JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 405 из 425It had the effect of a slap, clearing myhead and giving me one final chance to use my brain. I took a breath and forced myself to do just that. Why had I come down here in the first place? Why did I think Rogette had brought Kyra toward the lake, where I had just been, instead of carrying her away from me, up the driveway to Lane Forty-two? Don’t be stupid. She came down here because The Street’s the way back to Warrington’s, and Vrrington’s is where she’s been, all by herself, ever since she sent the boss’s body back to Calij$rnia in his privatejet. She had sneaked into the house while I was under Jo’s studio, finding the tin box in the belly of the owl and studying that scrap of genealogy.
She would have taken Ki then if I’d given her the chance, but I didn’t.
I came hurrying back, afraid something was wrong, afraid someone might be trying to get hold of the kid-Had Rogette awakened her? Had Ki seen her and tried to warn me before drifting off again? Was that what had brought me in such a hurry? Maybe. I’d still been in the zone then, we’d still been linked then. Rogette had certainly been in the house when I came back. She might even have been in the north-bedroom closet and peering at me through the crack. Part of me had known it, too. Part of me had felt her, felt something that was not-Sara. Then I’d left again.
Grabbed the carry-bag from Slips ’n Greens and come down here. Turned right, turned north. Toward the birch, the rock, the bag of bones. I’d done what I had to do, and while I was doing it, Rogette carried Kyra down the railroad-tie steps behind me and turned left on The Street. Turned south toward Warrington’s. With a sinking feeling deep in my belly, I realized I had probably heard Ki… might even have seen her. That bird peeking timidly out from cover during the lull had been no bird. Ki was awake by then, Ki had seen me—perhaps had seen Jo, as well—and tried to call out. She had managed just that one little peep before Rogette had covered her mouth. How long ago had that been? It seemed like forever, but I had an idea it hadn’t been long at all—less than five minutes, maybe. But it doesn’t take long to drown a child. The image of Kito’s bare arm sticking straight out of the water tried to come back—the hand at the end of it opening and closing, opening and closing, as if it were trying to breathe for the lungs that couldn’t—and I pushed it away. I also suppressed the urge to simply sprint in the direction of Warrington’s. Panic would take me for sure if I did that. In all the years since her death I had never longed for Jo with the bitter intensity I felt then.
She would have taken Ki then if I’d given her the chance, but I didn’t.
I came hurrying back, afraid something was wrong, afraid someone might be trying to get hold of the kid-Had Rogette awakened her? Had Ki seen her and tried to warn me before drifting off again? Was that what had brought me in such a hurry? Maybe. I’d still been in the zone then, we’d still been linked then. Rogette had certainly been in the house when I came back. She might even have been in the north-bedroom closet and peering at me through the crack. Part of me had known it, too. Part of me had felt her, felt something that was not-Sara. Then I’d left again.
Grabbed the carry-bag from Slips ’n Greens and come down here. Turned right, turned north. Toward the birch, the rock, the bag of bones. I’d done what I had to do, and while I was doing it, Rogette carried Kyra down the railroad-tie steps behind me and turned left on The Street. Turned south toward Warrington’s. With a sinking feeling deep in my belly, I realized I had probably heard Ki… might even have seen her. That bird peeking timidly out from cover during the lull had been no bird. Ki was awake by then, Ki had seen me—perhaps had seen Jo, as well—and tried to call out. She had managed just that one little peep before Rogette had covered her mouth. How long ago had that been? It seemed like forever, but I had an idea it hadn’t been long at all—less than five minutes, maybe. But it doesn’t take long to drown a child. The image of Kito’s bare arm sticking straight out of the water tried to come back—the hand at the end of it opening and closing, opening and closing, as if it were trying to breathe for the lungs that couldn’t—and I pushed it away. I also suppressed the urge to simply sprint in the direction of Warrington’s. Panic would take me for sure if I did that. In all the years since her death I had never longed for Jo with the bitter intensity I felt then.