still got it.
an old friend. i was rummaging through a closet and it was just sitting there. like it was waiting for me.
when i wrote my first book, i used to carry it around in this while i was looking for a publisher. that was a good book, marcia. i was a writer then.
i haven't been a writer since i got into the misery business--
marcia, please.
marcia, you know i started "misery" on a lark. do i look like a guy who writes romance novels? do i sound like danielle steel? it was a one- time shot and we got lucky. i never meant it to become my life. and if i hadn't gotten rid of her now, i'd have ended up writing her forever. for the first time in fifteen years, i think i'm really onto something here.
marcia, why are you doing this to me? don't you know i'm scared enough? don't you think i remember how nobody gave a shit about my first books? you think i'm dying to go back to shouting in the wilderness? i'm doing this because i have to. now, i'm leaving for colorado to try to finish this and i want your good thoughts--because if i can make it work .  i might just have something that i want on my tombstone.
where.  am i?
how long?
--my number one fan.
what are they?
shouldn't i be in a hospital?
will i be able to walk?
following me?
say that last part again, i didn't quite hear--
i didn't know it was going to be a big storm.
you're very kind.
when do you think the phone lines'll be back up? i have to call my daughter, and i should call new york and let my agent know i'm breathing.
you want to read it?
i have a hard and fast rule about who can read my stuff at this early stage--only my editor, my agent, and anyone who saves me from freezing to death in a car wreck.
i don't have a title yet.
it's crazy, but i don't really know, i mean i haven't written anything but "misery" for so long that--you read it you can tell me what you think it's about. maybe you can come up with a title.
but what?
no, what is it?
i can take it, go ahead.
pretty rough so far.
the profanity bothers you?
well, these are slum kids, i was a slum kid, everybody talks like that.
it's fine.
then the roads are open.
the phones are working?
my daughter must be going nuts.
i was supposed to be home for her birthday three days ago.
i guess that means it's okay.
i can live with "great."
well, you can't believe everything you read in magazines.
you'd be amazed at what some people will believe.
my pleasure.
misery?
i'm getting to believe you.
she's a fine.  uh.  pig is what she is.
the sistine chapel?
i know how that can be.
yeah, well.
i'm.
yeah, thanks.
well, it's not something you should enter into lightly.
well, i hope you like it.
annie, in 1871, women often died in childbirth, but her spirit is the important thing, and misery's spirit is still alive--
no one--she just died--she slipped away, that's all.
perfect.
i don't suppose i could have a little snack while i wait for the surprise?
show me the way?
when i mentioned a snack, i was thinking more along the lines of a cheese and crackers kind of thing.
you want me to burn my book?
you want me to burn my book?
this isn't difficult, my agent's made dozens of copies. there's gonna be an auction on this, and every publishing house in new york is reading it now. so if you want me to burn it, fine. you're not ridding the world of anything.
no big deal.
you know, annie, this book never would have survived without you. when it gets to new york, there will be a big auction, and whatever it brings we can split. god knows you're entitled to it.
you're right. you're right. i don't know what i was thinking. i'll tell you what. it doesn't have to be published. nobody ever has to see it. i'll just keep it for myself. no one will ever have to know it exists.
i don't know.
great.
great. i've always wanted to visit the other side of the room.
if i knew this was gonna be the surprise, you could've gotten me to burn all my books.
set what up?
work? you mean write? what in the world do you think i'd write?
misery's return?
you just expect me to whip something off, that it?
you do understand that this isn't the ordinary way books get written-- i mean, some people might actually consider this an oddball situation.
i guess you don't get bothered by neighbors much.
great.
it's two of the letters in my favorite nurse's name, annie.
you did great, except there's just one little thing--i can't work with this paper. it's corrasable bond, it smudges. maybe you could go back into town and bring me some white, long-grained mimeo.
c'mere, i'll show you.
i thought you'd be interested. i'd like you to be in on everything, annie. not just the finished book, but how it's written.
no, just the paper will be fine.
annie, what's the matter?
shit.
you've written how to do this--now do it!
what do you know, it actually works.
what a surprise.
operator.
you crazy bitch.
you know goddamn well what i've been doing--i've been sitting here suffering. i need my pills.
i want my pills now!
i want my pain to go 'way, annie-- make it go 'way, please annie-- --please.
well, i don't hold grudges. after all, who doesn't let off a little steam once in a while.
yeah, well i wouldn't expect too much.
what? what happened to "i'll treasure whatever you do?"
i really value your criticism, but maybe you're being a little hasty here.
