He thanked her and told her he would ring back toward the end of the month。 He hung up before she could ask for his number； since the office of the House of Lights； Inc。； was in a Congress Street phone booth across from Joe's Smoke Shop。
Now here he was； eating cheeseburgers and wondering what to do next。 As if you didn't know； an interior voice whispered。
He started the van up and headed for Castle Rock。 By the time he finished his lunch （the Dilly Bar was practically running down the stick in the heat）； he was in North Windham。 He threw his trash on the floor of the van； where it joined a drift of like stuff … plastic drink containers； Big Mac boxes； returnable beer and soda bottles； empty cigarette packs。 Littering was an antisocial； anti…environmentalist act； and he didn't do it。
Steve got to the Trenton house at just half past three on that hot； glaring afternoon。 Acting with almost subliminal caution； he drove past the house without slowing and parked around the er on a side street about a quarter of a mile away。 He walked back。
The driveway was empty； and he felt a pang of frustrated disappointment。 He would not admit to himself … especially now that it looked like she was out … that he had intended to give her a taste of what she had been so eager to have during the spring。 Nevertheless； he had driven all the way from Westbrook to Castle Rock with a semi…erection that only now collapsed pletely。
She was gone。
No； the car was …gone。 One thing didn't necessarily prove the other； did it？
Steve looked around himself。
What we have here； ladies and gents； is a peaceful suburban street on a summer's day； most of the kiddies in for naps； most of the little wifies either doing likewise or glued to their TVs； checking out Love of Life or Search for Tomorrow。 All the Handsome Hubbies are busy earning their way into higher tax brackets and very possibly a bed in the Intensive Care ward at the Eastern Maine Medical Center。 Two little kids were playing hopscotch on a blurred chalk grid； they were wearing bathing suits and sweating heavily。 An old balding lady was trundling a wire shopping caddy back from town as if both she and it were made of the finest bone china。 She gave the kids playing hopscotch a wide berth。
In short； not much happening。 The street was dozing in the heat。
Steve walked up the sloping driveway as if he had every right to be there。 First he looked in the tiny one…car garage。 He had never known Donna to use it； because the doorway was so narrow。 If she put a dent in the car； Handsome Hubby would give her hell … no； excuse me； he would give her beck。
The garage was empty。 No Pinto； no elderly jag
Donna's Handsome Hubby was into what was known as sports car menopause。 She hadn't liked him saying that； but Steve had never seen a more obvious case。
Steve left the garage and went up the three steps to the back stoop。 Tried the door。 Found it unlocked。 He went inside without knocking after another casual glance around to make sure no one was m sight。
He closed the door on the silence of the house。 Once more his heart was knocking heavily in his chest； seeming to shake his whole ribcage。 And once again he was not admitting things。 He didn't have to admit them。 They were there just the same。
'Hi！ Anybody home？' His voice was loud； honest； pleasant； inquiring。
'Hi？' He was halfway down the hall now。
Obviously no one home。 The house had a silent； hot； waiting feel。 An empty house full of furniture was somehow creepy when it wasn't your house。 You felt watched。
'Hello？ Anybody home？' One last time。
Give her something to remember you by； then。 And split。
He went into the living room and stood looking around。 His shirtsleeves were rolled up； his forearms lightly slicked with sweat。 Now things could be admitted。 How he had wanted to kill her when she called him a son of a bitch； her spittle spraying on his face。 How he had wanted to kill her for making him feel old and scared and not able to keep on top of the situation any more。 The letter had been something； but the letter hadn't been enough。
To his right； knickknacks stood on a series of glass shelves。 He turned and gave the bottom shelf a sudden hard kick。 It disintegrated。 The frame tottered and then fell over； spraying glass； spraying little china figurines of cats and shepherds and all that happy bourgeois horseshit。 A pulse throbbed in the center of his forehead。 He was grimacing； unaware of the fact。 He walked carefully over the unbroken figurines； crushing them into powder。 He pulled a family portrait from the wall； looked curiously at the smiling face of Vic Trenton for a moment （Tad was sitting on his lap； and his arm was around Donna's waist）； and then he dropped the picture to the floor and stamped down hard on the glass。
He looked around； breathing hard； as if he had just run a race。 And suddenly he went after the room as if it were something alive； something that had hurt him badly and needed to be punished； as if it were the room that had caused his pain。 He pushed over Vic's La…Z…Boy recliner。 He upended the couch。 It stood on end for a moment； rocking uneasily； and then went down with a crash； breaking the back of the coffee table which had stood in front of it*。 He pulled all the books out of the bookcases； cursing the shitty taste of the people who had bought them under his breath as he did it。 He picked up the magazine stand and threw it overhand at the mirror over the mantelpiece； shattering it。 Big pieces of black…backed mirror fell onto the floor like chunks of a jigsaw puzzle。 He was snorting now； like a bull in heat。 His thin cheeks were almost purple with color。
He went into the kitchen by way of the small dining room。 As he walked past the dining…room table Donna's parents had bought them as a housewarming present； he extended his arm straight out and swept everything off onto the floor … the lazy Susan with its plement of spices； the cut…glass vase Donna had gotten for a dollar and a quarter at the Emporium Galorium in Bridgton the summer previous； Vic's graduation beer stein。 The ceramic salt and pepper shakers shattered like bombs。 His erection was back now； raging。 Thoughts of caution； of possible discovery； had departed his mind。 He was somewhere inside。 He was down a dark hole。
In the kitchen he yanked the bottom drawer of the stove out to its stop and threw pots and pans everywhere。 They made a dreadful clatter； but there was no satisfaction in mere clatter。 A rank of cupboards ran around three of the room's four sides。 He pulled them open one after the other。 He grabbed plates by the double handful and threw them on the floor。 Crockery jingled musically。 He swept the glasses out and grunted as they broke。 Among them was a set of eight delicate long…stemmed wine glasses that Donna had had since she was twelve years old。 She had read about 'hope chests' in some magazine or other and had determined to have such a chest of her own。 As it turned out； the wine glasses were the only thing she had actually put in hers before losing interest （her original grand intention had been to lay by enough to pletely furnish her bridal house or flat）； but she had had them for more than half her life； and they were treasured。
The gravy boat went。 The big serving platter。 The Sears radioltape player went on the floor with a heavy crunch。 Steve Kemp danced on it； he boogied on it。 His penis； hard as stone； throbbed inside his pants。 The vein in the center of his forehead throbbed in counterpoint。 He discovered booze under the small chromium sink in the corner。 He yanked out half… and three…quarters…full bottles by the armload and then flung them at the closed door of the kitchen closet one by one； throwing them overhand as hard as he could； the next day his right arm would be so stiff and sore he would barely be able to lift it to shoulder level。 Soon the blue closet door was running with Gilbey's Pi； jack Daniel's； J & B whisky； sticky green creme de menthe； the amaretto that had been a Christmas present from Roger and Althea Breakstone。 Glass twinkled benignly in the hot afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows over the sink。
Steve tore into the laundry room； where he found boxes of bleach； Spic 'n Span； Downy fabric softener in a larg