Stephen King - Insomnia

You’re afraid, though, Ralph thought. And if a Self-righteous little prick like you is afraid, I think I’m terrified.

Dalton started off. Kirkland, apparently deciding he wasn’t wrung completely dry yet, walked after him, shaking out his microphone cord as he went.

“But isn’t it true, Mr. Dalton, that while he was a member of The several violence-oriented Friends of Life, Ed Deepneau instigated protests, including one last month where dolls soaked with artificial blood were thrown-”

“You’re all the same, aren’t you?” Dan Dalton asked. “I’ll pray for you, my friend.” He stalked off.

Kirkland looked after him for a moment, bemused, then turned back to the camera. “We tried to get hold of Mr. Dalton’s opposite number-Gretchen Tillbury, who has taken on the formidable job of coordinating this event for WomanCare-but she was unavailable for comment. We’ve heard that His. Tillbury is at High Ridge, a women’s shelter and halfway house which is owned and operated by WomanCare.

Presumably, she and her associates are out there putting the finishing touches on plans for what they hope will be a safe, violence-free rally and speech at the Civic Center tonight.”

Ralph glanced at Lois and said, “Okay-now we know where we’re going, at least,” The TV picture switched to Lisette Benson, in the studio. “John, are there any real signs of possible violence at the Civic Center?”

Back to Kirkland, who had returned to his original location in front of the cop-cars. He was holding up a small white rectangle with some printing on it in front of his tie. “Well, the private security police on duty here found hundreds of these file-cards scattered on the Civic Center’s front lawn this morning just after first light. One of the guards claims to have seen the vehicle they were dumped from. He says it was a Cadillac from the late sixties, either brown or black.

He didn’t get the license number, but says there was a sticker on the back bumper reading ABORTION is MURDER, NOT CHOICE.

Back to the studio, where Lisette Benson was looking mighty interested. “What’s on those cards, John?”

Back to Kirkland.

“I guess you’d have to say it’s sort of a riddle.” He glanced down at the card.” ’If you have a gun loaded with only two bullets and you’re in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and an abortionist, what do you do?”

“Kirkland looked back up into the camera and said, “The answer printed on the other side, Lisette, is ’shoot the abortionist twice.”

“This is John Kirkland, reporting live from the Derry Civic Center.”

“I’m starving,” Lois said as Ralph carefully guided the Oldsmobile down the series of parking-garage ramps which would presumably set them free… if Ralph didn’t miss any of the exit signs, that was.

“And if I’m exaggerating, I’m not doing it by much.”

“Me too,” Ralph said. “And considering that we haven’t eaten since Tuesday, I guess that’s to be expected. We’ll grab a good sitdown breakfast on the way out to High Ridge.”

“Do we have time?”

“We’ll make time. After all, an army fights on its stomach.”

“I suppose so, although I don’t feel very army-ish. Do you know where-”

“Hush a second, Lois.”

He stopped the Oldsmobile short, put the gearshift lever in Park, and listened. There was a clacking sound from under the hood that he didn’t like very much. Of course the concrete walls of places like this tended to magnify sounds, but still…

“Ralph?” she asked nervously, “Don’t tell me something’s wrong with the car. just don’t tell me that, okay?”

“I think it’s fine,” he said, and began creeping toward daylight again. “I’ve just kind of fallen out of touch with old Nellie here since Carol died. Forgotten what kinds of sounds she makes. You were going to ask me something, weren’t you?”

,if you know where that shelter is. High Ridge.”

Ralph shook his head. “Somewhere out near the Newport town line is all I know. I don’t think they’re supposed to tell men where it is. I was kind of hoping you might have heard.” Lois shook her head. “I never had to use a place like that, thank God.

We’ll have to call her. The Tillbury woman. You’ve met her with Helen, so you can talk to her. She’ll listen to YOU.” She gave him a brief glance, one that warmed his heart-anyone with any sense would listen to you, Ralph, it said-but Ralph shook his head.

“I bet the only calls she’s taking today are ones that come from the Civic Center or from wherever Susan Day is.” He shot her a glance. “You know, that woman’s got a lot of guts, coming here.

Either that or she’s donkey-dumb.”

“Probably a little of both. If Gretchen Tillbury won’t take a call, how will we get in touch with her?”

“Well, I tell you what. I was a salesman for a lot of what Faye Chapin would call my real life, and I bet I can still be inventive when I need to be.” He thought of the information-lady with the orange aura and grinned. “Persuasive, too, maybe.”

“Ralph?” Her voice was small. “What, Lois?”

“This feels like real life to me.” He patted her hand. “I know what you mean.” A familiar skinny face poked out of the pay-booth of the hospital parking garage; a familiar grin-one from which at least half a dozen teeth had gone AWOL-brightened it. “Eyyyy, Ralph, dat you? Goddam if it ain’t! Beauty! Beauty!”

“Trigger?” Ralph asked slowly. “Trigger Vachon?”

“None udder! “Trigger flipped his lank brown hair out of his eyes so he could get a better look at Lois. “And who’s dis marigold here?

I know her from somewhere, goddam if I don’t!”

“Lois Chasse,” Ralph said, taking his parking ticket from its place over the sun-visor. “You might have known her husband, Paul-”

“Goddam right I did!” Trigger cried. “We was weekend warriors togedder, back in nineteen-seb’ny, maybe seb’ny-one! Closed down Nan’s Tavern more’n once! My suds n body! How is Paul dese days, ma’am?”

“Mr. Chasse passed on a little over two years ago,” Lois said.

“Oh, damn! I’m sorry to hear it. He was a champ of a guy, Paul Chasse. Just an all-around champ of a guy. Everybody liked him.”

Trigger looked as distressed as he might have done if she had told him it had happened only that morning.

“Thank you, Mr. Vachon.” Lois glanced at her watch, then looked up at Ralph. Her stomach rumbled, as if to add one final point to the argument.

Ralph handed his parking ticket through the open window of the car, and as Trigger took it, Ralph suddenly realized the stamp would show that he and Lois had been here since Tuesday night. Almost sixty hours.

“What happened to the dry-cleaning business, Trig?” he asked hastily.

“Ahhh, dey laid me off,” Trigger said. “Didn’t I tell you?

Laid almost everybody off. I was downhearted at first, but I caught on here last April, and… eyyy! I like dis all kindsa better. I,of iiiv little TV for when it’s slow, and there ain’t nobody beepin their horns at me if I don’t go the firs second a traffic-light turns green, or cutting me off out dere on the Extension.

Everyone in a hurry to get to the nex place, dey are, just why I dunno.

Also, I tell you what, Ralph: dat damn van was colder’n a witch’s tit in the winter. Pardon me, ma I am.”

Lois did not reply. She seemed to be studying the backs of her hands with great interest. Ralph, meanwhile, watched with relief as Trigger crumpled up the parking ticket and tossed it into his wastebasket without so much as a glance at the time-and-date stamp. He punched one of the buttons on his cash-register, and $0.00 popped up on the screen in the booth’s window.