We were having such a good time when they came  I mean, we were nervous, but there was also a lot of laughing and a lot of chatter. We were going to spend the day getting ready for the speech tonight. The rally and Susan Days speech. Its tonight I have to ask you about, Ralph said, speaking as gently as he could. Do you think theyll still We were making breakfast when they came. She spoke as if she hadnt heard him; Ralph supposed she hadnt. Nat was peeking over Helens shoulder, and although she was still coughing, she had stopped crying. Safe within the circle of her mothers arms, she looked from Ralph to Lois and then back to Ralph again with lively curiosity. Helen  Lois began. Look! See there? Helen pointed to an old brown Cadillac parked beside the ramshackle shed which had been the ciderpress in the days when Ralph and Carolyn had occasionally come out here; it had probably served High Ridge as a garage. The Caddy was in bad shape  cracked windshield, dented rocker panels, one headlight crisscrossed with masking tape. The bumper was layered with prolife stickers. Thats the car they came in. They drove around to the back of the house as if they meant to put it in our garage. I think thats what fooled us. They drove right around to the back as if they belonged here. She contemplated the car for a moment, then returned her smokereddened, unhappy eyes to Ralph and Lois. Somebody should have paid attention to the stickers on the damned thing. Ralph suddenly thought of Barbara Richards back at WomanCare  Barbie Richards, who had relaxed when Lois approached. It hadnt mattered to her that Lois was reaching for something in her purse; what had mattered was that Lois was a woman. Sandra McKay had been driving the Cadillac; Ralph didnt need to ask Helen to know that. They had seen the woman and ignored the bumper stickers. We are family; Ive got all my sisters with me. When Deanie said the people getting out of the car were dressed in army clothes and carrying guns, we thought it was a joke. All of us but Gretchen, that is. She told us to get downstairs as quick as we could. Then she went into the parlor. To call the police, I suppose. I should have stayed with her. No, Lois said, and slipped a lock of Natalies finespun auburn hair through her fingers. You had this one to look out for, didnt you? And still do. I suppose, she said dully. I suppose I do. But she was my friend, Lois. My friend. I know, dear. Helens face twisted like a rag, and she began to cry. Natalie looked at her mother with an expression of comical astonishment for a moment, and then she began to cry, too. Helen, Ralph said. Helen, listen to me. I have something to ask you. Its very, very important. Are you listening? Helen nodded, but she went on crying. Ralph had no idea if she was really hearing him or not. He glanced at the corner of the building, wondering how long it would be before the police charged around it, then took a deep breath. Do you think theres any chance that theyll still hold the rally tonight? Any chance at all? You were as close to Gretchen as anybody. Tell me what you think. Helen stopped crying and looked at him with still, wide eyes, as if she couldnt believe what she had just heard. Then those eyes began to fill with a frightening depth of anger. How can you ask? How can you even ask? Well . . . because . . . He stopped, unable to go on. Ferocity was the last thing he had expected. If they stop us now, they win, Helen said. Dont you see that? Gretchens dead, Merrilees dead, High Ridge is burning to the ground with everything some of these women own inside, and if they stop us now they win. One part of Ralphs mind  a deep part  now made a terrible comparison. Another part, one that loved Helen, moved to block it, but it moved too late. Her eyes looked like Charlie Pickerings eyes when Pickering had been sitting next to him in the library, and there was no reasoning with a mind that could make eyes look like that. If they stop us now they win! she screamed. In her arms, Natalie began to cry harder. Dont you get it? Dont you fucking GET it? Well never let that happen! Never! Never! Never! Abruptly she raised the hand she wasnt using to hold the baby and went around the corner of the building. Ralph reached for her and touched the back of her blouse with his fingertips. That was all. Dont shoot me! Helen was crying at the police on the other side of the house. Dont shoot me, Im one of the women! Im one of the women! Im one of the women! Ralph lunged after her  no thought, just instinct  and Lois seized him by the back of his belt. Better not go out there, Ralph. Youre a man, and they might think Hello, Ralph! Hello, Lois! They both turned toward this new voice. Ralph recognized it at