Dolores Claiborne (25 page)

He was still grinnin.

Can I have another drink, Andy? No, not the Beam—no more of that tonight. Just water’ll do me fine from here on out.

Thanks. Thanks very much.

Anyway, he was feelin around for his next hold when his feet slipped n he fell. There was a muddy squelchin sound when he landed on his ass. He screamed n grabbed at his chest like they do on TV when they’re supposed to be havin heart-attacks, and then his head fell forward on his chest.

I couldn’t stand any more. I stumbled my way outta the blackberry creepers n ran back to the house. I went into the bathroom n puked my guts. Then I went into the bedroom n laid down. I was shakin all over, and I kep thinkin, What if he
still
ain’t dead? What if he stays alive all night, what if he stays alive for
days,
drinkin the seep comin out from between the rocks or up through the mud? What if he keeps screamin for help until one of the Carons or Langills or Jolanders hears him and calls Garrett Thibodeau? Or what if someone comes to the house tomorrow—one of his drinkin buddies, or someone wantin him to crew on their boat or fix an engine—and hears screams comin outta the blackberry patch? What then, Dolores?

There was another voice that answered all those questions. I suppose it belonged to the inside eye, but to me it sounded a lot more like Vera Donovan than it did Dolores Claiborne; it sounded bright n dry n kiss-my-back-cheeks-if-you-don‘t-like-it. “Of course he’s dead,” that voice said, “and even if he isn’t, he soon will be. He’ll die of shock and exposure and punctured lungs. There are probably people who wouldn’t believe a man could die of exposure on a July night, but they’d be people who’ve never spent a few hours thirty feet under the ground, sitting right on top of the dank island bedrock. I know none of that is pleasant to think of, Dolores, but at least it means you can quit your worrying. Sleep for awhile, and when you go back out there, you’ll see.”

I didn’t know if that voice was makin sense or not, but it
seemed
to be makin sense, and I did try to go to sleep. I couldn’t, though. Each time I’d drift a little, I’d think I could hear Joe stumblin his way up the side of the shed toward the back door, and every time the house creaked, I jumped.

At last I couldn’t stand it anymore. I took off my dress, put on a pair of jeans n a sweater (lockin the barn door after the hoss has been stolen, I guess you’d say), and grabbed the flashlight off the bathroom floor from beside the commode, where I’d dropped it when I knelt down to vomit. Then I went back out.

It was darker’n ever. I don’t know if there was any kind of moon that night, but it wouldn’t’ve mattered even if there was, because the clouds had rolled back in again. The closer I got to the blackberry tangle behind the shed, the heavier my feet got. By the time I could see the wellcap again in the flashlight beam, it seemed like I couldn’t hardly lift em at all.

I did, though—I made myself walk right up to it. I stood there listenin for almost five minutes and there wasn’t a sound but the crickets and the wind rattlin through the blackberry bushes and an owl hooty-hooin someplace ... prob‘ly the exact same one I’d heard before. Oh, and far off to the east I could hear the waves strikin the headland, only that’s a sound you get so used to on the island you don’t hardly hear it at all. I stood there with Joe’s flashlight in my hand, the beam aimed at the hole in the wellcap, feelin greasy, sticky sweat creepin down all over my body, stingin in the cuts n digs the blackberry thorns had made, and I told myself to kneel down and look in the well. After all, wa’ant that what I’d come out there to do?

It was, but once I was actually out there, I couldn’t do it. All I could do was tremble n make a high moanin sound in my throat. My heart wasn’t really beatin, either, but only flutterin in my chest like a humminbird’s wings.

And then a white hand all streaked with dirt n blood n moss snaked right outta that well n grabbed my ankle.

I dropped the flashlight. It fell in the bushes right at the edge of the well, which was lucky for me; if it’d fallen
into
the well, I‘d’ve been in deep shit indeed. But I wasn’t thinkin about the flashlight or my good luck, because the shit I was in right then was plenty deep enough, and the only thing I was thinkin about was the hand on my ankle, the hand that was draggin me toward the hole. That, and a line from the Bible. It clanged in my head like a big iron bell:
I have digged a pit for mine enemies, and am fallen into it myself.

