Pet Sematary - Stephen King [83]
Two thousand-i She hugged him so suddenly and so tightly that he almost fell down the stairs. Louis, youre crazy!
Put it on, he said again.
She did. He helped her with the clasp, and then she turned around to look at him. I want to go up and look at it, she said. I think I want to preen.
Preen away, he said. Ill put out the cat and get the lights.
When we make it, she said, looking directly into his eyes, I want to take everything off except this.
Preen in a hurry, then, Louis said, and she laughed.
He grabbed Church and draped it over his arm-he didnt bother much with the broom these days. He supposed that, in spite of everything, he had almost gotten used to the cat again. He went toward the entryway door, turning off lights as he went. When he opened the door communicating between the kitchen and garage, an eddy of cold air swirled around his ankles.
Have a merry Christmas, Ch-
He broke off. Lying on the welcome mat was a dead crow. Its head was mangled. One wing had been ripped off and lay behind the body like a charred piece of paper. Church immediately squirmed out of Louiss arms and began to nuzzle the frozen corpse eagerly. As Louis watched, the cats head darted forward, its ears laid back, and before he could turn his head, Church had ripped out one of the crows milky, glazed eyes.
Church strikes again, Louis thought a little sickly, and turned his head-not, however, before he had seen the bloody, gaping socket where the crows eye had been. Shouldnt bother me, shouldnt, Ive seen worse, oh yeah, Pascow, for instance, Pascow was worse, a lot worse- But it did bother him. His stomach turned over. The warm
build of sexual excitement had suddenly deflated. Christ, that birds damn near as big as he is. Must have caught it with its guard down. Way, way down.
This would have to be cleaned up. Nobody needed this sort of present on Christmas morning. And it was his responsibility, wasnt it? Sure was. His and nobody elses. He had recognized that much in a subconscious way even on the evening of his family's return, when he had purposely spilled the tires over the tattered body of the mouse Church had killed.
The soil of a mans heart is stonier, Louis.
This thought was so clear, somehow so three-dimensional and auditory, that Louis jerked a little, as if Jud had materialized at his shoulder and spoken aloud.
A man grows what he can and tends it.
Church was still hunched greedily over the dead bird. He was working at the other wing now. There was a tenebrous rustling sound as Church pulled it back and forth, back and forth. Never get it off the ground, Orville. Thats right, Wilbur, fucking birds just as dead as dogshit, might as well feed it to the cat, might as well- Louis suddenly kicked Church, kicked him hard. The cats
hindquarters rose and came down splayfooted. It walked away, sparing him another of its ugly yellow-green glances. Eat me, Louis hissed at it, catlike himself.
Louis? Rachels voice came faintly from their bedroom. Coming to bed?
Be right there, he called back. Ive just got this little mess to clean up, Rachel, okay? Because its my mess. He fumbled for the switch that controlled the garage light. He went quickly back to the cupboard under the kitchen sink and got a green Hefty Bag. He took the bag back into the garage and took the shovel down from its nail on the garage wall. He scraped up the crow and dropped it into the bag. Then he shoveled up the severed wing and slipped that in. He tied a knot in the top of the bag and dropped it into the bin on the far side of the Civic. By the time he had finished, his ankles were growing numb.
Church was standing by the garage doorway. Louis made a threatening gesture at the cat with the shovel, and it was gone like black water.
Upstairs, Rachel was lying on her bed, wearing nothing but the sapphire on its chain as promised. She smiled at him lazily. What took you so long, Chief?
The light over the sink was out, Louis said. I changed the bulb.