Doctor Sleep (61 page)

Putting things off only makes them worse,
cara mia.

That was the gospel according to Momo. Abra looked toward her window, wishing she could see her great-grandma there instead of Rose. That would be good.

“Momes, I'm so scared,” she said. But after two long and steadying breaths, she picked up her iPhone and dialed the Overlook Lodge at Bluebell Campground. A man answered, and when Abra said she wanted to talk to Rose, he asked who she was.

“You know who I am,” she said. And—with what she hoped was irritating inquisitiveness: “Are you sick yet, mister?”

The man on the other end (it was Toady Slim) didn't answer that, but she heard him murmur to someone. A moment later, Rose was on, her composure once more firmly in place.

“Hello, dear. Where are you?”

“On my way,” Abra said.

“Are you really? That's nice, dear. So I don't suppose that I'd find this call came from a New Hampshire area code if I star-sixty-nined it?”

“Of course you would,” Abra said. “I'm using my cell. You need to get with the twenty-first century, bitch.”

“What do you want?” The voice on the other end was now curt.

“To make sure you know the rules,” Abra said. “I'll be there at five tomorrow. I'll be in an old red truck.”

“Driven by whom?”

“My uncle Billy,” Abra said.

“Was he one of the ones from the ambush?”

“He's the one who was with me and the Crow. Stop asking questions. Just shut up and listen.”

“So rude,” Rose said sadly.

“He'll park way at the end of the lot, by the sign that says KIDS EAT FREE WHEN COLORADO PRO TEAMS WIN.”

“I see you've been on our website. That's sweet. Or was it your uncle, perhaps? He's very brave to act as your chauffeur. Is he your father's brother or your mother's? Rube families are a hobby of mine. I make family trees.”

She'll try to snoop,
Dan had told her, and how right he was.

“What part of ‘shut up and listen' don't you understand? Do you want this to happen or not?”

No reply, just waiting silence.
Creepy
waiting silence.

“From the parking lot, we'll be able to see everything: the campground, the Lodge, and Roof O' the World on top of the hill. My uncle and me better see you up there, and we better not see the people from your True Knot
anywhere
. They're going to stay in that meeting-hall thingy while we do our business. In the big room, got it? Uncle Billy won't know if they're not where they're supposed to be, but I will. If I pick up a single one somewhere else, we'll be gone.”

“Your uncle will stay in his truck?”

“No.
I'll
stay in the truck, until we're sure. Then he'll get back in and I'll come to you. I don't want him anywhere near you.”

“All right, dear. It will be as you say.”

No, it won't. You're lying
.

But so was Abra, which kind of made them even.

“I have one really important question, dear,” Rose said pleasantly.

Abra almost asked what it was, then remembered her uncle's advice. Her
real
uncle. One question, right. Which would lead to another . . . and another . . . and another.

“Choke on it,” she said, and hung up. Her hands began to tremble. Then her legs and arms and shoulders.

“Abra?” Mom. Calling from the foot of the stairs.
She feels it
.
Just a little, but she does feel it. Is that a mom thing or a shining thing?
“Honey, are you okay?”

“Fine, Mom! Getting ready for bed!”

“Ten minutes, then we're coming up for kisses. Be in your PJs.”

“I will.”

If they knew who I was just talking to,
Abra thought. But they didn't. They only thought they knew what was going on. She was here in her bedroom, every door and window in the house was locked, and they believed that made her safe. Even her father, who had seen the True Knot in action.

But Dan knew. She closed her eyes and reached out to him.

Dan and Billy were under another motel canopy. And still nothing from Abra. That was bad.

“Come on, chief,” Billy said. “Let's get you inside and—”

Then she was there. Thank God.

“Hush a minute,” Dan said, and listened. Two minutes later he turned to Billy, who thought the smile on his face finally made him look like Dan Torrance again.

“Was it her?”

“Yes.”

“How'd it go?”

“Abra says it went fine. We're in business.”

“No questions about me?”

