Insomnia by Stephen King

something to lurk behind – near the wet patch the sprinkler had put on the sidewalk, watching them nervously. The first police car had been joined by a second, and Ralph could faintly hear the crackle of radio calls through the open windows. The crowd had gotten quite a bit bigger.
    ‘The police are there because of Helen !’ he said, telling himself not to shout, it would do no good to shout, and shouting anyway. ‘They’re there because you beat up your wife, is that getting through to you?’
    ‘Oh,’ Ed said, and rubbed his cheek ruefully. ‘ That .’
    ‘Yes, that, ’ Ralph said. He now felt almost stupefied with rage.
    Ed peered past him at the police cars, at the crowd standing around the Red Apple . . . and then he saw McGovern.
    ‘Bill!’ he cried. McGovern recoiled. Ed either didn’t notice or pretended not to. ‘Hey, man! Drag up a rock! Want a beer?’
    That was when Ralph knew he was going to hit Ed, break his stupid little round-lensed spectacles, drive a splinter of glass into his eye, maybe. He was going to do it, nothing on earth could stop him from doing it, except at the last moment something did. It was Carolyn’s voice he heard inside his head most frequently these days – when he wasn’t just muttering along to himself, that was – but this wasn’t Carolyn’s voice; this one, as unlikely as it seemed, belonged to Trigger Vachon, whom he’d seen only once or twice since the day Trig had saved him from the thunderstorm, the day Carolyn had had her first seizure.
    Ayy, Ralph! Be damn careful, you! Dis one crazy like a fox! Maybe he want you to hit im!
    Yes, he decided. Maybe that was just what Ed wanted. Why? Who knew? Maybe to muddy the waters up a little bit, maybe just because he was crazy.
    ‘Cut the shit,’ he said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. He was gratified to see Ed’s attention snap back to him in a hurry, and even more pleased to see Ed’s pleasantly vague expression of rueful amusement disappear. It was replaced by a narrow, watchful expression. It was, Ralph thought, the look of a dangerous animal with its wind up .
    Ralph hunkered down so he could look directly at Ed. ‘Was it Susan Day?’ he asked in the same soft voice. ‘Susan Day and the abortion business? Something about dead babies? Is that why you unloaded on Helen?’
    There was another question on his mind – Who are you really, Ed? – but before he could ask it, Ed reached out, placed a hand in the center of Ralph’s chest, and pushed. Ralph fell backward onto the damp grass, catching himself on his elbows and shoulders. He lay there with his feet flat on the ground and his knees up, watching as Ed suddenly sprang out of his lawn-chair.
    ‘Ralph, don’t mess with him!’ McGovern called from his place of relative safety on the sidewalk.
    Ralph paid no attention. He simply remained where he was, propped on his elbows and looking attentively up at Ed. He was still angry and afraid, but these emotions had begun to be overshadowed by a strange, chilly fascination. This was madness he was looking at – the genuine article. No comicbook super-villain here, no Norman Bates, no Captain Ahab. It was just Ed Deepneau who worked down the coast at Hawking Labs – one of those eggheads, the old guys who played chess at the picnic area out on the Extension would have said, but still a nice enough fella for a Democrat. Now the nice enough fella had gone totally bonkers, and it hadn’t just happened this afternoon, when Ed had seen his wife’s name on a petition hanging from the Community Bulletin Board in the Shop ’n Save. Ralph now understood that Ed’s madness was at least a year old, and that made him wonder what secrets Helen had been keeping behind her normal cheery demeanor and sunny smile, and what small, desperate signals – besides the bruises, that was – he might have missed.
    And then there’s Natalie, he thought. What’s she seen? What’s she experienced? Besides, of course,