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There was a rattling noise； followed by a heavy thump。 The cellar door stood open。
And the screams began。
42
When Mark stepped back into the kitchen of Eva's Rooms； it was twenty minutes of five。 His eyes were hollow； and his T…shirt was smeared with blood。 His eyes were stunned and slow。
Suddenly he shrieked。
The sound came roaring out of his belly； up the dark passage of his throat； and through his distended jaws。 He shrieked until he felt some of the madness begin to leave his brain。 He shrieked until his throat cracked and an awful pain lodged in his vocal cords like a sliver of bone。 And even when he had externalized all the fear； the horror； the rage； the disappointment that he could； that awful pressure remained； ing up out of the cellar in waves…the knowledge of Barlow's presence somewhere down there…and now it was close to dark。
He went outside onto the porch and breathed great gasps of the windy air。 Ben。 He had to get Ben。 But an odd sort of lethargy seemed to have wrapped his legs in lead。 What was the use？ Barlow was going to win。 They had been crazy to go against him。 And now Jimmy had paid the full price； as well as Susan and the Father。
The steel in him came up。 No。 No。 No。
He went down the porch steps on trembling legs and got into Jimmy's Buick。 The keys hung in the ignition。
Get Ben。 Try once more。
His legs were too short to reach the pedals。 He pulled the seat up and twisted the key。 The engine roared。 He put the gearshift lever in drive and put his foot on the gas。 The car leaped forward。 He slammed his foot down on the power brake and was thrown painfully into the steering wheel。 The horn honked。
I can't drive it！
And he seemed to hear his father saying in his logical； pedantic voice： You must be careful when you learn to drive； Mark。 Driving is the only means of transportation that is not fully regulated by federal law。 As a result； all the operators are amateurs。 Many of these amateurs are suicidal。 Therefore； you must be extremely careful。 You use the gas pedal like there was an egg between it and your foot。 When you're driving a car with an automatic transmission； like ours； the left foot is not used at all。 Only the right is used； first brake and then gas。
He let his foot off the brake and the car crawled forward down the driveway。 It bumped over the curb and he brought it to a jerky stop。 The windshield had fogged up。 He rubbed it with his arm and only smeared it more。
'Screw it；' he muttered。
He started up jerkily and performed a wide； drunken U…turn； driving over the far curb in the process； and set off for his house。 He had to crane his neck to see over the steering wheel。 He fumbled out with his right hand and turned on the radio and played it loud。 He was crying。
43
Ben was walking down Jointner Avenue toward town when Jimmy's tan Buick came up the road； moving in jerks and spasms； weaving drunkenly。 He waved at it and it pulled over； bounced the left front wheel over the curb； and came to a stop。
He had lost track of time making the stakes； and when he looked at his watch； he had been startled to see that it was nearly ten minutes past four。 He had shut down the lathe； taken a couple of the stakes； put them in his belt； and gone upstairs to use the telephone。 He had only put his hand on it when he remembered it was out。
Badly worried now； he ran outside and looked in both cars； Callahan's and Petrie's。 No keys in either。 He could have gone back and searched Henry Petrie's pockets； but the thought was too much。 He had set off for town at a fast walk； keeping an eye peeled for Jimmy's Buick。 He had been intending to go straight to the Brock Street School when Jimmy's car came into sight。
He ran around to the driver's seat and Mark Petrie was sitting behind the wheel 。 。 。 alone。 He looked at Ben numbly。 His lips worked but no sound came out。
'What's the matter？ Where's Jimmy？'
'Jimmy's dead；' Mark said woodenly。 'Barlow thought ahead of us again。 He's in the basement of Mrs Miller's boardinghouse somewhere。 Jimmy's there； too。 I went down to help him and I couldn't get back out。 Finally I got a board that I could crawl up； but at first I thought I was going to be trapped down there 。 。 。 until s…s…sunset。 。 。 。 '
'What happened？ What are you talking about？'
'Jimmy figured out the blue chalk； you see？ While we were at a house in the Bend。 Blue chalk。 Pool tables。 There's a pool table in the cellar at Mrs Miller's； it belonged to her husband。 Jimmy called the boardinghouse and there was no answer so we drove over。'
He lifted his tearless face to Ben's。
'He told me to look around for a flashlight because the cellar light switch was broken； just like at the Marsten House。 So I started to look around。 I 。 。 。 I noticed that all the knives in the rack over the sink were gone； but I didn't think anything of it。 So in a way I killed him。 I did it。 It's my fault； all my fault； all my…'
Ben shook him： two brisk snaps。 'Stop it； Mark。 Stop it！
Mark put his hands to his mouth； as if to catch the hysterical babble before it could flow out。 His eyes stared hugely at Ben over his hands。
At last he went on： 'I found a flashlight in the hall dresser； see。 And that was when Jimmy fell； and he started to scream。 He…I would have fallen； too； but he warned me。 The last thing he said was Look out； Mark。'
'What was it？' Ben demanded。
'Barlow and the others just took the stairs away；' Mark said in a dead； listless voice。 'Sawed the stairs off after the second one going down。 They left a little more of the railing so it looked like 。 。 。 looked like 。 。 。' He shook his head。 'In the dark； Jimmy just thought they were there。 You see？'
'Yes；' Ben said。 He saw。 It made him feel sick。 'And the knives？'
'Set all around on the floor underneath；' Mark whispered。 'They pounded the blades through these thin plywood squares and then knocked off the handles so they would sit flat with the blades pointing 。 。 。 pointing。'
'Oh；' Ben said helplessly。 'Oh； Christ。' He reached down and took Mark by the shoulders。 'Are you sure he's dead； Mark？'
'Yes。 He 。 。 。 he was stuck in half a dozen places。 The blood 。 。 。 '
Ben looked at his watch。 It was ten minutes of five。 Again he had that feeling of being crowded； of running out of time。
'What are we going to do now？' Mark asked remotely。
'Go into town。 Talk to Matt on the phone and then talk to Parkins Gillespie。 We'll finish Barlow before dark。 We've got to。'
Mark smiled a small； morbid smile。 'Jimmy said that； too。 He said we were going to stop his clock。 But he keeps beating us。 Better guys than us must have tried； too。'
Ben looked down at the boy and got ready to do something nasty。
'You sound scared；' he said。
'I am scared；' Mark said； not rising to it。 'Aren't you？'
'I'm scared；' Ben said； 'but I'm mad； too。 I lost a girl I liked one hell of a lot。 I loved her； I guess。 We both lost Jimmy。 You lost your mother and father。 They're lying in your living room under a dust cover from your sofa。' He pushed himself to a final brutality。 'Want to go back and l