That strange and jealous part of his mind … he hadn't even been aware of that part in him until that afternoon in Deering Oaks … had an answer for everything； and in the dark it didn't seem to matter that most of the answers were irrational。
He was doing a slow dance back and forth between two sharpened points： Kemp on one （DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS？）； a vision of the telephone ringing on and on in their empty Castle Rock house on the other。 She could have had an accident。 She and Tad could be in hospital。 Someone could have broken in。 They could be lying murdered in their bedrooms。 Of course if she'd had an accident； someone official would have been in touch …the office as well as Donna knew in which Boston hotel he and Roger were staying … but in the dark that thought； which should have been a fort since no one had been in touch； only inclined his thoughts more toward murder。
Robbery and murder； his mind whispered as he lay awake in the dark。 Then it danced slowly across to the other sharpened point and took up its original litany： Gone off with Kemp。
In between these points； his mind saw a more reasonable explanation； one that made him feel helplessly angry。 Perhaps she and Tad had decided to spend the night with someone and had simply forgotten to call and tell him。 Now it was too late to just start calling around and asking people without alarming them。 He supposed he could call the sheriff's office and ask them to send someone up and check。 But wouldn't that be overreacting？
No； his mind said。
Yes； his mind said； definitely。
She and Tad are both dead with knives stuck in their throats； his mind said。 You read about it in the papers all the time。 It even happened in Castle Rock just before we came to town。 That crazy cop。 That Frank Dodd。
Gone off with Kemp； his mind said。
At midnight he tried again； and this time the constant ringing of the phone with no one to pick it up froze him into a deadly certainty of trouble。 Kemp； robbers； murderers； something。 Trouble。 Trouble at home。
He dropped the phone back into its cradle and turned on the bed lamp。 'Roger；' he said。 'Wake up。'
'Huh。 Wuh。 Hzzzzzz。 。 。 。' Roger had his arm over his eyes； trying to block out the light。 He was in his pajamas with the little yellow college pennants。
'Roger。 Roger！'
Roger opened his eyes； blinked； looked at the Travel…Ette clock。
'Hey； Vic； it's the middle of the night。'
'Roger。。。' He swallowed and something clicked in his throat。 'Roger； it's midnight and Tad and Donna still aren't home。 I'm scared。'
Roger sat up and brought the clock close to his face to verify what Vic had said。 It was now four past the hour。
'Well； they probably got freaked out staying there by themselves； Vic。 Sometimes Althea takes the girls and goes over to Sally Petrie's when I'm gone。 She gets nervous when the wind blows off the lake at night； she says。'
'She would have called。' With the light on； with Roger sitting up and talking to him； the idea that Donna might have just run off with Steve Kemp seemed absurd …he couldn't believe he had even indulged it。 Forget logic。 She had told him it was over； and he had believed her。 He believed her now。
'Called？' Roger said。 He was still having trouble tracking things。
'She knows I call home almost every night when I'm awayShe would have called the hotel and left a message if she was going to be gone overnight。 Wouldn't Althea？'
Roger nodded。 'Yeah。 She would。'
'She'd call and leave a message so you wouldn't worry。 Like I'm worrying now。'
'Yeah。 But she might have just forgotten； Vic。' Still； Roger's brown eyes were troubled。
'Sure；' Vic said。 'On the other hand； maybe something's happened。'
'She carries ID； doesn't she） If she and Tad were in an accident； God forbid； the cops would try home first and then the office。 The answering service would …'
'I wasn't thinking about an accident；' Vic said。 'I was thinking about 。 。 。' His voice began to tremble。 'I was thinking about her and Tadder being there alone； and 。。。 shit； I don't know 。。。 I just got scared； that's all。'
'Call the sheriff's office；' Roger said promptly。
'Yeah； but …'
'Yeah； but nothing。 You aren't going to scare Donna； that's for sure。 She's not there。 But what the hell； set your mind at rest。 It doesn't have to be sirens and flashing lights。 Just ask if they can send a cop by to check and make sure that everything looks normal。 There must be a thousand places she could be。 Hell； maybe she just tied into a really good Tupperware party。'
'Donna hates Tupperware parties。'
'So maybe the girls got playing penny…ante poker and lost track of the time and Tad's asleep in someone's spare room。'
