He called her five minutes later. He heard her heavy steps coming down the stairs. The room smelled strongly of fuel. 79 She stopped at the end of the hall and shouted out, 'Paul, are you really finished?' Paul looked at the huge pile of paper in front of him on the table. It was wet with fuel. 'Well,' he shouted back, 'I did the best I could, Annie.' 'I can hardly believe it!' she said. 'After all this time! I'm so excited. I'll go and get the champagne. I won't be a minute!' She sounded like a little girl. He heard her crossing the kitchen floor. The fridge door squeaked open and then shut again. She started down the hall. He reached for the box of matches and took out the single match. He scratched it against the side, but it didn't light. She was nearly at his door. The third time, the match lit and he watched the yellow flame carefully. 'I just hope t h i s - ' She stopped. Paul was holding the burning match just above the pile of paper. Paul had turned the top page around so that Annie could see it when she came into the room: MISERY'S RETURN, by Paul Sheldon. Annie's mouth dropped open. 'Paul, what are you going?' 'I've finished,' he said. 'And it's good. In fact, Annie, I think it's the best thing I've ever written. Now I'm going to do a little trick with it. It's a good trick. I learned it from you.' 'Paul, no!' Her voice was full of pain and understanding. Her hands reached out and she dropped the champagne bottle and the glasses on to the floor. They broke: there were pieces of glass and champagne everywhere. 'It's a pity that you'll never read it,' Paul said, and smiled at her. It was his first real smile for months. 'Actually, I think it's better than a good novel: I think it was a great novel, Annie.' The match was starting to burn his fingers. He dropped it on to the pile of paper. For one awful moment he thought it had gone out, but then pale blue fire rushed across the top page and down the sides of the typescript. The flames grew taller and 80 stronger when they met the little pools of fuel which lay on the table on both sides of the typescript. 'OH, GOD, NO!' Annie screamed. 'NO! NOT MISERY! NOT HER! NO!' Paul could now feel the heat of the flames on his face. 'PAUL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU CAN'T BURN MISERY, YOU DIRTY BIRD, YOU!' And then she did exactly what he had known she would do; she seized the burning pile of paper. Then she turned round, intending to run to the bathroom with it and put it under the tap. As soon as she turned her back on Paul he picked up the heavy old typewriter and lifted it over his head. The side of the typewriter was hot and blisters sprang up on his hand. He ignored the pain and threw the typewriter at her. It hit her in the middle of her back. 'OO-OW!' Annie fell forward on to the floor, on top of the burning pile of paper. Paul stood up on his one good leg. Tongues of flame began to play at the edges of Annie's clothes and he could already smell burning skin. She screamed in pain. She rolled over and struggled to her knees. Now he could see broken glass in her arms and face, too. Some of her clothes had melted on to her skin. He did not feel at all sympathetic or sorry. 'I'm going to kill you,' she said, and started to get to her feet. Paul let himself fall on top of her. This pushed her down on to the hard typewriter. She screamed in pain again and tried to push him off. She rolled over on to her back. He grabbed some paper, which was lying in a pool of champagne, and squashed it into a ball, 'Get off me!' she shouted, and her mouth opened wide. Paul pushed the ball of paper into her mouth. 'Here's your book, Annie,' he gasped, and he grabbed some more paper. She struggled under him and his left knee hit the ground. The pain was terrible, but he kept his position on top of her and fiercely punched more paper into her mouth . . . and 81 more and more, until the first balls of paper were deep in her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe. She fought back with all her strength and managed to push him off her. Her hands reached for her swollen throat. There was little left of her clothes at the front of her body and he could see that her flesh was red and covered with blisters. 'Mumpf! Mark! Mark!' Annie said. She struggled to her feet. Paul pushed himself backwards along the floor, his legs straight out in front of him. He watched her carefully. She took one step towards him, choking on the paper. Drops of champagne from the paper ran down her chin. Her eyes looked at him with a question: Paul, what happened? I was bringing you champagne. Why did you do this to me? She took another step and fell over the typewriter again. Her head hit the wall hard as she fell down and she landed heavily on the ground like a loose sack of bricks.