Pet Sematary - Stephen King [50]
But that was hard when he remembered how hysterical Ellie had gotten at the prospect of Church someday dying.
Stupid fucking cat, why did we ever have to get a fucking cat, anyway?
But he wasnt tucking anymore. That was supposed to keep him alive.
Church? he called, but there was only the furnace, muttering and muttering, burning up dollars. The couch in the living room, where Church had recently spent most of his time, was empty. He was not lying on any of the radiators. Louis rattled the cats dish, the one thing absolutely guaranteed to bring Church running if he was in earshot, but no cat came running this time.
and never would again, he was afraid.
He put on his coat and hat and started for the door. Then he came back. Giving in to what his heart told him, he opened the cupboard under the sink and squatted down. There were two kinds of plastic bags in there-small white ones for the household trash baskets and big green garbage-can liners. Louis took one of the latter. Church had put on weight since he had been fixed.
He poked the bag into one of the side pockets of his jacket, not liking the slick, cool way the plastic felt under his fingers. Then he let himself out the front door and crossed the street to Juds house.
It was about five-thirty. Twilight was ending. The landscape had a dead look. The remainder of sunset was a strange orange line on the horizon across the river. The wind bowled straight down Route 15, numbing Louiss cheeks and whipping away the
white plume of his breath. He shuddered, but not from the cold. It was a feeling of aloneness that made him shudder. It was strong and persuasive. There seemed no way to concretize it with a metaphor. It was faceless. He just felt by himself, untouched and untouching.
He saw Jud across the road, bundled up in his big green dufile coat, his face lost in the shadow cast by the fur-fringed hood. Standing on his frozen lawn, he looked like a piece of statuary, just another dead thing in this twilight landscape where no bird sang.
Louis started across, and then Jud moved-waved him back. Shouted something Louis could not make out over the pervasive whine of the wind. Louis stepped back, realizing suddenly that the winds whine had deepened and sharpened. A moment later an air-horn blatted and an Orinco truck roared past close enough to make his pants and jacket flap. Damned if he hadnt almost walked right out in front of the thing.
This time he checked both ways before crossing. There was only the tankers taillights, dwindling into the twilight.
Thought that Rinco truck was gonna get you, Jud said. Have a care, Louis. Even this close, Louis couldnt see Juds face, and the uncomfortable feeling persisted that this could have been anyone anyone at all.
Wheres Norma? he asked, still not looking down at the sprawled bundle of fur by Juds foot.
Went to the Thanksgiving church service, he said. Shell stay to the supper, I guess, although I dont think shell eat nothing. Shes gotten peckish. The wind gusted, shifting the hood back momentarily, and Louis saw that it was indeed Jud-who else would it have been? Its mostly an excuse for a hen paaaty, Jud said. They dont eat much but sanwidges after the big meal at noon. Shell be back around eight.
Louis knelt down to look at the cat. Dont let it be Church, he wished fervently, as he turned its head gently on its neck with gloved fingers. Let it be someone elses cat, let Jud be wrong.
But of course it was Church. He was in no way mangled or disfigured; he had not been run over by one of the big tankers or semis that cruised Route 15 (just what was that Orinco truck doing out on Thanksgiving? he wondered randomly). Churchs eyes were half-open, as glazed as green marbles. A small flow of
blood had come from his mouth, which was also open. Not a great deal of blood; just enough to stain the white bib on his chest.
Yours, Louis?
Mine, he agreed and sighed.
He was aware for the first time that he had loved Church-maybe not as fervently as Ellie but in his own absent way. In the weeks