once, and he felt both surprised and not surprised. Standing beyond the clotheslines with their freight of flaming sheets and garments, wearing a pair of faded flannel pants and an old pair of Converse hightops which had been mended with electricians tape, was Dorrance Marstellar. His hair, as fine as Natalies (but white instead of auburn), blew about his head in the October wind which combed the top of this hill. As usual, he had a book in one hand. Come on, you two, he said, waving to them and smiling. Hurry up and hurry along. Theres not much time. 4 He led them down a weedy, littleused path that meandered away from the house in a westerly direction. It wound first through a fairsized gardenplot from which everything had been harvested but the pumpkins and squashes, then into an orchard where the apples were just coming to full ripeness, then through a dense blackberry tangle where thorns seemed to reach out everywhere to snag their clothes. As they passed out of the blackberry brambles and into a gloomy stand of old pines and spruces, it occurred to Ralph that they must be on the Newport side of the ridge now. Dorrance walked briskly for a man of his years, and the placid smile never left his face. The book he carried was For Love, Poems 19501960, by a man named Robert Creeley. Ralph had never heard of him, but supposed Mr Creeley had never heard of Elmore Leonard, Ernest Haycox or Louis LAmour, either. He only tried to talk to Old Dor once, when the three of them finally reached the foot of a slope made slick and treacherous with pineneedles. Just ahead of them, a small stream foamed coldly past. Dorrance, what are you doing out here? Howd you get here, for that matter? And where the hell are we going? Oh, I hardly ever answer questions, Old Dor replied, smiling widely. He surveyed the stream, then raised one finger and pointed at the water. A small brown trout jumped into the air, flipped bright drops from its tail, and fell back into the water again. Ralph and Lois looked at each other with identical Did I just see what I thought I saw? expressions. Nope, nope, Dor continued, stepping off the bank and onto a wet rock. Hardly ever. Too difficult. Too many possibilities. Too many levels . . . eh, Ralph? The world is full of levels, isnt it? How are you, Lois? Fine, she said absently, watching Dorrance cross the stream on a number of conveniently placed stones. He did it with his arms held out to either side, a posture which made him look like the worlds oldest acrobat. Just as he reached the far bank, there was a violent exhalation from the ridge behind them  not quite an explosion. There go the oiltanks, Ralph thought. Dor turned to face them from the other side of the brook, smiling his placid Buddhas smile. Ralph went up this time without any conscious intention of doing so, and without that sense of a blink inside his mind. Color rushed into the day, but he barely noticed; all his attention was fixed on Dorrance, and for a space of almost ten seconds, he forgot to breathe. Ralph had seen auras of many shades in the last month or so, but none even remotely approached the splendid envelope that enclosed the old man Don Veazie had once described as nice as hell, but really sort of a fool. It was as if Dorrances aura had been strained through a prism . . . or a rainbow. He tossed off light in dazzling arcs blue followed by magenta, magenta followed by red, red followed by pink, pink followed by the creamy yellowwhite of a ripe banana. He felt Loiss hand groping for his and enfolded it. [My God, Ralph, do you see? Do you see how beautiful he is?] [I sure do.] [What is he? Is he even human?] [I dont kn] [Stop it, both of you. Come back down.] Dorrance was still smiling, but the voice they heard in their heads was commanding and not a bit vague. And before Ralph could consciously think himself down, he felt a push. The colors and the heightened quality of the sounds dropped out of the day at once. Theres no time for that now, Dor said. Why, its noon already. Noon? Lois asked. It cant be! It wasnt even nine when we got here, and that cant have been half an hour ago! Time goes faster when youre high, Old Dor said. He spoke solemnly, but his eyes twinkled. Just ask anyone drinking beer and listening to country music on Saturday night. Come on! Hurry up! The clock is ticking! Cross the stream! Lois went first, stepping carefully from stone to stone with her arms held out, as Dorrance had done. Ralph followed with his hands poised to either side of her hips, ready to catch her if she showed signs of wavering, but he was the one who ended up almost tumbling in. He managed to avoid it, but only at the cost of wetting one foot all the way to the ankle. It seemed to him that