--not fair?
--cliff-hangers--
they always cheated like that in cliff-- --chapter plays.
look at this, i've got lizzie borden for an editor, here.
i can't write this anymore.
i'm telling you, i can't.
the what?
i said that?
what about a bee?
nothing.
well, is it fair? should i keep going?
yeah, yeah.
have to wait.
have to wait.
whenever he played radio city, who do you think was right there in the front row?
annie?
would you have dinner with me tonight?
to celebrate misery's return. i couldn't have done it without you.
jesus christ.
it looks wonderful. and so do you.
i've never had meatloaf this good, what do you do to it?
oh. you can't get this in a restaurant in new york.
annie, i think we should have a toast.
yes, to misery. let me pour you some more wine.
wait, let's do this right. do you have any candles?
did you study decorating, or do you just have a flair?
well, it certainly says you.
absolutely. listen, if you can't find any, it's okay. i just thought it might be nice.
it's perfect.
to misery and annie wilkes, who brought her back to life.
to misery.
i think you're right.
annie, what is it?
why would you lose me?
why would i want to leave? i like it here.
it is.
holy shit.
what?
no, i haven't.
i don't know what you're talking about.
annie, whatever you're thinking about, don't do it.
why would i run away? i'm a writer, annie--it's all i am--and i've never written this well--even you said that this is my best, didn't you?
didn't you? why would i leave a place where i'm doing my best work? it doesn't make any sense.
annie, for god's sake, please.
i don't know, it's weird, but a couple of broken bones hasn't done a lot for my creative juices. get the fuck out of here.
why, what are you going to do? kill me? take your best shot.
oh, no reason, you keep me prisoner, you make me burn my book, you drive a sledgehammer into my ankles.
be my guest.
here. i'm down here. down here.
i know you do. i love you too, annie. and you're right. we are meant to be together. and i know we must die. but it must be so that misery can live. we have the power to give misery eternal life. we must finish the book.
it's almost done. by dawn we'll be able to give misery back to the world.
three more chapters to go.
maybe.
maybe. are you ready for the next chapter?
i'm glad you like it.
it will.
you'll know very soon. i'm starting the last chapter. and when i finish, i want everything to be perfect. i'll require three things.
you don't know?
dome pear-igg-non it is.
annie! annie!
i'm almost done.
you'll know everything in a minute. get the champagne.
you did perfect. except for one thing. this time we need two glasses.
it's all right here, annie. remember how for all those years no one ever knew who misery's real father was, or if they'd ever be reunited? it's all right here. will misery finally lead her countrymen to freedom? does she finally marry ian or will it be windthorne? it's all right here.
why not? i learned it from you.
here. here. you want it? you want it? you can eat it--eat it--eat it till you fucking choke--you sick, twisted fuck.
--right! i'm the dead one--
he's in the cellar. she killed him.
yeah. she's in there.
sorry i'm late. jenny's basketball game went into overtime. if anybody ever told me i'd have a daughter who'd get a triple double, i'd.
yeah. they're in the semis.
that'd be a first.
great.
i'm delighted the critics are liking it, and i hope the people like it, too. but it's not why i wrote the book.
i like it. remember how you once said i live my whole life as if i'm in danger of being found out? well, i believe i've managed to get that guy down on paper. don't think i'm completely nuts, but in some way, annie wilkes, that whole experience, helped me.
gee, marcia, if i didn't know you better, i'd think you were suggesting i dredge up the worst horror of my life just so we could make a few bucks.
i am. well, maybe not completely--
i don't know if you can ever be totally over something like that--i just don't think about it as much anymore, and when i do, it's not so terrifying.
i mean, once they found her body, my nightmares stopped.
cut me something sinful.