"Yes. I guess it is. K."
"Just be glad-" Crackle crackle brrack!
"Say again, Dr. Van Allen. Say again. Ten-four."
Through the swelling ocean of static he heard Dr. Van Allen say, "Just be glad you've got the gun in custody. That you don't have to worry about it doing any more damage. Ten-four."
"You got that right, buddy. Ten-forty, out."
5
Cora Rusk turned onto Main Street and walked slowly toward Needful Things. She passed a bright yellow Ford Econoline van with WPTD CHANNEL 5 ACTION NEWS emblazoned on the side, but did not see Danforth "Buster" Keeton looking out of the driver's window at her with unblinking eyes. She probably wouldn't have recognized him in any case; Buster had become, in a manner of speaking, a new man. And even if she had seen and recognized him, it would have meant nothing to Cora. She had her own problems and sorrows. Most of all, she had her own anger. And none of this concerned her dead son.
In one hand, Cora Rusk held a pair of broken sunglasses.
It had seemed to her that the police were going to question her forever... or at least until she went mad. Go away! she wanted to scream at them. Stop asking me all these stupid questions about Brian!
Arrest him if he's in trouble, his father willfix it, fixing things I. s all he's good for, but leave me alone! I've got a date with The King, and I can't keep him waiting!
At one point she had seen Sheriff Pangborn leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and the back stoop, his arms folded across his chest, and she had been on the very verge of blurting this out, thinking he would understand. He wasn't like these others-he was from town, he would know about Needful Things, he would have bought his own special item there, he would understand.
Except Mr. Gaunt had spoken up in her mind just then, as calm and as reasonable as ever. No, Cora@on't talk to him. He wouldn't understand. He's not like you. He's not a smart shopper. Tell them you want to go to the hospital and see your other boy. That will get rid of them, at least for awhile. After that it won't matter.
So she had told them just that, and it worked like a charm. She had even managed to squeeze out a tear or two, thinking not about Brian but about how sad Elvis must feel, wandering around Graceland without her. Poor lost King!
They had left, all but the two or three who were out in the garage. Cora didn't know what they were doing or what they could possibly want out there, and she didn't care. She grabbed her magic sunglasses off the table and hurried upstairs. Once she was in her room she slipped out of her robe, lay down on her bed, and put them on.
At once she was in Graceland again. Relief, anticipation, and amazing horniness filled her.
She swept up the curving staircase, cool and nude, to the upstairs hall, hung with jungle tapestries and nearly as wide as a freeway.
She walked down to the closed double doors at the far end, her bare feet whispering in the deep nap of the carpet. She saw her fingers reach out and close around the handles. She pushed the doors open, revealing The King's bedroom, a room which was all black and white-black walls, white shag rug, black drapes over the windows, white trim on the black bedspread-except for the ceiling, which was painted midnight blue with a thousand twinkly electric stars.
Then she looked at the bed and that was when the horror struck.
The King was on the bed, but The King was not alone.
Sitting on top of him, riding him like a pony, was Myra Evans.
She had turned her head and stared at Cora when the doors opened.
The King only kept looking up at Myra, blinking those sleepy, beautiful blue eyes of his.
"Myra!" Cora had exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Well," Myra said smugly, "I'm sure not vacuuming the floor."
Cora gasped for breath, utterly stunned. "Well... well... well I'll be butched! she cried, her voice rising as her wind returned.
"Then go be butched," Myra said, pumping her hips faster, "and take those silly sunglasses off while you're at it. They look stupid.
Get out of here. Go back to Castle Rock. We're busy... aren't we, E?"
"That's raht, sweet thang," The long said. "Just as busy as two twiddlybugs in a carpet."
Horror turned to fury, and Cora's paralysis broke with a snap.
She rushed at her so-called friend, meaning to rip her deceitful eyes from their sockets. But when she raised one clawed hand to do so, Myra reached out-never missing a stroke with her pumping hips as she did-and tore the sunglasses from Cora's face with her own hand.
Cora had squeezed her eyes shut in surprise... and when she opened them, she had been lying in her own bed again. The sunglasses were on the floor, both lenses shattered.