The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King Read Free Book Online

Walkman! Yeah, baby!
    She unzipped the inner pocket and lifted it out as reverently as any priest has ever handled the eucharist. The headphone wire was wrapped around the body of the Walkman and the tiny earbuds were clipped neatly to the sides of its black plastic body. Her and Pepsi’s current favorite tape ( Tubthumper, by Chumbawamba) was in there, but Trisha didn’t care about music just then. She slipped the headphones on, nestled the earbuds into place, flipped the switch from TAPE to RADIO, and turned it on.
    At first there was nothing but a soft rush of static, because she had been tuned to WMGX, a Portland station. But a little further down the FM band she came to WOXO in Norway, and when she tuned up the other way she got WCAS, the littlestation in Castle Rock, a town they had passed through on their way to the Appalachian Trail. She could almost hear her brother, his voice dripping with that newly discovered teenage sarcasm of his, saying something like “ WCAS! Hicksville today, tomorrow the world! ” And it was a Hicksville station, no doubt about that. Whiny cowboy singers like Mark Chestnutt and Trace Adkins alternated with a female announcer who took calls from people who wanted to sell washers, dryers, Buicks, and hunting rifles. Still, it was human contact, voices in the wilderness, and Trisha sat on the fallen tree, transfixed, waving absently at the constant cloud of bugs with her cap. The first time-check she heard was three-oh-nine.
    At three thirty, the female announcer put the Community Trading Post on hold long enough to read the local news. Folks in Castle Rock were up in arms about a bar where there were now topless dancers on Friday and Saturday nights, there had been a fire at a local nursing home (no one hurt), and Castle Rock Speedway was supposed to reopen on the Fourth of July with brand-new stands and loads of fireworks. Rainy this afternoon, clearing tonight, sunny tomorrow with highs in the mid-eighties. That was it. No missing little girl. Trisha didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.
    She reached to turn off the power and save thebatteries, then paused as the female announcer added, “Don’t forget that the Boston Red Sox take on those pesky New York Yankees tonight at seven o’clock; you can catch all the action right here on WCAS, where we’ve got our Sox on. And now back to—”
    Now back to the shittiest day a little girl ever had, Trisha thought, turning off the radio and wrapping the cord around the slim plastic body again. Yet the truth was that she felt almost all right for the first time since that nasty minnow had started swimming around in her midsection. Having something to eat was partially the reason, but she suspected that the radio had more to do with it. Voices, real human voices, and sounding so close.
    There was a cluster of mosquitoes on each of her thighs, trying to drill through the material of her jeans. Thank God she hadn’t worn shorts. She would have been chuck steak by now.
    She swatted the mosquitoes away, then got up. What now? Did she know anything at all about being lost in the woods? Well, that the sun rose in the east and went down in the west; that was about all. Once someone had told her that moss grew on the north or south side of a tree, but she couldn’t remember which. Maybe the best thing would be just to sit here, try to make some sort of shelter (more against the bugs than the rain, there were mosquitoes inside the hood of her poncho again and they were drivingher crazy), and wait for someone to come. If she had matches, maybe she could make a fire—the rain would keep it from spreading—and someone would see the smoke. Of course, if pigs had wings, bacon would fly. Her father said that.
    â€œWait a minute,” she said. “Wait a minute.”
    Something about water. Finding your way out of the woods by water. Now what—?
    It came to her, and she felt another burst of