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There
was
Ben-Gay
in
the
medicine
cabinet
.
Louis
lowered
the
toilet
seat
,
sat
down
,
and
smeared
a
gob
on
his
bad
knee
.
Then
he
rubbed
some
more
on
the
small
of
his
back
--
a
clumsy
operation
.
He
left
the
toilet
and
walked
into
the
living
room
.
He
turned
on
the
hall
light
and
stood
there
at
the
foot
of
the
stairs
for
a
moment
,
looking
stupidly
around
.
How
strange
it
all
seemed
!
Here
was
where
he
had
stood
on
Christmas
Eve
when
he
had
given
Rachel
the
sapphire
.
It
had
been
in
the
pocket
of
his
robe
.
There
was
his
chair
,
where
he
had
done
his
best
to
explain
the
facts
of
death
to
Ellie
after
Norma
Crandall
's
fatal
heart
attack
--
facts
he
had
found
ultimately
unacceptable
to
himself
.
The
Christmas
tree
had
stood
in
that
corner
,
Ellie
's
construction-paper
turkey
--
the
one
that
had
reminded
Louis
of
some
sort
of
futuristic
crow
--
had
been
Scotch-taped
in
that
window
,
and
much
earlier
the
entire
room
had
been
empty
except
for
the
United
Van
Lines
boxes
,
filled
with
their
family
possessions
and
trucked
across
half
the
country
from
the
Midwest
.
He
remembered
thinking
that
their
things
looked
very
insignificant
,
boxed
up
like
that
--
a
small
enough
bulwark
between
his
family
and
the
coldness
of
all
the
outer
world
where
their
names
and
their
family
customs
were
not
known
.
How
strange
it
all
seemed
...
and
how
he
wished
they
had
never
heard
of
the
University
of
Maine
,
or
Ludlow
,
or
Jud
and
Norma
Crandall
,
or
any
of
it
.
He
went
upstairs
and
in
the
bathroom
at
the
top
he
got
the
stool
,
stood
on
it
,
and
took
down
the
small
black
bag
from
on
top
of
the
medicine
cabinet
.
He
took
this
into
the
master
bedroom
,
sat
down
,
and
began
to
rummage
through
it
.
Yes
,
there
were
syringes
in
case
he
needed
one
,
and
amid
the
rolls
of
surgical
tape
and
surgical
scissors
and
neatly
wrapped
papers
of
surgical
gut
were
several
ampules
of
very
deadly
stuff
.
If
needed
.
Louis
snapped
the
bag
shut
and
put
it
by
the
bed
.
He
turned
off
the
overhead
light
,
then
lay
down
,
hands
behind
his
head
.
To
lie
here
on
his
back
,
at
rest
,
was
exquisite
.
His
thoughts
turned
to
Disney
World
again
.
He
saw
himself
in
a
plain
white
uniform
,
driving
a
white
van
with
the
mouse-ears
logo
on
it
--
nothing
to
indicate
it
was
a
rescue
unit
on
the
outside
,
of
course
,
nothing
to
scare
the
paying
customers
.
Gage
was
sitting
beside
him
,
his
skin
deeply
tanned
,
the
whites
of
his
eyes
bluish
with
health
.
Here
,
just
to
the
left
,
was
Goofy
,
shaking
hands
with
a
little
boy
;
the
kid
was
in
a
trance
of
wonder
.
Here
was
Winnie
the
Pooh
posing
with
two
laughing
grandmas
in
pants
suits
so
a
third
laughing
grandma
could
snap
their
pictures
;
here
was
a
little
girl
in
her
best
dress
crying
,
"
I
love
you
,
Tigger
!
I
love
you
,
Tigger
!
"
He
and
his
son
were
on
patrol
.
He
and
his
son
were
the
sentries
in
this
magic
land
,
and
they
cruised
endlessly
in
their
white
van
with
the
red
dashboard
flasher
neatly
and
sensibly
covered
.
They
were
not
looking
for
trouble
,
not
they
,
but
they
were
ready
for
it
should
it
show
its
face
.
That
it
was
lurking
even
here
,
in
a
place
dedicated
to
such
innocent
pleasures
,
could
not
be
denied
;
some
grinning
man
buying
film
along
Main
Street
could
clutch
his
chest
as
the
heart
attack
struck
,
a
pregnant
woman
might
suddenly
feel
the
labor
pains
start
as
she
walked
down
the
steps
from
the
Sky
Chariot
,
a
teenage
girl
as
pretty
as
a
Norman
Rockwell
cover
might
suddenly
collapse
in
a
flopping
epileptic
fit
,
loafers
rattling
out
a
jagged
backbeat
on
the
cement
as
the
signals
in
her
brain
suddenly
jammed
up
.
There
were
sunstroke
and
heatstroke
and
brainstroke
,
and
perhaps
at
the
end
of
some
sultry
Orlando
summer
afternoon
there
might
even
be
a
stroke
of
lightning
;
there
was
,
even
,
Oz
the
Gweat
and
Tewwible
himself
here
--
he
might
be
glimpsed
walking
around
near
the
monorail
's
point
of
egress
into
the
Magic
Kingdom
or
peering
down
from
one
of
the
flying
Dumbos
with
his
flat
and
stupid
gaze
--
down
here
Louis
and
Gage
had
come
to
know
him
as
just
another
amusement
park
figure
like
Goofy
or
Mickey
or
Tigger
or
the
estimable
Mr.
D.
Duck
.
