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She’d already taken the pills when I first called her. ” She shook her head, smiling. ” 6 So for Nancy Scofield, anyway, life never got any better than high school. But then, I guess it never got any worse either. For her it had been a life lived in the shadow of a hallway wall. She clung to that shadow as she passed from class to class. She held close to the lines of locker doors as if they rimmed a zone of invisibility through which she could walk unnoticed. Her eyes studied the floor. Her voice, when she was forced into a greeting, was a whisper.
I’d come about five miles from the hotel now. The woods were gone altogether, or wrestled back, anyway, into the hills that rose all around. The houses were larger here but closer to one another. Instead of woods, they were surrounded by trim little lawns. The cars in the garages were bigger than those I’d seen before. There were still bicycles and basketball hoops, but swing sets, too, and sandboxes, and even a jungle gym here and there. I came to a traffic light—the first I had seen. It was at an intersection where the winding road ended and a wider, straighter street crossed its path.
I sat on the edge of the bed. I bowed my head into my hands and moaned softly. I waited while my heartbeat eased. For a few moments the broken strands of the dream hung in my mind like cobwebs. I remembered I’d lay down to rest for a while. But I was not sure when reality had eased into nightmare, or when nightmare had become all there was. I stood up, rubbing my eyes. I was still dressed. My clothes felt rank. I glanced at my watch. It was half past midnight. I looked around me. The typewriter was on the desk before the mirror.