Doctor Sleep: A Novel

what I know. It will be because of what I am .” Her happiness was gone now that she was facing this head-on. She rubbed at her mouth again, and when she dropped her hand, her lips were parted in an angry smile. This girl has a temper, Dan thought. He could relate to that. He had a temper himself. It had gotten him in trouble more than once.
    “ She won’t come, though. That bitch. She knows I know her now, and I’ll sense her if she gets close, because we’re sort of tied together. But there are others. If they come for me, they’ll hurt anyone who gets in their way.”
    Abra took his hands in hers, squeezing hard. This worried Dan, but he didn’t make her let go. Right now she needed to touch someone she trusted.
    “We have to stop them so they can’t hurt my daddy, or my mom, or any of my friends. And so they won’t kill any more kids.”
    For a moment Dan caught a clear picture from her thoughts—not sent, just there in the foreground. It was a collage of photos. Children, dozens of them, under the heading HAVE YOU SEEN ME? She was wondering how many of them had been taken by the True Knot, murdered for their final psychic gasp—the obscene delicacy this bunch lived on—and left in unmarked graves.
    “ You have to get that baseball glove . If I have it, I’ll be able to find out where Barry the Chunk is. I know I will. And the rest of them will be where he is. If you can’t kill them, at least you can report them to the police. Get me that glove, Dan, please .”
    “If it’s where you say it is, we’ll get it. But in the meantime, Abra, you have to watch yourself.”
    “I will, but I don’t think she’ll try sneaking into my head again.” Abra’s smile reemerged. In it, Dan saw the take-no-prisoners warrior woman she sometimes pretended to be—Daenerys, or whoever. “If she does, she’ll be sorry.”
    Dan decided to let this go. They had been together on this bench as long as he dared. Longer, really. “I’ve set up my own security system on your behalf. If you looked into me, I imagine you could find out what it is, but I don’t want you to do that. If someone else from this Knot tries to go prospecting in your head—not the woman in the hat, but someone else—they can’t find out what you don’t know.”
    “Oh. Okay.” He could see her thinking that anyone else who tried that would be sorry, too, and this increased his sense of unease.
    “Just . . . if you get in a tight place, yell Billy with all your might. Got that?”
    (   yes the way you once called for your friend Dick )
    He jumped a little. Abra smiled. “I wasn’t peeking; I just—”
    “I understand. Now tell me one thing before you go.”
    “What?”
    “Did you really get an A on your bio report?”
    4
    At quarter to eight on that Monday evening, Rose got a double break on her walkie. It was Crow. “Better get over here,” he said. “It’s happening.”
    The True was standing around Grampa’s RV in a silent circle. Rose (now wearing her hat at its accustomed gravity-defying angle) cut through them, pausing to give Andi a hug, then went up the steps, rapped once, and let herself in. Nut was standing with Big Mo and Apron Annie, Grampa’s two reluctant nurses. Crow was sitting on the end of the bed. He stood up when Rose came in. He was showing his age this evening. Lines bracketed his mouth, and there were a few threads of white silk in his black hair.
    We need to take steam, Rose thought. And when this is over, we will .
    Grampa Flick was cycling rapidly now: first transparent, then solid again, then transparent. But each transparency was longer, and more of him disappeared. He knew what was happening, Rose saw. His eyes were wide and terrified; his body writhed with the pain of the changes it was going through. She had always allowed herself to believe, on some deep level of her mind, in the True Knot’s immortality. Yes, every fifty or a hundred years or so, someone died—like that big dumb Dutchman, Hands-Off Hans, who had been electrocuted by a falling powerline in an Arkansas windstorm not long after World War II ended, or Katie Patches, who had drowned, or Tommy the Truck—but those were exceptions. Usually the ones who fell were taken down by their own carelessness. So she had always believed. Now she saw she had been as foolish as rube children clinging to their belief in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
    He cycled back to solidity, moaning and crying and shivering. “Make it stop,