eard her feet retreat to the end of it。 Their bedroom door slammed。
The bolt was run home。 The lock turned。 Brief silence。 Then the soft； muttered
sounds of forting。
He stood for an unknown length of time； literally paralyzed by all that had
happened in such a short space of time。 His dream was still with him； painting
everything a slightly unreal shade。 It was as if he had taken a very mild
mescaline hit。 Had he maybe hurt Danny as Wendy thought？ Tried to strangle his
son at his dead father's request？ No。 He would never hurt Danny。
（He fell down the stairs； Doctor。）
He would never hurt Danny now。
（How could I know the bug bomb was defective？）
Never in his life had he been willfully vicious when he was sober。
（Except when you almost killed George Hatfield。）
〃No！〃 he cried into the darkness。 He brought both fists crashing down on his
legs； again and again and again。
* * *
Wendy sat in the overstuffed chair by the window with Danny on her lap；
holding him； crooning the old meaningless words； the ones you never remember
afterward no matter how a thing turns out。 He had folded onto her lap with
neither protest nor gladness； like a paper cutout of himself； and his eyes
didn't even shift toward the door when Jack cried out 〃No！〃 somewhere in the
hallway。
The confusion had receded a little bit in her mind； but she now discovered
something even worse behind it。 Panic。
Jack had done this； she had no doubt of it。 His denials meant nothing to her。
She thought it was perfectly possible that Jack had tried to throttle Danny in
his sleep just as he had smashed the CB radio in his sleep。 He was having a