The one shallow drawer spilled out. He had expected to feel terrified when things got to this point, and was relieved to find he felt quite calm.
Annie was not swayed by pleas. Pain burst out from his knee and shrouded him, whitely radiant, in the center of a nova. And this had caused another memory to resurface: finishing William Goldings Lord of the Flies at the age of twelve on a hot summer day, going to the refrigerator for a cold glass of lemonade. If Misery Chastain had been a real person, he knew he might very well have been called upon "to aid the police in their inquiries", as the euphemism went.
The gotta which had kept them both alive and it had, for without it she surely would have murdered both him and herself long since was also what had caused the loss of his thumb. The people who made the story.
As dark came down on that second night, Miserys squealing went on as monotonously as ever the pig sounded like an unlatched door with rusty hinges squealing in the wind but Bossie No. Then Annie collapsed on top of him, a mountain of slack flesh, and he couldnt breathe at all.