someplace in the far reaches of his head, he could hear Carolyn laughing. Cant you tell us anything, Dor? he asked as they reached the far side. Were pretty lost here. And not just mentally or spiritually, either, he thought. He had never been in these woods in his life, not even hunting partridge or deer as a young man. If the path they were on petered out, or if Old Dor lost whatever passed for his bearings, what then? Yes, Dor responded at once. I can tell you one thing, and its absolutely for sure. What? These are the best poems Robert Creeley ever wrote, Old Dor said, holding up his copy of For Love, and before either of them could respond to that, he turned around and once again began tracing his way along the faint path which ran west through the woods. Ralph looked at Lois. Lois looked back at him, equally at a loss. Then she shrugged. Come on, old buddy, she said. We better not lose him now. I forgot the breadcrumbs. 5 They climbed another hill, and from the top of it Ralph could see that the path they were on led down to an old woods road with a strip of grass running up the middle. It deadended in an overgrown gravelpit about fifty yards further along. There was a car idling just outside the entrance to the pit, a perfectly anonymous late model Ford which Ralph nevertheless felt he knew. When the door opened and the driver got out, everything fell into place. Of course he knew the car; he had last seen it from Loiss living room window on Tuesday night. Then it had been slued around in the middle of Harris Avenue with the driver kneeling in the glow of the headlights . . . kneeling beside the dying dog he had struck. Joe Wyzer heard them coming, looked up, and waved. CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE 1 He said he wanted me to drive, Wyzer told them as he carefully turned his car around at the entrance to the gravelpit. Where to? Lois asked. She was sitting in the back with Dorrance. Ralph was in the front seat with Joe Wyzer, who looked as if he werent quite sure where or even who he was. Ralph had slid up  just the tiniest bit  as he shook hands with the pharmacist, wanting to get a look at Wyzers aura. Both it and his balloonstring were there, and both looked perfectly healthy . . . but the bright yelloworange looked slightly muted to him. Ralph had an idea that was very likely Old Dors influence. Good question, Wyzer said. He voiced a small, confused laugh. I dont have the slightest idea, really. This has been the weirdest day of my entire life. Absolutely no doubt about it. The woods road ended in a Tjunction with a stretch of twolane blacktop. Wyzer stopped, looked for traffic, then turned left. They passed a sign reading TO 195 almost right away, and Ralph guessed that Wyzer would turn north as soon as they reached the turnpike. He knew where they were now  just about two miles south of Route 33. From here they could be back in Derry in less than half an hour, and Ralph had no doubt that was just where they were going. He abruptly began to laugh. Well, here we are, he said. Just three happy folks out for a midday drive. Make that four. Welcome to the wonderful world of hyperreality, Joe. Joe gave him a sharp look, then relaxed into a grin. Is that what this is? And before either Ralph or Lois could reply Yeah, I suppose it is. Did you read that poem? Dorrance asked from behind Ralph. The one that starts Each thing I do I rush through so I can do something else? Ralph turned and saw that Dorrance was still smiling his wide, placid smile. Yes, I did. Dor Isnt it a crackerjack? Its so good. Stephen Dobyns reminds me of Hart Crane without the pretensions. Or maybe I mean Stephen Crane, but I dont think so. Of course he doesnt have the music of Dylan Thomas, but is that so bad? Probably not. Modern poetry is not about music. Its about nerve  who has it and who doesnt. Oh boy, Lois said. She rolled her eyes. He could probably tell us everything we need to know if we went up a few levels, Ralph said, but you dont want that, do you, Dor? Because time goes faster when youre high. Bingo, Dorrance replied. The blue signs marking the north and south entrances to the turnpike glimmered up ahead. Youll have to go up later, I imagine, you and Lois both, and so its very important to save as much time as you can now. Save . . . time. He made a queerly evocative gesture, drawing a gnarled thumb and forefinger down in the air, bringing them together as he did, as if to indicate some narrowing passage. Joe Wyzer put on his blinker, turned left, and headed down the northbound ramp to Derry. How did you get involved in this, Joe? Ralph asked him. Of all the people on the west side, why did Dorrance draft you as chauffeur? Wyzer shook his head, and when the