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m every six hours； enclosed in their little blisters。
NOT TO BE DISPENSED WITHOUT PHYSICIAN'S PRESCRIPTION； the box said。
〃Oh dear Jesus； the doctor is in！〃 Paul sobbed。 He tore the cellophane apart with his teeth and chewed up three of the capsules； barely aware of the bruisingly bitter taste。 He halted； stared at the five that were left encased in their mutilated cellophane sheet； and gobbled a fourth。
He looked around quickly； chin down on his breastbone； eyes crafty and frightened。 Although he knew it was too soon to be feeling any relief； he did feel it … having the pills； it seemed； was even more important than taking the pills。 It was as if he had been given control of the moon and the tides … or had just reached up and taken it。 It was a huge thought； awesome 。 。 。 and yet also frightening； with undertones of guilt and blasphemy。
If she es back now … 〃All right … okay。 I get the message。〃 He looked into the carton； trying to calculate how many of the sample boxes he might be able to take without her realizing a little mouse named Paul Sheldon had been nibbling away at the supply。
He giggled at this； a shrill； relieved sound； and he realized the medication wasn't just working on his legs。 He had gotten his fix； if you wanted to be perfectly vulgar about it。
Get moving； idiot。 You have no time to enjoy being stoned。
He took five of the boxes … a total of thirty capsules。 He had to restrain himself from taking more。 He stirred the remaining boxes and bottles around； hoping the result would look no more or less helter…skelter than it had when he first peered into the box。 He refolded the flaps and slipped the box back into the linen closet。
A car was ing。
He straightened up； eyes wide。 His hands dropped to the arms of the wheelchair and gripped them with panicky tightness。 If it was Annie； he was screwed and that was the end of it。 He would never be able to maneuver this balky； oversized thing back to the bedroom in time。 Maybe he could whack her once with the O…Cedar mop or something before she wrung his neck like a chicken。
He sat in the wheelchair with the sample boxes of Novril in his lap and his broken legs stuck stiffly out in front of him and waited for the car to pass or turn in。
The sound swelled endlessly 。 。 。 then began to diminish。
Okay。 Do you need a more graphic warning； Paul…baby？
As a matter of fact； he did not。 He took a final glance at the cartons。 They looked to him about as they had when he had first seen them … although he had been looking at them through a haze of pain and could not be pletely sure but he knew that the piles of boxes might not be as random as they had looked； oh； not at all。 She had the heightened awareness of the deep neurotic； and might have had the position of each box carefully memorized。 She might take one casual glance in here and immediately realize in some arcane way what had happened。 This knowledge did not bring fear but a sense of resignation … he had needed the medication； and he had somehow managed to escape his room and get it。 If there were consequences； punishment； he could face them with at least the understanding that he could have done nothing but what he had done。 And of all she had done to him； this resignation was surely a symptom of the worst … she had turned him into a pain…racked animal with no moral options at all。
He slowly backed the wheelchair across the bathroom； glancing behind himself occasionally to make sure he wasn't wandering off…course。 Before； such a movement would have made him scream with pain； but now the pain was disappearing under a beautiful glassiness。
He rolled into the hall and then stopped as a terrible thought struck him： if the bathroom floor had been slightly damp； or even a bit dirty … He stared at it； and for a moment the idea that he must have left tracks on those clean white tiles was so persuasive that he actually saw them。 He shook his head and looked again。 No tracks。 But the door was open farther than it had been。 He rolled forward； swung the wheelchair slightly to the right so he could lean over and grab the knob； and pulled the door half…closed。 He eyed it； then pulled it a bit closer to the jamb。 There。 That looked right。
He was reaching for the wheels； meaning to pivot the chair so he could roll back to his room； when he realized he was pointed more or less toward the living room； and the living room was where most people kept their telephone and … Light bursting in his mind like a flare over a foggy meadow。
〃Hello； Sidewinder Police Station； Officer Humbuggy speaking。〃
〃Listen to me； Officer Humbuggy。 Listen very carefully and don't interrupt； because I don't know how much time I have。 My name is Paul Sheldon。 I'm calling you from Annie Wilkes's house。 I've been her prisoner here for at least two weeks； maybe as long as a month。 I … 〃
〃Annie Wilkes！〃
〃Get out here tight away。 Send an ambulance。 And for Christ's sake get here before she gets back 。
〃Before she gets back；〃 Paul moaned。 〃Oh yeah 〃 Far out。〃 What makes you think she even has a phone？ Who have you ever heard her call？ Who would she call？ Her good friends the Roydmans？
Just because she doesn't have anyone to chatter with all day doesn't mean she is incapable of understanding that accidents can happen； she could fall downstairs and break an arm or a leg； the barn might catch on fire … How many times have you heard this supposed telephone ring？
So now there's a requirement？ Your phone has to ring at least once a day or Mountain Bell es and takes it out？ Besides； I haven't even been conscious most of the time。
You're pushing your luck。 You're pushing your luck and you know it。
Yes。 He knew it； but the thought of that telephone； the imagined sensation of the cool black plastic under his fingers； the click of the rotary dial or the single booping sound as he touch…toned 0 … these were seductions too great to resist。
He worked the wheelchair around until it was directly facing the parlor； and then he rolled down to it。
The place smelled musty； unaired； obscurely tired。 Although the curtains guarding the bow windows were only half…drawn； affording a lovely view of the mountains； the room seemed too dark … because its colors were too dark； he thought。 Dark red predominated； as if someone had spilled a great deal of venous blood in here。
Over the mantel was a tinted photograph portrait of a forbidding woman with tiny eyes buried in a fleshy face。 The rosebud mouth was pursed。 The photograph； enclosed in a rococo frame of gold gilt； was the size of the President's photograph in the lobby of a big…city post office。 Paul did not need a notarised statement telegram to tell him that this was Annie's sainted mother。
He rolled farther into the room。 The left side of the wheelchair struck a small occasional table covered with ceramic gewgaws。 They chattered together and one of them … a ceramic penguin sitting on a ceramic ice…block … fell off the side。
Without thinking； he reached out and grabbed it。 The gesture was almost casual 。 。 。 and then reaction set in。 He held the penguin tightly in his curled fist； trying to will the shakes away。 You caught it； no sweat； besides； there's a rug on th