I screamed n tried to pull away, but Joe had me so tight it felt like his hand’d been dipped in cement. My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough so I could see him even with the flashlight beam shinin off in the wrong direction. He’d almost managed to climb outta the well, after all. God knows how many times he musta fallen back, but in the end he got almost to the top. I think he prob’ly would’ve made it all the way out if I hadn’t come back when I did.

His head was no more’n two feet below what was left of the board cap. He was still grinnin. His lower plate was stuck out of his mouth a little—I can still see that as clear as I see you sittin acrost from me right now, Andy—and it looked like a hoss’s teeth when it grins at you. Some of em looked black with the blood that was on em.

“Duh-lorrrr-isss,”
he panted, and kep pullin me. I screamed n fell down on my backside n went slidin toward that damned hole in the ground. I could hear the blackberry thorns tickin n snickin as my jeans went slidin past em and over em.
“Duh-lorrr-issss you biiiitch,”
he says, but by then it was more like he was singin to me. I remember thinkin, “Pretty soon he’ll start in on ‘Moonlight Cocktail.’ ”

I grabbed at the bushes n got my hands full of stickers n fresh blood. I kicked at his head with the foot he didn’t have ahold of, but it was just a little too low to hit; I parted his hair with the heel of my sneaker a couple of times, but that was just about all.

“Come on Duh-lorrrr-issss,”
he said, like he wanted to take me out for an ice cream soda or maybe dancin to the country n western over at Fudgy’s.

My ass fetched up against one of the boards still left on the side of the well, and I knew if I didn’t do somethin right away, we was gonna go tumblin down together, and there we’d stay, prob’ly wrapped in each other’s arms. And when we was found, there’d be people—ninnies like Yvette Anderson, for the most part—who’d say it just went to show how much we loved each other.

That did it. I found a little extra strength and give one last tug backwards. He almost held on, but then his hand slipped off. My sneaker musta hit him in the face. He screamed, his hand beat at the end of my foot a couple of times, and then it was gone for good. I waited to hear him go tumblin to the bottom, but he didn’t. The son of a bitch
never
gave up; if he’d lived the same way he died, I don’t know that we’d ever’ve had any problems, him n me.

I got up on my knees n saw him go swayin backwards over the hole ... but somehow he held on. He looked up at me, shook a bloody clump of hair outta his eyes, and grinned. Then his hand come up outta the well again n grabbed onto the ground.

“
Dul-OOH-russ
,” he kinda groaned.
“Dul-OOOH-RUSS, Dul-OOOH-russ
,
Dul-OOOOOHHH-russs!”
And then he started to climb out.

“Brain him, you ninny,” Vera Donovan said then. Not in my head, like the voice of the little girl I seen earlier. Do you understand what I’m sayin? I heard that voice just like you three are hearin me now, and if Nancy Bannister’s tape-recorder had been out there, you could’ve played that voice back over n over n over again. I know that as well’s I know my own name.

Anyway, I grabbed one of the stones set into the ground at the edge of the well. He kinda clutched at my wrist, but I pulled the stone free before he could set his grip. It was a big stone, all crusted with dry moss. I raised it over my head. He looked up at it. His head was outta the hole by then, and it looked like his eyes was standin out on stalks. I brought the rock down on him with all my strength. I heard that lower plate of his bust. It sounded like when you drop a china plate on a brick hearth. And then he was gone, tumblin back down the well, and the rock went with him.

I fainted then. I don’t
remember
faintin, just layin back and lookin up at the sky. There was nothin to see because of the clouds, so I closed my eyes ... only when I opened em, the sky was full of stars again. It took me a little while to realize what’d happened, that I’d fainted and the clouds had blown away while I was passed out.

The flashlight was still layin in the brambles beside the well, and the beam was still nice n bright. I picked it up and shone it down into the well. Joe was layin at the bottom, his head cocked over on one shoulder, his hands in his lap, and his legs splayed out. The rock I’d brained him with was layin between em.

