Dreamcatcher

by Stephen King

Dreams age faster than dreamers, that is a fact of life Pete has discovered as the years pass. Yet the last ones often die surprisingly hard, screaming in low, miserable voices at the back of the brain.

We don’t know the days that will change our lives. Probably just as well.

Later, hyped on the clarity that sometimes comes to the horrified mind,

as if some stubborn alligator deep in his brain refused to let go of the idea that the man in the brown coat was prey.

It meant no more than anything else in the end, but it did not hurt to remember, especially when your soul was dark, that once you had confounded the odds and behaved decently.

Worse, the amygdala in the base of his brain, that unapologetic reptile, wished he had shot McCarthy to begin with.

Henry pronounces the word nyther instead of neether, which impresses Pete. It sounds smart as a motherfucker, and he reminds himself to say it that way from now on—nyther, nyther, nyther, he tells himself . . . but knows somehow that he will forget, that he is one of those people condemned to say neether all his life.