He was a very polite boy. Annie had managed to pull most of the paper out of her mouth and throat and had gotten out through Pauls window while Paul was sleeping the sleep of drugs. I wish youd relax, Paul. She closed the bulkhead, shot the bolt, and stood back, surveying the puddly driveway and the grass, which looked as though a heavy dew had fallen upon it. He heard the kitchen screen door bang shut and eased the wheelchair close enough to the window so he could remain in an angle of shadow and still peek out. If Misery Chastain had been a real person, he knew he might very well have been called upon "to aid the police in their inquiries", as the euphemism went. He had thought she was putting on an editors hat - maybe even trying on a collaborators chapeau, preparing to tell him what to write and how to write it. Thats where she kept me. Paul settled hands he could barely feel on the wheels and rolled the chair toward the hallway, sparing one glance at the ceramic penguin on its block of ice. There were three or four, magnets stuck to its door - not surprisingly, they all looked, like candy: a piece of bubble-gum, a Hershey Bar, a Tootsie Roll. __._,_.___
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Title: Re: letter
