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Show 75 "They're mine," Annis whispers, "put them back," but no one hears her now "Sixteen, eighteen, twenty . . .," and she watches as they scoop up the capsules, a handful each, and run through the hall to the bathroom. One small capsule rolls to the floor, but one is no use now, and she follows them desperately into the bathroom: "no," she cries, "they're mine," but she is not as quick or strong as they, and she watches the thirty-seven magical capsules, sweet easy somnolent keys to her prison, drop into the toilet. They bob on the surface of the water, and as she moves closer, horrified, to look, Rod presses the handle of the toilet, the water rushes into the bowl, and the capsules swirl, still on the surface, down and away. Rod and Evan and John talk only among themselves now, agitated and wild. She retreats back into the bedroom, and she sees Luel's kid slide away upstairs. She can hear Rod on the telephone now; his voice is indistinct, but she knows who he is calling. There is not much time. |
