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Suicide
?
Is
it
suicide
?
Not
Louis
;
I
ca
n't
believe
that
.
But
he
was
lying
about
something
.
It
was
in
his
eyes
...
oh
shit
,
it
was
all
over
his
face
,
almost
as
if
he
wanted
me
to
see
the
lie
...
see
it
and
put
a
stop
to
it
...
because
part
of
him
was
scared
...
so
scared
...
Scared
?
Louis
is
never
scared
!
Suddenly
she
jerked
the
Chevette
's
steering
wheel
hard
over
to
the
left
,
and
the
car
responded
with
the
abrupt
suddenness
that
small
cars
have
,
the
tires
wailing
.
For
a
moment
she
thought
it
was
going
to
turn
over
.
But
it
did
n't
,
and
she
was
moving
north
again
,
exit
8
with
its
comforting
Holiday
Inn
sign
slipping
behind
her
.
A
new
sign
came
in
view
,
reflective
paint
twinkling
eerily
.
NEXT
EXIT
ROUTE
12
CUMBERLAND
CUMBERLAND
CENTER
JERUSALEM
'S
LOT
FALMOUTH
FALMOUTH
FORESIDE
.
Jerusalem
's
Lot
,
she
thought
randomly
,
what
an
odd
name
.
Not
a
pleasant
name
,
for
some
reason
...
Come
and
sleep
in
Jerusalem
.
But
there
would
be
no
sleep
for
her
tonight
;
Jud
's
advice
notwithstanding
,
she
now
meant
to
drive
straight
through
.
Jud
knew
what
was
wrong
and
had
promised
her
he
would
put
a
stop
to
it
,
but
the
man
was
eighty-some
years
old
and
had
lost
his
wife
only
three
months
before
.
She
would
not
put
her
trust
in
Jud
.
She
should
never
have
allowed
Louis
to
bulldoze
her
out
of
the
house
the
way
he
had
,
but
she
had
been
weakened
by
Gage
's
death
.
Ellie
with
her
Polaroid
picture
of
Gage
and
her
pinched
face
--
it
had
been
the
face
of
a
child
who
has
survived
a
tornado
or
a
sudden
dive-bombing
from
a
clear
blue
sky
.
There
had
been
times
in
the
dark
watches
of
night
when
she
had
longed
to
hate
Louis
for
the
grief
he
had
fathered
inside
her
,
and
for
not
giving
her
the
comfort
she
needed
(
or
allowing
her
to
give
the
comfort
she
needed
to
give
)
,
but
she
could
not
.
She
loved
him
too
much
still
,
and
his
face
had
been
so
pale
...
so
watchful
...
The
Chevette
's
speedometer
needle
hung
poised
just
a
bit
to
the
right
of
sixty
miles
an
hour
.
A
mile
a
minute
.
Two
hours
and
a
quarter
to
Ludlow
maybe
.
Maybe
she
could
still
beat
the
sunrise
She
fumbled
with
the
radio
,
turned
it
on
,
found
a
rock-and-roll
station
out
of
Portland
.
She
turned
up
the
volume
and
sang
along
,
trying
to
keep
herself
awake
.
The
station
began
to
fade
in
and
out
half
an
hour
later
,
and
she
returned
to
an
Augusta
station
,
rolled
the
window
down
,
and
let
the
restless
night
air
blow
in
on
her
.
She
wondered
if
this
night
would
ever
end
.
Louis
had
rediscovered
his
dream
and
was
in
its
grip
;
every
few
moments
he
looked
down
to
make
sure
it
was
a
body
in
a
tarpaulin
he
was
carrying
and
not
one
in
a
green
Hefty
Bag
.
He
remembered
how
on
awakening
the
morning
after
Jud
had
taken
him
up
there
with
Church
he
had
been
barely
able
to
remember
what
they
had
done
--
but
now
he
also
remembered
how
vivid
those
sensations
had
been
,
how
alive
each
of
his
senses
had
felt
,
how
they
had
seemed
to
reach
out
,
touching
the
woods
as
if
they
were
alive
and
in
some
kind
of
telepathic
contact
with
himself
.
He
followed
the
path
up
and
down
,
rediscovering
the
places
where
it
seemed
as
wide
as
Route
15
,
the
places
where
it
narrowed
until
he
had
to
turn
sideways
to
keep
the
head
and
foot
of
his
bundle
from
getting
tangled
in
the
underbrush
,
the
places
where
the
path
wound
through
great
cathedral
stands
of
trees
.
He
could
smell
the
clear
tang
of
pine
resin
,
and
he
could
hear
that
strange
crump-crump
of
the
needles
underfoot
--
a
sensation
that
is
really
more
feeling
than
sound
.
