mouth-hole in the mask, and bit down as hard as he could It was ecstasy. Only—
Only then something happened. Something bad. Something horrible. It felt as if she had ripped his lower jaw right out of its sockets. Pain leaped up the sides of his head in polished steel darts, meeting with a bang at the crown. He screamed and reeled back from her, the bitch, oh the dirty bitch, what had happened to change her from the predictable thing she had been into this monster?
The innocent bystander spoke up then, and Norman was pretty sure he shot him. He’d shot someone, anyway; people who screamed like that had either been shot or burned. Then, as he turned the gun toward the place where Rose and the cocksucker friend were, he heard a door slam shut. The bitch had beaten him into her room after all.
For the time being, even that was of secondary importance. His jaw had replaced his nose as the center of pain now, just as his nose had replaced his jammed knee and his outraged balls. What had she done to him? The lower half of his face felt not just torn open but extended, somehow; his teeth seemed to be satellites floating somewhere out beyond the end of his nose.
Don’t be an idiot, Normie, his father whispered. She’s dislocated your jaw, that’s all. You know what to do about that, so do it!
“Shut up, you old queer, ” Norman tried to say, but with his face pulled out of shape, what emerged was Ut uh, 000 ole heer! He put down the gun, hooked up the sides of the
mask with his thumbs (he hadn’t pulled it all the way down when he put it on, which made this part of the job easier), and then gently pressed the heels of his hands against the points of his jaw. It was like touching ball-bearings that had jumped out of their sockets.
Steeling himself against the pain, he slid his hands farther down, tilted them up, and shoved sharply. There was pain, all right, but mostly because only one side of his jaw went back into place at first. That left the lower part of his face askew, like a dresser drawer that’s been pushed in crooked.
Squinch your face that way for long, Norman, and it’ll freeze that way! his mother spat inside his head—the old venom he remembered so well.
Norman shoved up on the right side of his face again. This time he heard a click deep inside his head as the right half of his jaw socked back into place. The whole thing felt weirdly loose, however, as if the tendons had been savagely stretched and might take quite some time to tighten up again. He had the oddest sensation that, if he yawned, his jaw might plummet all the way to his belt-buckle.
The mask, Normie, his father whispered. The mask’ll help,if you pull it all the way down.
“That’s right,” the bull said. Its voice was muffled because of the way it was rumpled up on the sides of his face, but Norman had no trouble understanding it.
He pulled it down carefully, all the way this time, getting the hem well under his jawline, and it did help; it seemed to hold his face in place like an athletic supporter.
“Yep, ” ze bool said. “Just think of me as a jawstrap. ”
Norman breathed deeply as he struggled to his feet, stuffing the cop’s .45 into the waistband of his pants as he did. All’s cool, he thought. Nobody in here but the boys; no gals allowed. It even seemed as if he could see more clearly through the eyeholes of the mask now, as if his vision had been in some way boosted. Undoubtedly just his imagination, but it really did feel that way, and it was a nice feeling to have. A confidence-builder.
He pressed himself back against the wall, then sprang forward and hit the door she and her cocksucker friend had gone through. It made his jaw waggle painfully even inside the tight webbing of the mask, but he went again, and just as hard, with no hesitation. The door rattled in its frame and a long sliver of wood popped out of the upper panel.
He found himself wishing suddenly that Harley Bissington were here. The two of them could have taken the door in one hit, and he could’ve let Harley have a go at his wife while he, Norman, took care of