“Just which side of the family you were on. Listen, Billy, the uncle thing was a bit of a mistake. You're
way
too old to be Lucy's or David's brother. When we stop tomorrow to do our errand, you need to buy sunglasses. Big ones. And keep that ball cap of yours jammed down all the way to your ears, so your hair doesn't show.”

“Maybe I should get some Just For Men, while I'm at it.”

“Don't sass me, you old fart.”

That made Billy grin. “Let's get registered and get some food. You look better. Like you could actually eat.”

“Soup,” Dan said. “No sense pressing my luck.”

“Soup. Right.”

He ate it all. Slowly. And—reminding himself that this would be over one way or the other in less than twenty-four hours—he managed to keep it down. They dined in Billy's room and when he was finally finished, Dan stretched out on the carpet. It eased the pain in his gut a little.

“What's that?” Billy asked. “Some kind of yogi shit?”

“Exactly. I learned it watching Yogi Bear cartoons. Run it down for me again.”

“I got it, chief, don't worry. Now you're starting to sound like Casey Kingsley.”

“A scary thought. Now run it down again.”

“Abra starts pinging around Denver. If they have someone who can listen, they'll know she's coming. And that she's in the neighborhood. We get to Sidewinder early—say four instead of five—and drive right past the road to the campground. They won't see the truck. Unless they post a sentry down by the highway, that is.”

“I don't think they will.” Dan thought of another AA aphorism:
We're powerless over people, places, and things
. Like most alkie nuggets, it was seventy percent true and thirty percent rah-rah bullshit. “In any case, we can't control everything. Carry on.”

“There's a picnic area about a mile further up the road. You went
there a couple of times with your mom, before you guys got snowed in for the winter.” Billy paused. “Just her and you? Never your dad?”

“He was writing. Working on a play. Go on.”

Billy did. Dan listened closely, then nodded. “Okay. You've got it.”

“Didn't I say? Now can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“By tomorrow afternoon, will you still be able to walk a mile?”

“I'll be able to.”

I better be
.

Thanks to an early start—4 a.m., long before first light—Dan Torrance and Billy Freeman began to see a horizon-spanning cloud shortly after 9 a.m. An hour later, by which time the blue-gray cloud had resolved itself into a mountain range, they stopped in the town of Martenville, Colorado. There, on the short (and mostly deserted) main street, Dan saw not what he was hoping for, but something even better: a children's clothing store called Kids' Stuff. Half a block down was a drugstore flanked by a dusty-looking hockshop and a Video Express with CLOSING MUST SELL ALL STOCK AT BARGAIN PRICES soaped in the window. He sent Billy to Martenville Drugs & Sundries to get sunglasses and stepped through the door of Kids' Stuff.

The place had an unhappy, losing-hope vibe. He was the only customer. Here was somebody's good idea going bad, probably thanks to the big-box mall stores in Sterling or Fort Morgan. Why buy local when you could drive a little and get cheaper pants and dresses for back-to-school? So what if they were made in Mexico or Costa Rica? A tired-looking woman with a tired-looking hairdo came out from behind the counter and gave Dan a tired-looking smile. She asked if she could help him. Dan said she could. When he told her what he wanted, her eyes went round.

“I know it's unusual,” Dan said, “but get with me on this a little. I'll pay cash.”

He got what he wanted. In little losing-hope stores off the turnpike, the C-word went a long way.

As they neared Denver, Dan got in touch with Abra. He closed his eyes and visualized the wheel they both now knew about. In the town of Anniston, Abra did the same. It was easier this time. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking down the slope of the Stones' back lawn at the Saco River, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Abra opened hers on a view of the Rockies.

“Wow, Uncle Billy, they're beautiful, aren't they?”

Billy glanced at the man sitting beside him. Dan had crossed his legs in a way that was utterly unlike him, and was bouncing one foot. Color had come back into his cheeks, and there was a bright clarity in his eyes that had been missing on their run west.

“They sure are, honey,” he said.

