Стивен Кинг - Desperation

Pass must be returned to attendance office.

Except now there was more. A brief scrawled message below the last line of printing.

Something moved inside him. Some huge thing. His throat closed up, then opened to let out a long, wailing cry that was only grief at the top. He swayed, clutching at the Acura’s roof, lowered his forehead to his arm, and began to sob. From some great distance be heard the truck doors opening, heard Steve and Cynthia racing toward him. He wept. He thought of Pie, holding her doll and smiling up at him. He thought of his mother, dancing to the radio in the laundry room with the iron in one hand, laughing at her own foolishness. He thought of his father, sitting on the porch with his feet cocked up on the rail, a book in one hand and a beer in the other, waving to him as he came home from Brian’s, pushing his bike up the drive-way toward the garage in the thick twilight. He thought of how much he had loved them, how much he would always love them.

And Johnny. Johnny standing on the dark edge of the China Shaft, saying Sometimes he makes us live.

David wept with his head down and the EXCUSED EARLY pass now crumpled in his closed fist, that huge thing still moving inside him, something like a landslide… but maybe not so bad.

Maybe, in the end, not so bad.

“David.” It was Steve, shaking him. “David!”

“I’m all right,” he said, raising his head and wiping his eyes with a shaking hand.

“What happened.”

“Nothing. I’m okay. Go on. We’ll follow you.” Cynthia was looking at him doubtfully.

“Sure.” He nodded.

They went back, looking over their shoulders at him.

David was able to wave. Then he got into the Acura and closed the door.

“What was it.” Mary asked. “What did you find.”

She reached for the folded piece of stiff blue paper, but David held it in his own hand for the time being. “Do you remember when the cop threw you into the holding area where we were.” he asked. “How you went for the gun.”

“I’ll never forget it.”

“While you were fighting with him, a shotgun shell fell off the desk and rolled over to me. When I had a chance, I picked it up. Johnny must have stolen it out of my pocket when he was hanging onto me. In the mineshaft. After my dad was killed. Johnny used the shell to set off the ANFO. And when he took it out of my pocket, he put this in.”

“Put what in. What is it.”

“It’s an EXCUSED EARLY pass from my school back in Ohio. Last fall I poked it on a nail in a tree and left it there.”

“A tree back in Ohio. Last fall.” She was looking at him thoughtfully, her eyes very large and still. “Lastfall!”

“Yes. So I don’t know where he got it… and I don’t know where he had it. When he was in the powder maga-zine, I made him empty out all his pockets. I was afraid he might have picked up one of the can tahs. He didn’t have it then. He stripped right down to his underwear, and he didn’t have it then.”

“Oh, David,” she said.

He nodded and handed the blue pass over to her. “Steve will know if this is his handwriting,” he said. “I bet you a million dollars it is.”

David—Stay ahead of the mummy IJohn 4/8 Remember!

She read the scrawled message, her lips moving. “I’d bet a million of my own that it’s his, if I had a million,”

she said. “Do you understand the reference, David.”

David took the blue pass. “Of course. First John, chapter four, verse eight. ‘God is love.’”

She looked at him for a long time. “Is he, David. Is he love.”

“Oh, yes,” David said. He folded the pass along its crease. “I guess he’s sort of…

everything.”

Cynthia waved. Mary waved back and gave her a thumbs-up. Steve pulled out and Mary followed him, the Acura’s wheels rolling reluctantly through the first ridge of sand and then picking up speed.

David put his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and began to pray.

Bangor, Maine November 1, 1994—December 5, 1995