Pet Sematary - Stephen King [160]
Now wait, wait just a goddam minute. Go through your pockets again. Your change is there-and if your change didnt fall out, your keys didnt fall out either.
This time he went through his pockets more slowly, removing the change, even turning the pockets themselves inside out.
No keys.
Louis leaned against the car, wondering what to do next. He would have to climb back in, he supposed. Leave his son where he was, take the flashlight, climb back in, and spend the rest of the night in a fruitless hunt for- Light suddenly broke in his tired mind.
He bent down and stared into the Civic. There were his keys dangling from the ignition switch.
A soft grunt escaped him, and then he ran around to the drivers side, snatched the door open, and took the keys out. In his mind he suddenly heard the authoritative voice of that grim father figure Karl Malden, he of the potato nose and the archaic snap-brim hat: Lock your car. Take your keys. Dont help a good boy go bad.
He went around to the rear of the Civic and opened the hatchback. He put in the pick, shovel, and flashlight, then slammed it. He had gotten twenty or thirty feet down the sidewalk when he remembered his keys. This time he had left them dangling from the hatchback lock.
Stupid! he railed at himself. If youre going to be so goddam stupid, you better forget the whole thing!
He went back and got his keys.
He had gotten Gage in his arms and was most of the way back to Mason Street when a dog began to bark somewhere. No-it didnt just begin to bark. It began to howl, its gruff voice filling the street. Auggggh-R0000! Auggggh-R000000!
He stood behind one of the trees, wondering what could possibly happen next, wondering what to do next. He stood there expecting lights to start going on all up and down the street.
In fact only one light did go on, at the side of a house just opposite where Louis stood in the shadows. A moment later a hoarse voice cried, Shut up, Fred!
Auggggh-R000000! Fred responded.
Shut him up, Scanlon, or Im calling the police! someone yelled from the side of the street Louis was on, making him jump, making him realize just how false the illusion of emptiness and desertion was. There were people all around him, hundreds of eyes, and that dog was attacking sleep, his only friend. Goddam you, Fred, he thought. Oh, goddam you.
Fred began another chorus; he got well into the Auggggh, but before he could do more than get started on a good solid R000000, there was a hard whacking sound followed by a series of low whimpers and yips.
Silence followed by the faint slam of a door. The light at the side of Freds house stayed on for a moment, then clicked off.
Louis felt strongly inclined to stay in the shadows, to wait; surely it would be better to wait until the ruckus had died down. But time was getting away from him.
He crossed the street with his bundle and walked back down to the Civic, seeing no one at all. Fred held his peace. He clutched his bundle in one hand, got his keys, opened the hatchback.
Gage would not fit.
Louis tried the bundle vertically, then horizontally, then diagonally. The Civics back compartment was too small. He could have bent and crushed the bundle in there-Gage would not have minded-but Louis could simply not bring himself to do it.
Come on, come on, come on, lets get out of here, lets not push it any further.
But lie stood, nonplussed, out of ideas, the bundle containing his sons corpse in his arms. Then he heard the sound of an approaching car, and without really thinking at all, he took the bundle around to the passenger side, opened the door, and slipped the bundle into the seat.
He shut the door, ran around to the rear of the Civic, and slammed the hatchback. The car went right through the intersection, and Louis heard the whoop of drunken voices. He got
behind the wheel, started his car, and was reaching for the headlight switch when a horrible thought struck him. What if Gage were facing backward,