Doctor Sleep

muffled. “The monster—is it gone?”
    “Yes,” Dan said.
    “Swear on your mother’s name?”
    “Yes.”
    She raised her head, first looking at him to assure herself he was telling the truth, then daring to scan the room. “That smile .” She shuddered.
    “Yes,” Dan said. “I think . . . he’s glad to be home. Abra, are you going to be all right? Because we have to do thisright now. Time’s up.”
    “I’m all right. But what if . . . it . . . comes back?”
    Dan thought of the lockbox. It was open, but could be closed again easily enough. Especially with Abra to help him. “I don’t think he . . . it  . . . wants anything to do with us, honey. Come on. Just remember: if I tell you to go back to New Hampshire, you go .”
    Once again she didn’t reply, and there was no time todiscuss it. Time was up. He stepped through the French doors. They gave on the end of the path. Abra walked beside him, but lost the solidity she’d had in the room of memory and began to flicker again.
    Out here she’s almost a ghostie person herself, Dan thought. It broughthome to him just how much she had put herself at risk. He didn’t like to think about how tenuous her hold on her own bodymight now be.
    Moving rapidly—but not running; that would attract Rose’s eye, and they had at least seventy yards to cover before the rear of the Overlook Lodge would block them from the lookout platform—Dan and his ghostie-girl companion crossed the lawn and took the flagstone walk that ran between the tennis courts.
    They reached the back of the kitchen, and at last the bulk of the Lodge hidthem from the platform. Here was the steady rumble of an exhaust fan and the spoiled-meat smell of garbage cans. He tried the rear door and found it unlocked, but paused a moment before opening it.
    ( are they all )
    ( yes all but Rose   she   hurry up Dan you have to because )
    Abra’s eyes, flickering like those of a child in an old black-and-white movie, were wide with dismay. “She knows something’swrong.”
    12
    Rose turned her attention to the bitchgirl, still sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, head bowed, still as could be. Abra wasn’t watching her uncle—if he was her uncle—and she was making no move to get out. The alarm meter in Rose’s head went from Danger Yellow to Condition Red.
    “Hey!” The voice came floating up to her on the thin air. “Hey, you old bag! Watch this!”
    Shesnapped her gaze back to the man in the parking lot and stared, close to flabbergasted, as he raised his hands over his head and then turned a big, unsteady cartwheel. She thought he was going to go on his ass, but the only thing that fell to the pavement was his hat. What it exposed was the fine white hair of a man in his seventies. Maybe even his eighties.
    Rose looked back at the girl in thetruck, who remained perfectly still with her head bent. She had absolutely no interest in the uncle’s antics. Suddenly it clicked and Rose understood what she would have seen right away, had the trick not been so outrageous: it was a mannequin.
    But she’s here! Token Charlie feels her, all of them in the Lodge feel her, they’re all together and they know —
    All together in the Lodge. All togetherin one place. And had that been Rose’s idea? No. That idea had come from the—
    Rose broke for the stairs.
    13
    The remaining members of the True Knot were crowded together at the two windows looking down at the parking lot, watching as Billy Freeman turned a cartwheel for the first time in over forty years (and the last time he’d done this trick, he’d been drunk). Petty the Chink actually laughed.“What in God’s name—”
    With their backs turned, they didn’t see Dan step into the room from the kitchen, or the girl flickering in and out of view at his side. Dan had time to register two bundles of clothes on the floor, and to understand that Bradley Trevor’s measles were still hard at work. Then he went back inside himself, went deep, and found the third lockbox—the leaky one. He flung it open.
    ( Dan what are you doing )
    He leaned forward with his hands on his upper thighs, his stomach burning like hot metal, and exhaled the old poet’s last gasp, which she had given him freely, in a dying kiss. From his mouth there came a long plume of pink mist that deepened to red as it hit the air. At first he could focus on nothing but the blessed relief in the middle of his body as the poison remainsof Concetta