Doctor Sleep: A Novel

you awake enough to understand me?”
    “Yes.” At least she thought she was. Oh, but the thudding in her head. Awful.
    “Take this.”
    He was holding something in front of her face, reaching across his body with his left hand to do it. His right one still held the hypodermic, the needle resting next to Mr. Freeman’s leg.
    She squinted. It was a credit card. She reached up with a hand that felt too heavy and took it. Her eyes started to close and he slapped her face. Her eyes flew open, wide and shocked. She had never been hit in her life, not by an adult, anyway. Of course she had never been kidnapped, either.
    “Ow! Ow! ”
    “Get out of the truck. Follow the instructions on the pump—you’re a bright kid, I’m sure you can do that—and fill the tank. Then replace the nozzle and get back in. If you do all that like a good little Goldilocks, we’ll drive over to yonder Coke machine.” He pointed to the far corner of the store. “You can get a nice big twenty-ounce soda. Or a water, if that’s what you want; I spy with my little eye that they have Dasani. If you’re a bad little Goldilocks, I’ll kill the old man, then go into the store and kill the kid at the register. No problem there. Your friend had a gun, which is now in my possession. I’ll take you with me and you can watch the kid’s head go splat. It’s up to you, okay? You get it?”
    “Yes,” Abra said. A little more awake now. “Can I have a Coke and a water?”
    His grin this time was high, wide, and handsome. In spite of her situation, in spite of the headache, even in spite of the slap he’d administered, Abra found it charming. She guessed lots of people found it charming, especially women. “A little greedy, but that’s not always a bad thing. Let’s see how you mind those Ps and Qs.”
    She unbuckled her belt—it took three tries, but she finally managed—and grabbed the doorhandle. Before she got out, she said: “Stop calling me Goldilocks. You know my name, and I know yours.”
    She slammed the door and headed for the gas island (weaving a little) before he could reply. She had spunk as well as steam. He could almost admire her. But, given what had happened to Snake, Nut, and Jimmy, almost was as far as it went.
    13
    At first Abra couldn’t read the instructions because the words kept doubling and sliding around. She squinted and they came into focus. The Crow was watching her. She could feel his eyes like tiny warm weights on the back of her neck.
    ( Dan? )
    Nothing, and she wasn’t surprised. How could she hope to reach Dan when she could barely figure out how to run this stupid pump? She had never felt less shiny in her life.
    Eventually she managed to start the gas, although the first time she tried his credit card, she put it in upside-down and had to begin all over again. The pumping seemed to go on forever, but there was a rubber sleeve over the nozzle to keep the stench of the fumes down, and the night air was clearing her head a little. There were billions of stars. Usually they awed her with their beauty and profusion, but tonight looking at them only made her feel scared. They were far away. They didn’t see Abra Stone.
    When the tank was full, she squinted at the new message in the pump’s window and turned to Crow. “Do you want a receipt?”
    “I think we can crutch along without that, don’t you?” Again came his dazzling grin, the kind that made you happy if you were the one who caused it to break out. Abra bet he had lots of girlfriends.
    No. He just has one. The hat woman is his girlfriend. Rose. If he had another one, Rose would kill her. Probably with her teeth and fingernails .
    She trudged back to the truck and got in.
    “That was very good,” Crow said. “You win the grand prize—a Coke and a water. So . . . what do you say to your Daddy?”
    “Thank you,” Abra said listlessly. “But you’re not my daddy.”
    “I could be, though. I can be a very good daddy to little girls who are good to me. The ones who mind their Ps and Qs.” He drove to the machine and gave her a five-dollar bill. “Get me a Fanta if they have it. A Coke if they don’t.”
    “You drink sodas, like anyone else?”
    He made a comical wounded face. “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”
    “Shakespeare, right?” She wiped her mouth again. “Romeo and Juliet.”
    “ Merchant of Venice, dummocks,” Crow said . . . but with a smile. “Don’t know the rest of it, I