feeling now wasn't as pleasant as it had been then.
He didn't want to give back the Sandy Koufax card, that was the thing.
He didn't want to, because it was his.
8
Myra Evans stepped under the awning of Needful Things just as her best friend's son was finally walking into Wilma jerzyck's back yard.
Myra's glance, first behind her and then across Main Street, was even more furtive than Brian's glance across Willow Street had been.
If Cora-who really was her best friend-knew she was here, and, more important, why she was here, she would probably never speak to Myra again. Because Cora wanted the picture, too.
Never mind that, Myra thought. Two sayings occurred to her and both seemed to fit this situation. First come, first served was one.
What she doesn't know won't hurt her was the other.
All the same, Myra had donned a large pair of Foster Grant sunglasses before coming downtown. Better safe than sorry was another worthwhile piece of advice.
Now she advanced slowly on the door and studied the sign which hung there:
TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS BY APPOINTMENT ONLY
Myra did not have an appointment. She had come down here on the spur of the moment, galvanized into action by a call from Cora not twenty minutes ago.
"I've been thinking about it all day! I've simply got to have it, Myra-I should have bought it on Wednesday, but I only had four dollars in my purse and I wasn't sure if he'd take a personal check.
You know how embarrassing it is when people won't. I've been kicking myself ever since. Why, I hardly slept a wink last night. I know you'll think it's silly, but it's true."
Myra didn't think it was silly at all, and she knew it was true, because she had hardly slept a wink last night, either. And it was wrong of Cora to assume that picture should be hers simply because she had seen it first-as if that gave her some sort of divine right, or something.
"I don't believe she saw it first, anyway," Myra said in a small, sulky voice. "I think I saw it first."
The question of who had seen that absolutely delicious picture first was really moot, anyway. What wasn't moot was how Myra felt when she thought of coming into Cora's house and seeing that picture of Elvis hung above the mantel, right between Cora's ceramic Elvis figure and Cora's porcelain Elvis beer-stein. When she thought