Free Four Past Midnight by Stephen King Page B

only conclusion I’m willing to draw right now is that somebody down there forgot to pay the electricity bill. And until we know a little more, I think that’s the only conclusion any of us should draw.”
    He paused. Laurel was holding Dinah’s hand. Albert produced a low, awed whistle. Robert Jenkins, the mystery writer, was staring dreamily into space with his hands resting on his thighs.
    â€œAll of that is the bad news,” Brian went on. “The good news is this: the plane is undamaged, we have plenty of fuel, and I’m qualified to fly this make and model. Also to land it. I think we’ll all agree that landing safely is our first priority. There isn’t a thing we can do until we accomplish that, and I want you to rest assured that it will be done.
    â€œThe last thing I want to pass on to you is that our destination will now be Bangor, Maine.”
    Crew-Neck sat up with a jerk. “Whaaat?” he bellowed.
    â€œOur in-flight navigation equipment is in five-by-five working order, but I can’t say the same for the navigational beams—VOR—which we also use. Under these circumstances, I have elected not to enter Logan airspace. I haven’t been able to raise anyone, in air or on ground, by radio. The aircraft’s radio equipment appears to be working, but I don’t feel I can depend on appearances in the current circumstances. Bangor International Airport has the following advantages: the short approach is over land rather than water; air traffic at our ETA, about 8:30 A.M., will be much lighter—assuming there’s any at all; and BIA, which used to be Dow Air Force Base, has the longest commercial runway on the East Coast of the United States. Our British and French friends land the Concorde there when they can’t get into New York.”
    Crew-Neck bawled: “ I have an important business meeting at the Pru this morning at nine o’clock AND I FORBID YOU TO FLY INTO SOME DIPSHIT MAINE AIRPORT! ”
    Dinah jumped and then cringed away from the sound of Crew-Neck’s voice, pressing her cheek against the side of Laurel Stevenson’s breast. She was not crying—not yet, anyway—but Laurel felt her chest begin to hitch.
    â€œ DO YOU HEAR ME? ” Crew-Neck was bellowing. “ I AM DUE IN BOSTON TO DISCUSS AN UNUSUALLY LARGE BOND TRANSACTION, AND I HAVE EVERY INTENTION OF ARRIVING AT THAT MEETING ON TIME! ” He unlatched his seatbelt and began to stand up. His cheeks were red, his brow waxy white. There was a blank look in his eyes which Laurel found extremely frightening. “ DO YOU UNDERSTA— ”
    â€œPlease,” Laurel said. “Please, mister, you’re scaring the little girl.”
    Crew-Neck turned his head and that unsettling blank gaze fell on her. Laurel could have waited. “ SCARING THE LITTLE GIRL? WE’RE DIVERTING TO SOME TINPOT, CHICKENSHIT AIRPORT IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, AND ALL YOU’VE GOT TO WORRY ABOUT IS— ”
    â€œSit down and shut up or I’ll pop you one,” Gaffney said, standing up. He had at least twenty years on Crew-Neck, but he was heavier and much broader through the chest. He had rolled the sleeves of his red flannel shirt to the elbows, and when he clenched his hands into fists, the muscles in his forearms bunched. He looked like a lumberjack just starting to soften into retirement.
    Crew-Neck’s upper lip pulled back from his teeth. This doglike grimace scared Laurel, because she didn’t believe the man in the crew-neck jersey knew he was making a face. She was the first of them to wonder if this man might not be crazy.
    â€œI don’t think you could do it alone, pops,” he said.
    â€œHe won’t have to.” It was the bald man from the business section. “I’ll take a swing at you myself, if you don’t shut up.”
    Albert Kaussner mustered all his courage and said, “So will I, you putz.” Saying