I held the light on him for five minutes, waitin to see if he’d move, but he never. Then I got up n made my way back to the house. I had to stop twice when the world went foggy on me, but I finally made it. I walked into the bedroom, takin off my clothes as I went n leavin em just wherever they fell. I got into the shower n only stood there under spray as hot as I could take it for the next ten minutes or so, not soapin myself, not warshin my hair, not doin nothin but standin with my face up so the water’d hit all over it. I think I mighta fallen asleep right there in the shower, except the water started to cool off. I warshed my hair quick, before it could go all the way to stone cold, and got out. My arms n legs were all scratched up and my throat still hurt like hell, but I didn’t think I was gonna die from none of that. It never occurred to me what somebody might make of all those scratches, not to mention the bruises on my throat, after Joe was found down the well. Not then, at least.

I pulled my nightgown on n fell on the bed n went fast asleep with the light on. I woke up screamin less’n an hour later with Joe’s hand on my ankle. I had a moment of relief when I realized it was only a dream, but then I thought, “What if he’s climbin the side of the well again?” I knew he wasn’t—I’d finished him for good when I hit him with that rock and he fell down the second time —but part of me was sure he
was,
and that he’d be out in another minute or so. Once he was, he’d come for me.

I tried to lie there n wait it out, but I couldn’t —that pitcher of him climbin up the side of the well just kept gettin clearer n clearer, and my heart was beatin so hard it felt like it might explode. Finally I put on my sneakers, grabbed the flashlight again, and went runnin out there in my nightgown. I
crawled
to the edge of the well that time; I couldn’t make myself walk, not for nothing. I was too afraid of his white hand snakin up outta the dark n grabbin onto me.

At last I shone the light down. He was layin there just the same as he had been, with his hands in his lap n his head cocked to one side. The rock was still layin in the same place, between his spread legs. I looked for a long time, and when I went back to the house that time, I’d begun to know he was really dead.

I crawled into bed, turned off the lamp, and pretty soon I corked off to sleep. The last thing I remember thinkin was “I’ll be all right now,” but I wasn’t. I woke up a couple of hours later, sure I could hear someone in the kitchen. Sure I could hear
Joe
in the kitchen. I tried to jump outta bed and my feet tangled in the blankets and I fell on the floor. I got up n started feelin around for the switch on the lamp, sure I’d feel his hands slide around my throat before I could find it.

That didn’t happen, accourse. I turned on the light n went through the whole house. It was empty. Then I put on my sneakers n grabbed the flashlight n ran back out to the well.

Joe was still layin on the bottom with his hands in his lap n his head on his shoulder. I had to look at him a long time, though, before I could convince myself it was layin on the
same
shoulder. And once I thought I saw his foot move, although that was most likely just a shadow movin. There were lots of those, because the hand holdin the flashlight wasn’t none too steady, let me tell you.

As I crouched there with my hair tied back and prob‘ly lookin like the lady on the White Rock labels, the funniest urge come over me—I felt like just lettin myself lean forward on my knees until I tumbled into the well. They’d find me with him—not the ideal way to finish up, s’far’s I was concerned—but at least I wouldn’t be found with his arms wrapped around me ... n I wouldn’t have to keep wakin up with the idear he was in the room with me, or feelin I had to run back out with the light to check n make sure he was still dead.

Then Vera’s voice spoke up again, only this time it
was
in my head. I know that, just like I know that it spoke right into my ear the first time. “The only place you’re going to tumble into is your own bed,” that voice told me. “Get some sleep, and when you wake up, the eclipse really will be over. You’ll be surprised how much better things will look with the sun out.”

That sounded like good advice, and I set out to follow it. I locked both doors to the outside, though, and before I actually got into bed, I did somethin I ain’t never done before or since: propped a chair underneath the doorknob. I’m ashamed to admit that—my cheeks feel all hot, so I guess I’m blushin—but it musta helped, because I was asleep the second my head hit the pillow. When I opened my eyes the next time, full daylight was streamin in through the window. Vera had told me to take the day off—she said Gail Lavesque and a few of the other girls could oversee puttin the house to rights after the big party she’d been plannin for the night of the twentieth—and I was some glad.

I got up n took another shower n then got dressed. It took me half an hour to do all those things because I was so lamed up. It was my back, mostly; it’s been my weak point ever since the night Joe hit me in the kidneys with that stovelength, and I’m pretty sure I strained it again first pullin that rock I clouted him with free of the earth, then h’istin it up over my head the way I did. Whatever it was, I can tell you it hurt a bitch.