Stephen King: The Dead Zone

‘Mayor Stillson!’ The kid was screaming. His terror was perfect and complete. ‘Mayor Stillson! Mayor Still-son Mayor Still…’

‘That’s good,’ Greg said.

‘…. son Mayor Stillson! Mayor Stillson! Mayor…’

Greg whacked him hard across the face, and the kid rapped his head on the wall. He fell silent, his eyes wide and blank.

Greg stepped very close to him. He reached out. He closed one hand around each of the kid’s ears. He pulled the kid’s face forward until their noses were touching. Their eyes were less than half an inch apart.

‘Now, your uncle is a power in this town,’ he said softly, holding the kid’s ears like handles. The kid’s eyes were huge and brown and swimming. ‘I’m a power too -coming to be one – but I ain’t no George Harvey. He was born here, raised here, everything. And if you was to tell your uncle what went on in here, he might take a notion to finish me in Ridgeway.’

The kid’s lips were twitching in a nearly soundless blubber. Greg shook the boy’s head slowly back and forth by the ears, banging their noses together.

‘He might not… he was pretty damn mad about that shirt. But he might. Blood ties are strong ties. So you think about this, son. If you was to tell your uncle what went on here and your uncle squeezed me out, I guess I would come along and kill you. Do you believe that?’

‘Yeah,’ the kid whispered. His cheeks were wet, gleaming.

“Yes sir, Mayor Stillson.”‘

‘Yessir, Mayor Stilison.’

Greg let go of his ears. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’d kill you, but first I’d tell anybody that’d listen about how you pissed yourself and stood there crying with snot running out of your nose.’

He turned and walked away quickly, as if the kid smelled bad, and went to the cabinet again. He got a box of Band-Aids from one of the shelves and tossed them across to the kid, who flinched back and fumbled them. He hastened to pick them up off the floor, as if Stillson might attack him again for missing.

Greg pointed. ‘Bathroom over there. You clean yourself up. I’m gonna leave you a Ridgeway PAL sweatshirt. I want it mailed back, clean, no bloodstains. You understand?’

‘Yes,’ the kid whispered.

‘SIR!’ Stillson screamed at him. ‘SIR! SIR! SIR! Can’t you remember that?’

‘Sir,’ the kid moaned. ‘Yessir, yessir.’

‘They don’t teach you kids respect for nothing,’ Greg said. ‘Not for nothing.’

The headache was trying to come back. He took several deep breaths and quelled it – but his stomach felt miserably upset. ‘Okay, that’s the end. I just want to offer you one good piece of advice. Don’t you make the mistake of getting back to your damn college this fall or whenever and start thinking this was some way it wasn’t. Don’t you try to kid yourself about Greg Stillson. Best forgotten, kid. By you, me, and George. Working this around in your mind until you think you could have another swing at it would be the worst mistake of your life. Maybe the last.’

With that Greg left, taking one last contemptuous look at the kid standing there, his chest and belly caked with a few minor smears of dried blood, his eyes wide, his lips trembling.

He looked like an overgrown ten-year-old who has struck out in the Little League playoffs.

Greg made a mental bet with himself that he would never see or hear from this particular kid again, and it was a bet he won. Later that week, George Harvey stopped by the barbershop where Greg was getting a shave and thanked him for ‘talking some sense’ into his nephew. ‘You’re good with these kids, Greg,’ he said. ‘I dunno… they seem to respect you.’

Greg told him not to mention it.

2.

While Greg Stillson was burning a shirt with an obscene saying on it in New Hampshire, Walt and Sarah Hazlett were having a late breakfast in Bangor, Maine. Walt had the paper.

He put his coffee cup down with a clink and said, ‘Your old boyfriend made the paper, Sarah.’

Sarah was feeding Denny. She was in her bathrobe, her hair something of a mess, her eyes still only about a quarter open. Eighty percent of her mind was still asleep. There had been a party last night. The guest of honor had been Harrison Fisher, who had been New Hampshire’s third district congressman since dinosaurs walked the earth, and a sure candidate for reelection next year.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *