Salem's Lot - Stephen King [61]
‘There goes Weasel,’ someone said, and there was laughter.
‘Dell ought to cut him off,’ Matt said, sounding out of breath. ‘He knows how this always turns out.’
They went through the door into the foyer, and then out onto the wooden steps leading down to the parking lot.
‘Easy" Ben grunted. ‘Don’t drop him.’
They went down the stairs, Weasel’s limp feet cropping on the risers like blocks of wood.
‘The Citroën… over in the last row.’
They carried him over. The coolness in the air was sharper now, and tomorrow the leaves would be blooded. Weasel had begun to grunt deep in his throat and his head jerked weakly on the stalk of his neck.
‘Can you put him to bed when you get back to Eva’s?’ Matt asked.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. Look, you can just see the roof tree of the Marsten House over the trees.’
Ben looked. Matt was right; the top angle just peeked above the dark horizon of pines, blotting out the stars at the rim of the visible world with the regular shape of human construction.
Ben opened the passenger door and said, ‘Here. Let me have him.’
He took Weasel’s full weight and slipped him neatly into the passenger seat and closed the door. Weasel’s head lolled against the window, giving it a flattened, grotesque look.
‘Tuesday at eleven?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Thanks. And thanks for helping Weasel, too.’ He held out his hand and Ben shook it.
He got in, started the Citroën, and headed back toward town. Once the roadhouse neon had disappeared behind the trees, the road was deserted and black, and Ben thought, These roads are haunted now.
Weasel gave a snort and a groan beside him and Ben jumped. The Citroën swerved minutely on the road.
Now, why did I think that?
No answer.
He opened the wing window so that it scooped cold air directly onto Weasel on the ride home, and by the time he drove into Eva Miller’s dooryard, Weasel had attained a soupy semi-consciousness.
Ben led him, half stumbling, up the back porch steps and into the kitchen, which was dimly lit by the stove’s fluorescent. Weasel moaned, then muttered deep in his throat, ‘She’s a lovely girl, Jack, -and married women, they know… know… ’
A shadow detached itself from the hall and it was Eva, huge in an old quilted house coat, her hair done up in rollers and covered with a filmy net scarf. Her face was pale and ghostly with night cream.
‘Ed,’ she said. ‘Oh, Ed… you do go on, don’t you?’
His eyes opened a little at the sound of her voice, and a smile touched his features. ‘On and on and on,’ he croaked. ‘Wouldn’t you know it more than the rest?’
‘Can you get him up to his room?’ she asked Ben.
‘Yes, no sweat.’
He tightened his grip on Weasel and somehow jot him up the stairs and down to his room. The door was unlocked and he carried him inside. The minute he laid him on the bed, signs of consciousness ceased and he fell into a deep sleep.
Ben paused a moment to look around. The room was clean, almost sterile, things put away with barrackslike neatness. As he began to work on Weasel’s shoes, Eva Miller said from behind him, ‘Never mind that, Mr Mears. Go on up, if you like.’
‘But he ought to be-’
‘I’ll undress him.’ Her face was grave and full of dignified, measured sadness. ‘Undress him and give him an alcohol rub to help with his hangover in the morning. I’ve done it before. Many times.’
‘All right,’ Ben said, and went upstairs without looking back. He undressed slowly, thought about taking a shower, and decided not to. He got into bed and lay looking at the ceiling and did not sleep for a long time.
Chapter Six
THE LOT (II)
1
Fall and spring came to Jerusalem’s Lot with the same suddenness of sunrise and sunset in the tropics. The line of demarcation could be as thin as one day. But spring is not the