Cell: A Novel by Stephen King Page B

knee at the place where Tom’s walk left the sidewalk.
    “What is it, honey?” Tom asked.
    She stood up, and Clay saw she was holding a very small sneaker. “It’s a Baby Nike,” she said. “Do you—”
    Tom shook his head. “I live alone. Except for Rafe, that is. He thinks he’s the king, but he’s only the cat.”
    “Then who left it?” She looked from Tom to Clay with wondering, tired eyes.
    Clay shook his head. “No telling, Alice. Might as well toss it.”
    But Clay knew she would not; it was déjà vu at its disorienting worst. She still held it in her hand, curled against her waist, as she went to stand behind Tom, who was on the steps, picking slowly through his keys in the scant light.
    Now we hear the cat, Clay thought. Rafe. And sure enough, there was the cat that had been Tom McCourt’s salvation, waowing a greeting from inside.
    7
    Tom bent down and Rafe or Rafer—both short for Rafael—leaped into his arms, purring loudly and stretching his head up to sniff Tom’s carefully trimmed mustache.
    “Yeah, missed you, too,” Tom said. “All is forgiven, believe me.” He carried Rafer across the enclosed porch, stroking the top of his head. Alice followed. Clay came last, closing the door and turning the knob on the lock before catching up to the others.
    “Follow along down to the kitchen,” Tom said when they were in the house proper. There was a pleasant smell of furniture polish and, Clay thought, leather, a smell he associated with men living calm lives that did not necessarily include women. “Second door on the right. Stay close. The hallway’s wide, and there’s nothing on the floor, but there are tables on both sides and it’s as black as your hat. As I think you can see.”
    “So to speak,” Clay said.
    “Ha-ha.”
    “Have you got flashlights?” Clay asked.
    “Flashlights and a Coleman lantern that should be even better, but let’s get in the kitchen first.”
    They followed him down the hallway, Alice walking between the two men. Clay could hear her breathing rapidly, trying not to let the unfamiliar surroundings freak her out, but of course it was hard. Hell, it was hard for him. Disorienting. It would have been better if there had been even a little light, but—
    His knee bumped one of the tables Tom had mentioned, and something that sounded all too ready to break rattled like teeth. Clay steeled himself for the smash, and for Alice’s scream. That she would scream was almost a given. Then whatever it was, a vase or some knickknack, decided to live a little longer and settled back into place. Still, it seemed like a very long walk before Tom said, “Here, okay? Hard right.”
    The kitchen was nearly as black as the hall, and Clay had just a moment to think of all the things he was missing and Tom must be missing more: a digital readout on the microwave oven, the hum of the fridge, maybe light from a neighboring house coming in through the window over the kitchen sink and making highlights on the faucet.
    “Here’s the table,” Tom said. “Alice, I’m going to take your hand. Here’s a chair, okay? I’m sorry if I sound like we’re playing blindman’s bluff.”
    “It’s all r—,” she began, then gave a little scream that made Clay jump. His hand was on the haft of his knife (now he thought of it as his) before he even realized he’d reached for it.
    “What?” Tom asked sharply. “What?”
    “Nothing,” she said. “Just… nothing. The cat. His tail… on my leg.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s all right. Stupid,” she added with self-contempt that made Clay wince in the dark.
    “No,” he said. “Let up on yourself, Alice. It’s been a tough day at the office.”
    “Tough day at the office!” Alice repeated, and laughed in a way Clay didn’t care for. It reminded him of her voice when she’d called Tom’s house beautiful. He thought, That’s going to get away from her, and then what do I do? In the movies the hysterical girl gets a