Salem's Lot

‘If I could jump in with you right now-’

‘Just a second, let me pull back the spread.’

‘How would I explain it to those little candy-stripers?’

‘Tell them you’re giving me the bedpan.’

She shook her head, smiling, and pulled up a chair. ‘A lot has happened in town, Ben.’

He sobered. ‘Like what?’

She hesitated. ‘I hardly know how to tell you, or what I believe myself. I’m mixed up, to say the least.’

‘Well, spill it and let me sort it out.’

‘What’s your condition, Ben?’

‘Mending. Not serious. Matt’s doctor, a guy named Cody-’

‘No. Your mind. How much of this Count Dracula stuff do you believe?’

‘Oh. That. Matt told you everything’

‘Matt’s here in the hospital. One floor up in Intensive Care.’

‘What?’ He was up on his elbows. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘Heart attack.’

‘Heart attack!’

‘Dr Cody says his condition is stable. He’s listed as serious, but that’s mandatory for the first forty-eight hours. I was there when it happened.’

‘Tell me everything you remember, Susan.’

The pleasure had gone out of his face. It was watchful, intent, fine-drawn. Lost in the white room and the white sheets and the white hospital johnny, he again struck her as a man drawn to a taut, perhaps fraying edge.

‘You didn’t answer my question, Ben.’

‘About how I took Matt’s story?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me answer you by saying what you think. You think the Marsten House has buggered my brain to the point where I’m seeing bats in my own belfry, to coin a phrase. Is that a fair estimate?’

‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. But I never thought about it in such… such harsh terms.’

‘I know that, Susan. Let me trace the progression of my thoughts for you, if I can. It may do me some good to sort them out. I can tell from your own face that something has knocked you back a couple of steps. Is that right?’

‘Yes… but I don’t believe, can’t-’

‘Stop a minute. That word can’t blocks up everything. That’s where I was stuck. That absolute, goddamned imperative, word. Can’t. I didn’t believe Matt, Susan, because such things can’t be true. But I couldn’t find a hole in his story any way I looked at it. The most obvious conclusion was that he had jumped the tracks somewhere, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he seem crazy to you?’

‘No. No, but-’

‘Stop.’ He held up his hand. ‘You’re thinking can’t thoughts, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose I am,’ she said.

‘He didn’t seem crazy or irrational to me, either. And we both know that paranoid fantasies or persecution complexes just don’t appear overnight. They grow over a period of time. They need careful watering, care, and feeding. Have you ever heard any talk in town about Matt having a screw loose? Ever heard Matt say that someone had the knife out for him? Has he ever been involved with any dubious causes-fluoridation causes brain cancer or Sons of the American Patriots or the NLF? Has he ever expressed an inordinate amount of interest in things such as s6ances or astral projection or reincarnation? Ever been arrested that you know of?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No to everything. But Ben… it hurts me to say this about Matt, even to suggest it, but some people go crazy very quietly. They go crazy inside.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly. ‘There are signs. Sometimes you can’t read them before, but you can afterward. If you were on a jury, would you believe Matt’s testimony about a car crash?’

‘Yes… ‘

‘Would you believe him if he had told you he saw a prowler kill Mike Ryerson?’

‘Yes, I guess I would.’

‘But not this.’

‘Ben, I just can’t-’

‘There, you said it again.’ He saw her ready to protest and held up a forestalling hand. ‘I’m not arguing his case, Susan. I’m only laying out my own train of thought. Okay?’