Then get moving before you pass out.

I can’t do that, either, she responded. She felt more than tired; she felt as if she had just smoked a whole bong of absolutely primo Cambodian Red by herself. All she wanted to do was stand here and watch the motes of diamond-dust spin their slow circles in the sunbeams coming in through the west window. And maybe get one more drink of that dark-green, mossy-tasting water.

“Oh jeez,” she said in a faraway, frightened voice. “Jeez, Louise.”

You have to get out of the bathroom, Jessie-you have to. Just worryabout that, for now. I think you better crawl over the bed this time; I’mnot sure you can make it underneath again.

But…but there’s broken glass on the bed. What if I cut myself?

That brought Ruth Neary out again, and she was raving.

You’ve already taken most of the skin off your right hand-do youthink a few more lacerations are going to make a difference? Jesus Christ,tootsie, what if you die in this bathroom with a cunt-diaper on your wristand a big stupid grin on your face? How’s that for a what-if? Getmoving,bitch!

Two careful steps took her back to the bathroom doorway. Jessie only stood there for a moment, swaying and blinking her eyes against the sundazzle like someone who has spent the whole afternoon in a movie-theater. The next step took her to the bed. When her thighs were touching the bloodstained mattress, she carefully put her left knee up, grasped one of the footposts to ensure her balance, and then got onto the bed. She was unprepared for the feelings of fear and loathing which washed over her. She could no more imagine ever sleeping in this bed again than she could imagine sleeping in her own coffin. just kneeling on it made her feel like screaming.

You don’t need to have a deep, meaningful relationship with it, Jessie-just get across the fucking thing.

Somehow she managed to do that, avoiding the shelf and the crumbles and jags of broken water-glass by crossing at the foot of the mattress. Each time her eyes caught sight of the handcuffs dangling from the posts at the head of the bed, one sprung open, the other a closed steel circle covered with blood-her blood-a little sound of loathing and distress escaped her. The handcuffs didn’t look like inanimate things to her. They looked alive. And still hungry.

She reached the far side of the bed, gripped the footpost with her good left hand, turned herself around on her knees with all the care of a hospital convalescent, then lay on her belly and lowered her feet to the floor. She had a bad moment when she didn’t think she had strength enough to stand up again; that she would just lie there until she passed out and slid off the bed. Then she pulled in a deep breath and used her left hand to shove. A moment later she was on her feet. The sway was worse now-she looked like a sailor lurching into the Sunday morning segment of a weekend binge-but she was up, by God. Another wave of darkheadedness sailed across her mind like a pirate galleon with huge black sails. Or an eclipse.

Blind, rocking back and forth on her feet, she thought: Please,God, don’t let me pass out. Please God, okay? Please.

At last the light began to come back into the day. When Jessie thought things had gotten as bright as they were going to, she slowly crossed the room to the telephone table, holding her left arm a few inches out from her body to maintain her balance. She picked up the receiver, which seemed to weigh as much as a volume of the Oxford English Dictionary, and brought it to her ear. There was no sound at all; the line was smooth and dead. Somehow this didn’t surprise her, but it raised a question: had Gerald unplugged the phone from the wall, as he sometimes did when they were down here, or had her night-visitor cut the wires outside someplace?

“It wasn’t Gerald,” she croaked. “I would have seen him.”

Then she realized that wasn’t necessarily so-she had headed for the bathroom as soon as they were in the house. He could have done it then. She bent down, grasped the flat white ribbon that went from the back of the phone to the connector-box on the baseboard behind the chair, and pulled. She thought she felt a little give at first, and then nothing. Even that initial give might have been just her imagination; she knew perfectly well that her senses were no longer very trustworthy. The jack might just be bound up on the chair, but-

No, Goody said. It won’t come because it’s still plugged in-Geraldnever disconnected it at all, The reason the phone doesn’t work is becausethat thing that was in here with you last night cut the wire.

Don’t listen to her; underneath that loud voice of hers, she’s scared ofher own shadow, Ruth said. The connector-plug’s hung up on one of the chair’s back legs-I practically guarantee it. Besides, it’s easy enough tofind out, isn’t it?

Of course it was. All she had to do was pull the chair out and take a look behind it. And if the plug was out, put it back in.

What if you do all that and the phone still doesn’t work? Goody asked. Then you’ll know something else, won’t you?

Ruth: Stop dithering-you need help, and you need it fast.

It was true, but the thought of pulling out the chair filled her with weary gloom. She could probably do it-the chair was big, but it still couldn’t weigh a fifth of what the bed had weighed, and she had managed to move that all the way across the room but the thought was heavy. And pulling the chair out would only be the beginning. Once it was moved, she would have to get down on her knees… crawl into the dim, dusty corner behind it to find the connector-box…

Jesus, tootsie! Ruth cried. She sounded alarmed. You don’t haveany choice! I thought that at long last we all agreed on at least onething, that you need help, and you need it f-

Jessie suddenly slammed the door on Ruth’s voice, and slammed it hard. Instead of moving the chair, she bent over it, picked up the culotte skirt, and carefully pulled it up her legs. Drops of blood from the soaked bandage on her wrist splattered across the front of it at once, but she hardly saw them. She was busy ignoring the jangle of angry, perplexed voices, and wondering just who had let all these weird people into her head in the first place. It was like waking up one morning and discovering your home had become a boarding hotel overnight. All the voices were expressing horrified disbelief at what she was planning to do, but Jessie suddenly discovered she didn’t give much of a shit. This was her life. Hers.

She picked up the blouse and slipped her head into it. To her confused, shocked mind, the fact that yesterday had been warm enough for this casual sleeveless top seemed to conclusively prove the existence of God. She didn’t think she would have been able to bear sliding her stripped right hand down a long sleeve.

Never mind that, she thought, this is nuts, and I don’t need anymake-believe voices to tell me so, I’m thinking about driving out of here-about trying, anyway-when the only thing I have to do is move that chair and plug the phone back in. It must be the blood-loss-it’s drivenme temporarily insane. This is a nutty idea. Christ, that chair can’tweigh fifty pounds…I’m almost home and dry!

Yes, except it wasn’t the chair, and it wasn’t the idea of the Rescue Services guys finding her in the same room as the naked, chewed corpse of her husband. Jessie had a pretty good idea she would be preparing to leave in the Mercedes even if the phone were in perfect working order and she had already summoned the police, the ambulance, and the Deering High School Marching Band. Because the phone wasn’t the important thing-not at all. The important thing was… well…