“WHO IS ACCEPTABLE?” the Dragon asked.
“Mrs. . . . erhman—Sherman.” It was hard for Dolarhyde to say.
“SPEAK UP. I CAN’T UNDERSTAND YOU. WHOM ARE YOU TH
INKING ABOUT?”
Dolarhyde, his face set, turned to the barbell. Up. Over his head. Much harder this time.
“Mrs. . . . erhman wet in the water.”
“YOU THINK ABOUT YOUR LITTLE BUDDY, DON’T YOU? YOU WANT HER TO BE YOUR LITTLE BUDDY, DON’T YOU?”
The weight came down with a thud.
“I on’t have a li’l . . . huddy.” With the fear his speech was failing. He had to occlude his nostrils with his upper lip.
“A STUPID LIE.” The Dragon’s voice was strong and clear. He said the /s/ without effort. “YOU FORGET THE BECOMING. PREPARE FOR THE SHERMANS. LIFT THE WEIGHT.”
Dolarhyde seized the barbell and strained. His mind strained with his body. Desperately he tried to think of the Shermans. He forced himself to think of the weight of Mrs. Sherman in his arms. Mrs. Sherman was next. It was Mrs. Sherman. He was fighting Mr. Sherman in the dark. Holding him down until loss of blood made Sherman’s heart quiver like a bird. It was the only heart he heard. He didn’t hear Reba’s heart. He didn’t.
Fear leeched his strength. He got the weight up to his thighs, could not make the turn up to his chest. He thought of the Shermans ranged around him, eyes wide, as he took the Dragon’s due. It was no good. It was hollow, empty. The weight thudded down.
“NOT ACCEPTABLE.”
“Mrs. . . .”
“YOU CAN’T EVEN SAY ‘MRS. SHERMAN.’ YOU NEVER INTEND TO TAKE THE SHERMANS. YOU WANT REBAMCCLANE. YOU WANT HER TO BE YOUR LITTLE BUDDY, DON’T YOU? YOU WANT TO BE ‘FRIENDS. ’”
“No.”
“LIE!”
“Nyus mhor a niddow wyow.”
“JUST FOR A LITTLE WHILE? YOU SNIVELING HARELIP, WHO WOULD BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? COME HERE. I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT YOU ARE.”
Dolarhyde did not move.
“I’VE NEVER SEEN A CHILD AS DISGUSTING AND DIRTY AS YOU. COME HERE.”
He went.
“TAKE DOWN THE SWEATSHIRT.”
He took it down.
“LOOK AT ME.”
The Dragon glowed from the wall.
“TAKE DOWN THE KIMONO. LOOK IN THE MIRROR.”
He looked. He could not help himself or turn his face from the scalding light. He saw himself drool.
“LOOK AT YOURSELF. I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU A SURPRISE FOR YOUR LITTLE BUDDY. TAKE OFF THAT RAG.”
Dolarhyde’s hands fought each other at the waistband of the sweatpants. The sweatpants tore. He stripped them away from him with his right hand, held the rags to him with his left.