Dan smiled and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the health Abra had brought to his face was fading.
Like a rose without water,
Billy thought.

“Anything?”

“Ping,” Dan said. He smiled again, but this one was weary. “Like a smoke detector that needs a battery change.”

“Do you think they heard it?”

“I sure hope so,” Dan said.

Rose was pacing back and forth near her EarthCruiser when Token Charlie came running up. The True had taken steam that morning, all but one of the canisters she had in storage, and on top of what
Rose had taken on her own over the last couple of days, she was too wired even to think about sitting down.

“What?” she asked. “Tell me something good.”

“I got her, how's that for good?” Wired himself, Charlie grabbed Rose by the arms and whirled her around, making her hair fly. “I
got
her! Just for a few seconds, but it was her!”

“Did you see the uncle?”

“No, she was looking out the windshield at the mountains. She said they were beautiful—”

“They are,” Rose said. A grin was spreading on her lips. “Don't you agree, Charlie?”

“—and he said they sure were. They're coming, Rosie! They really are!”

“Did she know you were there?”

He let go of her, frowning. “I can't say for sure . . . Grampa Flick probably could . . .”

“Just tell me what you think.”

“Probably not.”

“That's good enough for me. Go someplace quiet. Someplace where you can concentrate without being disturbed. Sit and listen. If—
when
—you pick her up again, let me know. I don't want to lose track of her if I can help it. If you need more steam, ask for it. I saved a little.”

“No, no, I'm fine. I'll listen. I'll listen
hard
!” Token Charlie gave a rather wild laugh and rushed off. Rose didn't think he had any idea where he was going, and she didn't care. As long as he kept listening.

Dan and Billy were at the foot of the Flatirons by noon. As he watched the Rockies draw closer, Dan thought of all the wandering years he had avoided them. That in turn made him think of some poem or other, one about how you could spend years running, but
in the end you always wound up facing yourself in a hotel room, with a naked bulb hanging overhead and a revolver on the table.

Because they had time, they left the freeway and drove into Boulder. Billy was hungry. Dan wasn't . . . but he was curious. Billy pulled the truck into a sandwich shop parking lot, but when he asked Dan what he could get him, Dan only shook his head.

“Sure? You got a lot ahead of you.”

“I'll eat when this is over.”

“Well . . .”

Billy went into the Subway for a Buffalo Chicken. Dan got in touch with Abra. The wheel turned.

Ping
.

When Billy came out, Dan nodded to his wrapped footlong. “Save that a couple of minutes. As long as we're in Boulder, there's something I want to check out.”

Five minutes later, they were on Arapahoe Street. Two blocks from the seedy little bar-and-café district, he told Billy to pull over. “Go on and chow that chicken. I won't be long.”

Dan got out of the truck and stood on the cracked sidewalk, looking at a slumped three-story building with a sign in the window reading EFFICIENCY APTS GOOD STUDENT VALUE. The lawn was balding. Weeds grew up through the cracks in the sidewalk. He had doubted that this place would still be here, had believed that Arapahoe would now be a street of condos populated by well-to-do slackers who drank lattes from Starbucks, checked their Facebook pages half a dozen times a day, and Twittered like mad bastards. But here it was, and looking—so far as he could tell—exactly as it had back in the day.

Billy joined him, sandwich in one hand. “We've still got seventy-five miles ahead of us, Danno. Best we get our asses up the pass.”

“Right,” Dan said, then went on looking at the building with the peeling green paint. Once a little boy had lived here; once he had sat on the very piece of curbing where Billy Freeman now stood munching his chicken footlong. A little boy waiting for his daddy to come home from his job interview at the Overlook Hotel. He
had a balsa glider, that little boy, but the wing was busted. It was okay, though. When his daddy came home, he would fix it with tape and glue. Then maybe they would fly it together. His daddy had been a scary man, and how that little boy had loved him.

Dan said, “I lived here with my mother and father before we moved up to the Overlook. Not much, is it?”