Dread Page #4

Well, you look like a goddamn fool.

F***ing spaceman.

I don't know what I was thinking.

Thank you. I'm sorry.

F***, no, please.

I'm sorry. What have I done?

What have I done?

I'm sorry. I'm... Don't shoot me.

No. No. No!

No! F***!

Mommy!

Mommy!

Oh, God!

Mommy! Mommy!

Hey. Take solace in this.

You faced the beast. The beast won.

- Hello?

- Stephen.

Abby. Where are you?

Would you like me if I was pretty?

Perfect like my sisters?

What are you talking about?

Abby.

Tell me where you are.

Where are you? Abby?

Oh, Christ. Oh, sh*t.

Abby. Abby, Abby.

Someone call an ambulance!

Abby. Abby, Abby. Oh, my God. Abby!

Call a f***ing ambulance, somebody!

Help me!

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild

"Look upon this little child

Pity my simplicity

"Suffer me to come to thee"

That would make it all better.

What's John Doe's story?

Still no news from the officer

who dropped him off.

What seems to be the problem?

Doesn't respond to the doctors at all.

All set.

Joshua, what is your strongest memory

of feeling fear?

Quaid!

Face the beast! You did that to her!

Come on out! Get out here!

I won't let you get away with that!

You wanna face the beast?

This is your mother...

Face me!

...and your father.

Abby's in the f***ing emergency room.

She's in the f***ing emergency room,

Quaid!

All because of you.

Get the f*** out here! Now!

You think you can f***ing scare me, huh?

You think you can scare me, Stephen, huh?

Toss the axe!

Down on your knees.

Hey.

Got something to show you.

Results from this school project of ours.

They've been much more rewarding

as of late.

It's beef. Slightly salted, well-cooked.

What the f*** did you do?

Cheryl.

Help!

Cheryl! Cheryl! Cheryl!

She's not here, Stephen.

I've already let her go.

- I don't believe you.

- I swear she's not here.

I just wanted you to see

the next phase of my study.

I'm beginning to get the results I need.

It's starting to make me feel

a little f***ing better, you know?

My nightmares have stopped cold.

I think she believed she could outwait me.

She hated even the smell of it.

And all those memories of her father

are flooding back to her, I'm sure.

Flooding back as if they were yesterday.

How long did you keep her in there?

Till the point was proven.

God, she looks sick.

She's hungry, of course.

It's been a day and a half.

This is where the cracks begin to show.

This is where the dread begins.

You motherf***er!

See? She always ended up cursing me out

whenever she had a confrontation

with the meat.

Go to hell, fuckhead!

Quaid! What are you doing?

Why are you doing this?

I'm not gonna do it.

I'm not gonna give you what you want.

I'm not even hungry anymore.

I'd rather die than eat your f***ing meat.

About now she began to hallucinate.

Little mental ticks.

She'd think that

she'd felt something in her hair

or something on the back of her neck.

- God, the meat looks...

- Ripe?

It's warm in her little room.

And there's a few flies in there with her.

They found the meat and laid their eggs.

- Was that a part of your plan, too?

- Yes.

Well, that's the crux of her dilemma,

isn't it?

The longer she waits, the worse it gets.

You're sick.

You're nothing but a f***ing sadist, Quaid.

You motherf***er!

How long now?

- Five days. Six. Six days.

- Six days!

Quaid.

Sorry, Quaid.

Sorry.

Whatever I did,

I'm sorry.

Please just let me out.

Please.

I'm sorry.

It startled me how suddenly she gave in.

F***...

She sat in the middle of the room

and ate the meat down to the bone.

Just like that.

Where did she go?

Well, she wandered downstairs.

She came into the kitchen,

drank several glasses of water.

Then she sat on a chair

for three or four hours,

and then I cooked her something to eat,

potatoes, and then she left.

You're f***ing lying. I know it.

Where is she?

Look, if it'll make you feel any better,

check the house.

- Who's with you?

- No one. Cut me... Cut me out.

Come on, cut me out, cut me out.

Hurry the f*** up, Quaid.

You motherf***er!

Watching the fear of death,

the pinnacle of all dread approach,

that was the limits.

Someone once wrote that no man

can know his own death.

But to know the death of others, intimately,

to watch the tricks that the mind would

surely perform to avoid the bitter truth,

that was a clue to death's nature, wasn't it?

That might, in some small way,

prepare a man for his own death.

To live another's dread vicariously was

the safest, cleverest way to touch the beast.

Steve. No!

No, Steve.

Let's see how hungry you have to be

to get through that.

No.

No!

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