Vic remembered her telling him how she had steered clear of any deep involvement with 'the girls' … I don't want to be one of those faces you see at the bake sales； she had said。 But he didn't want to tell Roger that； it was too close to the subject of Kemp。
'Yeah； maybe something like that；' Vic said。
'Have you got an extra key to the place tucked away somewhere？'
'There's one on a hook under the eave of the front porch。'
'Tell the cops。 Someone can go in and have a good look around 。。。 unless you've got pot or coke or something you'd just as soon they didn't stumble over。'
'Nothing like that。'
'Then do it；' Roger said earnestly。 'She'll probably call here while they're out checking and you'll feel like a fool； but sometimes it's good to feel like a fool。 You know what I mean？'
'Yeah；' Vic said； grinning a little。 'Yeah； I do。'
He picked the telephone up again； hesitated； then tried home again first。 No answer。 Some of the fort he had gotten from Roger evaporated。 He got directory assistance ocr Maine and jotted down the number of the Castle County Sheriff's Department。 It was now nearly fifteen minutes past twelve on Wednesday morning。
Donna Trenton was sitting with her hands resting lightly on the steering wheel of the Pinto。 Tad had finally fallen asleep again； but his sleep was not restful； he twisted； turned； sometimes moaned。 She was afraid he was reliving in his dreams what had happened earlier。
She felt his forehead； he muttered something and pulled away from her touch。 His eyelids fluttered and then slipped dosed again。 He felt feverish … almost surely a result of the constant tension and fear。 She felt feverish herself； and she was in severe pain。 Her belly hurt； but those wounds were superficial； little more than scratches。 She had been lucky there。 Cujo had damaged her left leg more。 The wounds there （the bites； her mind insisted； as if relishing the horror of it） were deep and ugly。 They had bled a lot before dotting； and she hadn't tried to apply a bandage right away； although there was a first…aid kit in the Pinto's glovebox。 Vaguely she supposed she had hoped that the flowing blood would wash the wound clean 。。。 did that really happen； or was it just an old wives' tale？ She didn't know。 There was so much she didn't know； so goddam much。
By the time the lacerated punctures had finally clotted； her thigh and the driver's bucket seat were both tacky with her blood。 She needed three gauze pads from the first…aid kit to cover the wound。 They were the last three in the kit。 Have to replace those； she thought； and that brought on a short； hysterical fit of the giggles。
In the faint light； the flesh just above her knee had looked like dark plowed earth。 There was a steady throbbing ache there that had not changed since the dog bit her。 She had dry…swallowed a couple of aspirin from the kit； but they didn't make a dent in the pain。 Her head ached badly too； as if a bundle of wires were slowly being twisted tighter and tighter inside each temple。
Flexing the leg brought the quality of the pain up from a throbbing ache to a sharp； glassy beat。 She had no idea if she could even walk on the leg now； let alone run for the porch door。 And did it really matter？ The dog was sitting on the gravel between her car door and the door which gave on the porch； its hideously mangled head drooping 。。。 but with its eyes fixed unfailingly on the car。 On her。
Somehow she didn't think Cujo was going to move again； at least not tonight。 Tomorrow the sun might drive him into the barn； if it was as hot as it had been yesterday。
'It wants me；' she whispered through her blistered lips。 It was true。 Somehow it was true。 For reasons decreed by Fate； or for its own unknowable ones； the dog wanted her。
When it had fallen on the gravel； she had been sure it was dying。 No living thing could have taken the pounding she had given it with the door。 Even its thick fur hadn't been able to cushion the blows。 One of the Saint Bernard's ears appeared to be dangling by no more than a string of flesh。
But it had regained its feet； little by little。 She hadn't been able to believe her eyes 。。。 hadn't wanted to believe her eyes。
'No！' she had shrieked； totally out of control。 'No； lie down； you're supposed to be dead； lie down； lie down and die； you shit dog！'
'Mommy； don't；' Tad had murmured； holding his head。 'It hurts 。 。 。 it hurts me 。 。 。'
Since then； nothing in the situation had changed。 Time had resumed its former slow crawl。 She had put her watch to her ear several times to make sure it was still ticking； because the hands never seemed to change position。
Twenty past