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"YOU CAN'T BURN MISERY, YOU COCKADOODIE BRAT, YOU CAN'T BURN MISERY! " Her voice droned away. "I'm going to trust you,»she said finally and turned away, closing the door but not bothering to lock it. I knew writers were supposed to have big egos, but I guess I didn't understand that meant ingratitude, too! There was a double thud of booted heels, the sound slightly hollow, as he stepped off the parlor carpet and onto the bare boards of the hallway. He heard a wooden thunk, a metallic clunk, and then a shaking sound he had heard some place before. He awoke time after time in the middle of the night using the big toe of his right foot to scratch thin air four inches below the place where, on that side, his body now ended.Just one week and one bitch. ""You're a brave woman, Mrs. The low, crunching squeal of tires turning on packed snow. He could hear the first evening crickets tuning up in Annie's field. You've known that for some time, haven't you?

It seemed to him that if he made the first two fingers of his hand into a V and attempted to poke them up her nostrils, they might go less than an eighth of an inch before encountering a solid (if slightly yielding) obstruction; that even her gray cardigan and frumpy house skirts and faded outside-work jeans were part of that solid fibrous unchannelled body. Being such a straight arrow was part of the reason for this amazing fecundity, but Annie herself was a bigger one. His hands dropped to the arms of the wheelchair and gripped them with panicky tightness. For a moment Geoffrey Alliburton was not sure who the old man at the door was, and this was not entirely because the bell had awakened him from a deepening doze. The picture was of a flowered meadow and the month said May, but Paul kept his own dates now on a piece of scrap paper, and according to his home-made calendar it was June 21. "He thought Colter would then speak of sounds which might, be no more than the wind in the trees, sounds amplified by his own imagination, of course — or perhaps a badger bumbling its way down to Little Dunthorpe Stream, which lay behind the churchyard. The fever had probably been caused more by his general run- down condition than any specific infection, and an oogy old fever was no problem for Annie; among her other souvenirs, Annie had Keflex and Ampicillin up the old kazoo. Halfway through Fast Cars, Tony had killed Lieutenant Gray when the lieutenant tried to slap the cuffs on him in a Times Square movie theater. "When he saw her again, she had a big green garbage bag in her hands and three or four more sticking out of the back pockets of her jeans. The irritating thing about village life, he thought, was that there weren't enough people for there to be any perfect strangers instead there were just enough to keep one from knowing immediately who many of the villagers were. It didn't jibe with his self-image as a Serious Writer who was only churning out these shitty romances in order to subsidize his (flourish of trumpets, please! A dream of the goddess, the face of the goddess, looming black over the jungle green, brooding and eroded. He had once toured a mental asylum — this was years ago, when he had been researching Misery, the first of the four books which had been his main source of income over the last eight years — and he had seen this look. Part of him — the part that listened to even the best, fairest editorial suggestions with ill-grace — protested that the woman was crazy, that there was no way to tell what she might or might not accept; that anything he tried would be only a crapshoot. Paul jammed his teeth together and grimly told himself he»would not vomit, would not, would not. The bad guys put Rocket Man — only it was Rocket Man in his secret identity — into a car that didn't have any brakes, and then they welded all the doors shut, and then they started the car rolling down this twisty-turny mountain road. Dark red predominated, as if someone had spilled a great deal of venous blood in here. The piece of paper was still in her hand, and every now and then she would shake it in front of her own nose as if in self-chastisement. During the next three weeks, Paul Sheldon felt surrounded by a queer electric peacefulness. And here was a startling picture from the Rocky Mountain News, a photo of Annie sitting calmly in her holding cell and reading Misery's Quest. One was the kitchen closet — he knew that even before he saw the coats, hats, scarves, and boots. Early yesterday afternoon I felt ever so much better — I spent most of my time up there on my knees, deep in prayer, and the answer came, as it often does, and it was quite simple, as it often is.