car reached the turnpike it drifted immediately over into the passing lane. Ralph reached out quickly and made a midcourse correction, reminding himself that Joe probably hadnt been getting much sleep himself just lately. He was very happy to see the highway was mostly deserted, at least this far out of town. It would save some anxiety, and God knew he would take whatever he could get in that department today. We are all bound together by the Purpose, Dorrance said abruptly. Thats katet, which means one made of many. The way that many rhymes make up a single poem. You see? No. Ralph, Lois, and Joe said it at the same time, in perfect, unrehearsed chorus, and then laughed nervously together. The Three Insomniacs of the Apocalypse, Ralph thought. Jesus save us. Thats okay, Old Dor said, smiling his wide smile. Just take my word for it. You and Lois . . . Helen and her little daughter . . . Bill . . . Faye Chapin . . . Trigger Vachon . . . me! All part of the Purpose. Thats fine, Dor, Lois said, but wheres the Purpose taking us now? And what are we supposed to do when we get there? Dorrance leaned forward and whispered in Joe Wyzers ear, guarding his lips with one puffy, agespotted hand. Then he sat back again, looking deeply satisfied with himself. He says were going to the Civic Center, Joe said. The Civic Center! Lois exclaimed, sounding alarmed. No, that cant be right! Those two little men said Never mind them right now, Dorrance said. Just remember what its about  nerve. Who has it, and who doesnt. 2 Silence in Joe Wyzers Ford for almost the space of a mile. Dorrance opened his book of Robert Creeley poems and began to read one, tracing his way from line to line with the yellowed nail of one ancient finger. Ralph found himself remembering a game they had sometimes played as kids  not a very nice one. Snipe Hunt, it had been called. You got kids who were a little younger and a lot more gullible than you were, fed them a cockandbull story about the mythical snipe, then gave them towsacks and sent them out to spend a strenuous afternoon wandering around in the damps and the willywags, looking for nonexistent birds. This game was also called Wild Goose Chase, and he suddenly had the inescapable feeling that Clotho and Lachesis had been playing it with him and Lois up on the hospital roof. He turned around in his seat and looked directly at Old Dor. Dorrance folded over the top corner of the page he was reading, closed his book, and looked back at Ralph with polite interest. They told us we werent to go near either Ed Deepneau or Doc 3, Ralph said. He spoke slowly and with great clarity. They told us very specifically that we werent even to think of doing that, because the situation had invested both of them with great power and we were apt to get swatted like flies. In fact, I think Lachesis said that if we tried getting near either Ed or Atropos, we might end up having a visit from one of the upperlevel honchos . . . someone Ed calls the Crimson King. Not a very nice fellow, either, by all reports. Yes, Lois said in a faint voice. Thats what they told us on the hospital roof. They said we had to convince the women in charge to cancel Susan Days appearance. Thats why we went out to High Ridge. And did you succeed in convincing them? Wyzer asked. No. Eds crazy friends came before we could get there, set the place on fire, and killed at least two of the women. Shot them. One was the woman we really wanted to talk to. Gretchen Tillbury, Ralph said. Yes, Lois agreed. But surely we dont need to do any more  I cant believe theyll go ahead with the rally now. I mean, how could they? My God, at least four people are dead! Probably more! Theyll have to cancel her speech or at least postpone it. Isnt that so? Neither Dorrance nor Joe replied. Ralph didnt reply, either  he was thinking of Helens redrimmed, furious eyes. How can you even ask? shed said. If they stop us now, they win. If they stop us now, they win. Was there any legal way the police could stop them? Probably not. The City Council, then? Maybe. Maybe they could hold a special meeting and revoke WomanCares rally permit. But would they? If there were two thousand angry, griefstricken women marching around the Municipal Building and yelling If they stop us now they win in unison, would the Council revoke the permit? Ralph began to feel a deep sinking sensation in his gut. Helen clearly considered tonights rally more important than ever, and she wouldnt be the only one. It was no longer just about choice and who had the right to decide what a woman did with her own body; now it was about causes important enough to die for and honoring the friends who had done just that. Now they were talking not just about politics but about