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file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Stephen%20King%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm“Pascow is his name?”One of the campus cops said, “Victor Pascow, according to the girl he was jogging with.”Louis glanced at his watch and subtracted two minutes. From the room where Masterton had sequesteredthe people who had brought Pascow in, he could hear a girl sobbing wildly. Welcome back to school,little lady, he thought. Have a nice semester. “Mr. Pascow died at 10:09 A.M.,” he said.One of the cops wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Masterton said again, “Louis, are youreally okay? You look terrible.”Louis opened his mouth to answer, and one of the candy stripers abruptly dropped her end of the hardstretcher and ran out, vomiting down the front of her pinafore. A phone began to ring. The girl who hadbeen sobbing now began to scream thedead man’s name—”Vic! Vic! Vic!”—over and over. Bedlam. Confusion. One of the cops was askingCharlton if they could have a blanket to cover him up, and Chariton was saying she didn’t know if shehad the authority to requisition one, and Louis found himself thinking of a line from Maurice Sendak:“Let the wild rumpus start!”Those rotten giggles rose in his throat again, and somehow he managed to bottle them up. Had thisPascow really said the words Pet Sematary? Had this Pascow really spoken his name? Those were thethings that were knocking him off kilter, the things that had sent him wobbling out of orbit. But alreadyhis mind seemed to be wrapping those few moments in a protective film—sculpting, changing,disconnecting. Surely he had said something else (if he had indeed spoken at all), and in the shock andunhappy passion of the moment, Louis had misinterpreted it. More likely, Pascow had only mouthedsounds, as he had at first thought.Louis groped for himself, for that part of himself that had caused the administration to give him this jobover the other fifty-three applicants for the position. There was no one in command here, no forwardmotion; the room was full of milling people.“Steve, go give that girl a trank,” he said, and just saying the words made him feel better. It was as if hewere in a rocketship under power now, puffing away from a tiny moonlet. Said moon-let being, ofcourse, that irrational moment when Pascow had spoken. Louis had been hired to take charge; he wasgoing to doit.“Joan. Give the cop a blanket.”“Doctor, we haven’t inventoried—”file:///E|/Funny%20&%20Weird%20Shit/75%20-%20Ste...%20Books/Stephen%20King%20-%20Pet%20Sematary.htm (55 of 333)7/28/2005 9:21:49 PM