about that morning is how desperately I wanted to get free of John Coffey’s persistent ghost.
“Okay,” I said. “One more mile. But first…”
I walked down to the toilet at the end of the second floor hall. As I stood inside there, urinating, I happened to glance up at the smoke detector on the ceiling. That made me think of Elaine, and how she had distracted Dolan so I could go for my walk and do my little chore the day before. I finished peeing with a grin on my face.
I walked back to the sunroom, feeling better (and a lot comfier in my nether regions). Someone – Elaine, I have no doubt – had set down a pot of tea beside my pages. I drank greedily, first one cup, then another, before I even sat down. Then I resumed my place, uncapped the fountain pen, and once more began to write.
I was just slipping fully into my story when a shadow fell on me. I looked up and felt a sinking in MY
stomach. It was Dolan standing between me and the windows. He was grinning.
“Missed you going on your morning walk, Paulie, he said, “so I thought I’d come and see what you were up to. Make sure you weren’t, you know, sick.”
“You’re all heart and a mile wide,” I said. My voice sounded all right – so far, anyway – but my heart was pounding hard. I was afraid of him, and I don’t think that realization was entirely new. He reminded me of Percy Wetmore, and I’d never been afraid of him … but when I knew Percy, I had been young.
Brad’s smile widened, but became no less pleasant.
“Folks tellin me you been in here all night, Paulie, just writing your little report. Now, that’s just no good.
Old farts like you need their beauty rest.”
“Percy – ” I began, then saw a frown crease his grin and realized my mistake. I took a deep breath and began again. “Brad, what have you got against me?”
He looked puzzled for a moment, maybe a bit unsettled. Then the grin returned. “Old-timer,” he said,
“could be I just don’t like your face. What you writin, anyway? Last will n testicles?”
He came forward, craning. I slapped my hand over the page I’d been working on. The rest of them I began to rake together with my free hand, crumpling some in my hurry to get them under my arm and under cover.
“Now,” he said, as if speaking to a baby, “that ain’t going to work, you old sweetheart. If Brad wants to look, Brad is going to look. And you can take that to the everfucking bank. ”
His hand, young and hideously strong, closed over my wrist, and squeezed. Pain sank into my hand like teeth, and I groaned.
“Let go,” I managed.
“When you let me see,” he replied, and he was no longer smiling. His face was cheerful, though; the kind of good cheer you only see on the faces of folks who enjoy being mean. “Let me see, Paulie. I want to know what you’re writing.” My hand began to move away from the top page. From our trip with John back through the tunnel under the road. “I want to see if it has anything to do with where you-”
“Let that man alone.”
The voice was like a harsh whipcrack on a dry, hot day … and the way Brad Dolan jumped, you would have thought his ass had been the target. He let go of my hand, which thumped back down on my paperwork, and we both looked toward the door.
Elaine Connelly was standing there, looking fresh and stronger than she had in days. She wore jeans that showed off her slim hips and long legs; there was a blue ribbon in her hair. She had a tray in her arthritic hands – juice, a scrambled egg, toast, more tea. And her eyes were blazing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Brad asked. “He can’t eat up here.”
“He can, and he’s going to,” she said in that same dry tone of command. I had never heard it before, but I welcomed it now. I looked for fear in her eyes and saw not a speck – only rage. “And what you’re going to do is get out of here before you go beyond the cockroach level of nuisance to that of slightly larger vermin – Rattus Americanus, let us say!”