she wondered。 If he should pop
up from behind the dark； varnished registration desk with its pile of triplicate
forms and its little silver…plated bell； like some murderous jack…in…the…box；
pun intended； a grinning jack…in…the…box with a cleaver in one hand and no sense
at all left behind his eyes。 Would she stand frozen with terror； or was there
enough of the primal mother in her to fight him for her son until one of them
was dead？ She didn't know。 The very thought made her sick — made her feel that her
whole life had been a long and easy dream to lull her helplessly into this
waking nightmare。 She was soft。 When trouble came； she slept。 Her past was
unremarkable。 She had never been tried in fire。 Now the trial was upon her； not
fire but ice； and she would not be allowed to sleep through this。 Her son was
waiting for her upstairs。
Clutching the haft of the knife tighter； she peered over the desk。
Nothing there。
Her relieved breath escaped her in a long； hitching sigh。
She put the gate up and went through； pausing to glance into the inner office
before going in herself。 She fumbled through the next door for the bank of
kitchen light switches； coldly expecting a hand to close over hers at any
second。 Then the fluorescents were ing on with minuscule ticking and humming
sounds and she could see Mr。 Hallorann's kitchen — her kitchen now； for better or
worse — pale green tiles； gleaming Formica； spotless porcelain； glowing chrome
edgings。 She had promised him she would keep his kitchen clean； and she had。 She
felt as if it was one of Danny's safe places。 Dick Hallorann's presence seemed
to enfold and fort her。 Danny