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Everything
done
,
the
evening
put
neatly
away
,
he
went
to
bed
...
but
could
n't
sleep
.
There
was
something
else
,
something
that
nagged
at
him
.
The
last
two
days
went
around
and
around
in
his
head
as
he
listened
to
Rachel
and
Gage
breathing
nearly
in
tandem
.
GEN.
PATTON
...
HANNAH
THE
BEST
DOG
THAT
EVER
LIVED
...
MARTA
OUR
PET
RABIT
...
Ellie
,
furious
.
I
do
n't
want
Church
to
ever
be
dead
!
...
He
's
not
God
's
cat
!
Let
God
have
His
own
cat
!
Rachel
,
equally
furious
.
You
as
a
doctor
should
know
...
Norma
Crandall
saying
It
just
seems
like
people
want
to
forget
it
...
And
Jud
,
his
voice
terribly
sure
,
terribly
certain
,
a
voice
from
another
age
:
Sometimes
it
took
supper
with
you
and
sometimes
you
could
feel
it
bite
your
ass
.
And
that
voice
merged
with
the
voice
of
his
mother
,
who
had
lied
to
Louis
Creed
about
sex
at
four
but
told
him
the
truth
about
death
at
twelve
,
when
his
cousin
Ruthie
had
been
killed
in
a
stupid
car
accident
.
She
had
been
crushed
in
her
father
's
car
by
a
kid
who
had
found
the
keys
in
a
Public
Works
Department
payloader
and
decided
to
take
it
for
a
cruise
and
then
found
out
he
did
n't
know
how
to
stop
it
.
The
kid
suffered
only
minor
cuts
and
contusions
;
his
Uncle
Carl
's
Fairlane
was
demolished
.
She
ca
n't
be
dead
,
he
had
replied
in
answer
to
his
mother
's
bald
statement
.
He
had
heard
the
words
,
but
he
could
n't
seem
to
get
the
sense
of
them
.
What
do
you
mean
,
she
's
dead
?
What
are
you
talking
about
?
And
then
,
as
an
afterthought
:
Who
's
going
to
bury
her
?
For
although
Ruthie
's
father
,
Louis
's
uncle
,
was
an
undertaker
,
he
could
n't
imagine
that
Uncle
Carl
would
possibly
be
the
one
to
do
it
.
In
his
confusion
and
mounting
fear
,
he
had
seized
upon
this
as
the
most
important
question
.
It
was
a
genuine
conundrum
,
like
who
cut
the
town
barber
's
hair
.
I
imagine
that
Donny
Donahue
will
do
it
,
his
mother
replied
.
Her
eyes
were
red-rimmed
;
most
of
all
she
had
looked
tired
.
His
mother
had
looked
almost
ill
with
weariness
.
He
's
your
uncle
's
best
pal
in
the
business
.
Oh
,
but
Louis
...
sweet
little
Ruthie
...
I
ca
n't
stand
to
think
she
suffered
...
pray
with
me
,
will
you
,
Louis
?
Pray
with
me
for
Ruthie
.
I
need
you
to
help
me
.
So
they
had
gotten
down
on
their
knees
in
the
kitchen
,
he
and
his
mother
,
and
they
prayed
,
and
it
was
the
praying
that
finally
brought
it
home
to
him
;
if
his
mother
was
praying
for
Ruthie
Creed
's
soul
,
then
it
meant
that
her
body
was
gone
.
Before
his
closed
eyes
rose
a
terrible
image
of
Ruthie
coming
to
his
thirteenth
birthday
party
with
her
decaying
eyeballs
hanging
on
her
cheeks
and
blue
mould
growing
in
her
red
hair
,
and
this
image
provoked
not
just
sickening
horror
but
an
awful
doomed
love
.
He
cried
out
in
the
greatest
mental
agony
of
his
life
,
"
She
ca
n't
be
dead
!
MOMMA
,
SHE
CA
N'T
BE
DEAD
--
I
LOVE
HER
!
"
And
his
mother
's
reply
,
her
voice
flat
and
yet
full
of
images
:
dead
fields
under
a
November
sky
,
scattered
rose
petals
brown
and
turning
up
at
the
edges
,
empty
pools
scummed
with
algae
,
rot
,
decomposition
,
dust
:
She
is
,
my
darling
.
I
'm
sorry
,
but
she
is
.
Ruthie
is
gone
.
Louis
shuddered
,
thinking
,
Dead
is
dead
--
what
else
do
you
need
?
Suddenly
Louis
knew
what
it
was
he
had
forgotten
to
do
,
why
he
was
still
awake
on
this
night
before
the
first
day
of
his
new
job
,
hashing
over
old
griefs
.
