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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 376 из 425A faint, comforting whiff of Red perfume. I pulled the owl out by the hornlike tufts growing from its forehead and turned it upside down. Where it had once been attached to its plastic base there were now only two pegs with a hollow space between them. Inside the hole was a small tin box that I recognized even before I reached into the owl’s belly and chivvied it out. I shone the lantern on its front, knowing what I’d see: JO’s NOTIONS, written in old-fashioned gilt script. She had found the box in an antiques barn somewhere.
I looked at it, my heart beating hard. Thunder boomed overhead. The trapdoor stood open, but I had forgotten about going up. I had forgotten about everything but the tin box I held in my hand, a box roughly the size of a cigar box but not quite as deep. I spread my hand over the cover and pulled it off.
There was a strew of folded papers lying on top of a pair of steno books, the wirebound ones I keep around for notes and character lists.
These had been rubber-banded together. On top of everything else was a shiny black square. Until I picked it up and held it close to the side of the lantern, I didn’t realize it was a photo negative.
Ghostly, reversed and faintly orange, I saw Jo in her gray two-piece bathing suit. She was standing on the swimming float with her hands behind her head.
“Jo,” I said, and then couldn’t say anything else. My throat had closed up with tears. I held the negative for a moment, not wanting to lose contact with it, then put it back in the box with the papers and steno books. This stuff was why she had come to Sara in July of 1994; to gather it up and hide it as well as she could. She had taken the owls off the deck (Frank had heard the door out there bang) and had carried them out here. I could almost see her prying the base off one owl and stuffing the tin box up its plastic wazoo, wrapping both of them in plastic, then dragging them down here, all while her brother sat smoking Marlboros and feeling the vibrations. The bad vibrations. I doubted if I would ever know all the reasons why she’d done it, or what her frame of mind had been… but she had almost certainly believed I’d find my own way down here eventually. Why else had she left the negative?
The loose papers were mostly photocopied press clippings from the Castle Rock Call and from the ekly News, the paper which had apparently preceded the Call. The dates were marked on each in my wife’s neat, firm hand. The oldest clipping was from 1865, and was headed ANOTHER HOME SAFE. The returnee was one Jared Devore, age thirty-two.
I looked at it, my heart beating hard. Thunder boomed overhead. The trapdoor stood open, but I had forgotten about going up. I had forgotten about everything but the tin box I held in my hand, a box roughly the size of a cigar box but not quite as deep. I spread my hand over the cover and pulled it off.
There was a strew of folded papers lying on top of a pair of steno books, the wirebound ones I keep around for notes and character lists.
These had been rubber-banded together. On top of everything else was a shiny black square. Until I picked it up and held it close to the side of the lantern, I didn’t realize it was a photo negative.
Ghostly, reversed and faintly orange, I saw Jo in her gray two-piece bathing suit. She was standing on the swimming float with her hands behind her head.
“Jo,” I said, and then couldn’t say anything else. My throat had closed up with tears. I held the negative for a moment, not wanting to lose contact with it, then put it back in the box with the papers and steno books. This stuff was why she had come to Sara in July of 1994; to gather it up and hide it as well as she could. She had taken the owls off the deck (Frank had heard the door out there bang) and had carried them out here. I could almost see her prying the base off one owl and stuffing the tin box up its plastic wazoo, wrapping both of them in plastic, then dragging them down here, all while her brother sat smoking Marlboros and feeling the vibrations. The bad vibrations. I doubted if I would ever know all the reasons why she’d done it, or what her frame of mind had been… but she had almost certainly believed I’d find my own way down here eventually. Why else had she left the negative?
The loose papers were mostly photocopied press clippings from the Castle Rock Call and from the ekly News, the paper which had apparently preceded the Call. The dates were marked on each in my wife’s neat, firm hand. The oldest clipping was from 1865, and was headed ANOTHER HOME SAFE. The returnee was one Jared Devore, age thirty-two.