Doctor Sleep

story has to wait until we’re all together. And that includes Abra’s momo.”
    “I doubt if they’ll let you in to see her.” Dave glanced at his watch. “Visiting hours are long over, and she’s very ill.”
    “Floor staff doesn’t pay much attention to the visiting rules when patients are near theend,” Dan said.
    Dave looked at John, who shrugged. “The man works in a hospice. I think you can trust him on that.”
    “She may not even be conscious,” Dave said.
    “Let’s worry about one thing at a time.”
    “What does Chetta have to do with this, anyway? She doesn’t know anything about it!”
    Dan said, “I’m pretty sure she knows more than you think.”
    2
    They dropped Dave off at the condo on MarlboroughStreet and watched from the curb as he mounted the steps and rang one of the bells.
    “He looks like a little kid who knows he’s going to the woodshed for a pants-down butt whippin,” John said. “This is going to strain the hell out of his marriage, no matter how it turns out.”
    “When a natural disaster happens, no one’s to blame.”
    “Try to make Lucy Stone see that. She’s going to think, ‘You leftyour daughter alone and a crazy guy snatched her.’ On some level, she’s always going to think it.”
    “Abra might change her mind about that. As for today, we did what we could, and so far we’re not doing too badly.”
    “But it’s not over.”
    “Not by a long shot.”
    Dave was ringing the bell again and peering into the little lobby when the elevator opened and Lucy Stone came rushing out. Her face wasstrained and pale. Dave started to talk as soon as she opened the door. So did she. Lucy pulled him in— yanked him in—by both arms.
    “Ah, man,” John said softly. “That reminds me of too many nights when I rolled in drunk at three in the morning.”
    “Either he’ll convince her or he won’t,” Dan said. “We’ve got other business.”
    3
    Dan Torrance and John Dalton arrived at Massachusetts General Hospitalshortly after ten thirty. It was slack tide on the intensive care floor. A deflating helium balloon with FEEL BETTER SOON printed on it in particolored letters drifted halfheartedly along the hallway ceiling, casting a jellyfish shadow. Dan approached the nurses’ station, identified himself as a staffer at the hospice to which Ms. Reynolds was scheduled to be moved, showed his Helen RivingtonHouse ID, and introduced John Dalton as the family doctor (a stretch, but not an actual lie).
    “We need to assess her condition prior to the transfer,” Dan said, “and two family members have asked to be present. They are Ms. Reynolds’s granddaughter and her granddaughter’s husband. I’m sorry about the lateness of the hour, but it was unavoidable. They’ll be here shortly.”
    “I’ve met the Stones,”the head nurse said. “They’re lovely people. Lucy in particular has been very attentive to her gran. Concetta’s special. I’ve been reading her poems, and they’re wonderful. But if you’re expecting any input from her, gentlemen, you’re going to be disappointed. She’s slipped into a coma.”
    We’ll see about that, Dan thought.
    “And . . .” The nurse looked at John doubtfully. “Well . . . it’s reallynot my place to say . . .”
    “Go on,” John said. “I’ve never met a head nurse who didn’t know what the score was.”
    She smiled at him, then turned her attention back to Dan. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the Rivington hospice, but I doubt very much if Concetta will be going there. Even if she lasts until Monday, I’m not sure there’s any point in moving her. It might be kinder to let her finishher journey here. If I’m stepping out of line, I’m sorry.”
    “You’re not,” Dan said, “and we’ll take that into consideration. John, would you go down to the lobby and escort the Stones up when they arrive? I can start without you.”
    “Are you sure—”
    “Yes,” Dan said, holding his eyes. “I am.”
    “She’s in Room Nine,” the head nurse said. “It’s the single at the end of the hall. If you need me, ringher call bell.”
    4
    Concetta’s name was on the Room 9 door, but the slot for medical orders was empty and the vitals monitor overhead showed nothing hopeful. Dan stepped into aromas he knew well: air freshener, antiseptic, and mortal illness. The last was a high smell that sang in his head like a violin that knows only one note. The walls were covered with photographs,