Salem's Lot - Stephen King [112]
Corey walked out into the living room ahead of Reggie, staggering a little. His legs were rubber. A patch between his shoulder blades began to itch insanely. That’s where he’s going to put it, he thought, right between the shoulder blades. I wonder if I’ll live long enough to see my guts hit the wall -
‘Turn around,’ Reggie said.
Corey turned around. He was beginning to blubber. He didn’t want to blubber, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He supposed it didn’t matter if he blubbered or not. He had already wet himself.
The shotgun was no longer dangling casually over Reggie’s forearm. The double barrels were pointing directly at Corey’s face. The twin bores seemed to swell and yawn until they were bottomless wells.
‘You know what you been doin’?’ Reggie asked. The smile was gone. His face was very grave.
Corey didn’t answer. It was a stupid question. He did keep on blubbering, however,
‘You slept with another guy’s wife, Corey. That your name?’
Corey nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks.
‘You know what happens to guys like that if they get caught?’
Corey nodded.
‘Grab the barrel of this shotgun, Corey. Very easy. It’s got a five-pound pull and I got about three on it now. So pretend… oh, pretend you’re grabbing my wife’s tit.’
Corey reached out one shaking hand and placed it on the barrel of the shotgun. The metal was cool against his flushed palm. A long, agonized groan came out of his throat. Nothing else was left. Pleading was done.
‘Put it in your mouth, Corey. Both barrels. Yes, that’s right. Easy!… that’s okay. Yes, your mouth’s big enough. Slip it right in there. You know all about slipping it in, don’t you?’
Corey’s jaws were open to their widest accommodation. The barrels of the shotgun were pushed back nearly to his palate, and his terrified stomach was trying to retch. The steel was oily against his teeth.
‘Close your eyes, Corey.’
Corey only stared at him, his swimming eyes as big as tea saucers.
Reggie smiled his gentle smile again. ‘Close those baby blue eyes, Corey.’
Corey closed them.
His sphincter let go. He was only dimly aware of it.
Reggie pulled both triggers. The hammers fell on empty chambers with a double click-click.
Corey fell onto the floor in a dead faint.
Reggie looked down at him for a moment, smiling gently, and then reversed the shotgun so the butt end was up. He turned to the bedroom. ‘Here I come, Bonnie. Ready or not.’
Bonnie Sawyer began to scream.
9
Corey Bryant was stumbling up the Deep Cut Road toward where he had left his phone truck parked. He stank. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. There was a large bump on the back of his head where he had struck it on the floor when he fainted. His boots made dragging, scuffing sounds on the soft shoulder. He tried to think about the scuffing sounds and nothing else, most notably about the sudden and utter ruin of his life. It was quarter past eight.
Reggie Sawyer had still been smiling gently when he ushered Corey out the kitchen door. Bonnie’s steady, racking sobs had come from the bedroom, counterpointing his words. ‘You go on up the road like a good boy, now. Get in your truck and go back to town. There’s a bus that comes in from Lewiston for Boston at quarter to ten. From Boston you can get a bus to anywhere in the country. That bus stops at Spencer’s. You be on it. Because if I ever see you again, I’m going to kill you. She’ll be all right now. She’s broke in now. She’s gonna have to wear pants and long-sleeve blouses for a couple of weeks, but I didn’t mark her face. You just want to get out of ‘salem’s Lot before you clean yourself up and start thinking you are a man again.’
And now here he was, walking up this road, about to do just what Reggie Sawyer said.