a kind of secular requiem mass for the dead. Lois had grabbed his shoulder and was shaking it hard. Ralph came back to the here and now, but slowly, like a man being shaken awake in the middle of an incredibly vivid dream. They will cancel it, wont they? And even if they dont, if for some crazy reason they dont, most people will stay away, right? After what happened at High Ridge, theyll be afraid to come! Ralph thought about that and then shook his head. Most people will think the dangers over. The news reports are going to say that two of the radicals who attacked High Ridge are dead, and the third is catatonic, or something. But Ed! What about Ed? she cried. Hes the one who got them to attack, for heavens sake! Hes the one who sent them out there in the first place! That may be true, probably is true, but how would we prove it? Do you know what I think the cops will find at wherever Charlie Pickerings been hanging his hat? A note saying it was all his idea. A note exonerating Ed completely, probably in the guise of an accusation . . . how Ed deserted them in their time of greatest need. And if they dont find a note like that in Charlies rented room, theyll find it in Frank Feltons. Or Sandra McKays. But that . . . thats . . . Lois stopped, biting at her lower lip. Then she looked at Wyzer with hopeful eyes. What about Susan Day? Where is she? Does anybody know? Do you? Ralph and I will call her on the telephone and Shes already in Derry, Wyzer said, although I doubt if even the police know for sure where she is. But what I heard on the news while the old fella and I were driving out here is that the rally is going to happen tonight . . . and thats supposedly straight from the woman herself. Sure, Ralph thought. Sure it is. The shows going on, the show has to go on, and she knows it. Someone whos ridden the crest of the womens movement all these years  hell, since the Chicago convention in 68  knows a genuine watershed moment when she sees it. Shes evaluated the risks and found them acceptable. Either that or shes evaluated the situation and decided that the credibilityloss involved in walking away would be unacceptable. Maybe both. In any case, shes as much a prisoner of events  of katet  as the rest of us. They were on the outskirts of Derry again. Ralph could see the Civic Center on the horizon. Now it was Old Dor Lois turned to. Where is she? Do you know? It doesnt matter how many security people shes got around her; Ralph and I can be invisible when we want to be . . . and were very good at changing peoples minds. Oh, changing Susan Days mind wouldnt change anything, Dor said. He still wore that broad, maddening smile. Theyll come to the Civic Center tonight no matter what. If they come and find the doors locked, theyll break them open and go inside and have their rally just the same. To show theyre not afraid. Donebuncantbeundone, Ralph said dully. Right, Ralph! Dor said cheerily, and patted Ralphs arm. 3 Five minutes later, Joe drove his Ford past the hideous plastic statue of Paul Bunyan which stood in front of the Civic Center and turned in at a sign which read THERES ALWAYS FREE PARKING AT YOUR CIVIC CENTER! The acre of parking lot lay between the Civic Center building itself and the Bassey Park racetrack. If the event that evening had been a rock concert or a boatshow or a wrestling card, they would have had the parking lot entirely to themselves this early, but tonights event was clearly going to be lightyears from an exhibition basketball game or a monster truckpull. There were already sixty or seventy cars in the lot, and little groups of people standing around, looking at the building. Most of them were women. Some had picnic hampers, several were crying, and almost all wore black armbands. Ralph saw a middleaged woman with a weary, intelligent face and a great mass of gray hair passing these out from a carrybag. She was wearing a teeshirt with Susan Days face on it and the words WE SHALL VERCME. The drivethrough area in front of the Civic Centers bank of entrance doors was even busier than the parking lot. No fewer than six TV newsvans were parked there, and various tech crews stood under the triangular cement canopy in little clusters, discussing how they were going to handle tonights event. And according to the bedsheet banner which hung down from the canopy, flapping lazily in the breeze, there was going to be an event. RALLY IS ON, it read in large, blurry spraypaint letters. 8 P.M. COME SHOW YOUR SOLIDARITY EXPRESS YOUR OUTRAGE COMFORT YOUR SISTERS. Joe put the Ford in Park, then turned to Old Dor, eyebrows raised. Dor nodded, and Joe looked at Ralph. I guess this is where you and Lois get out, Ralph. Good luck. Id come with you if I could  I even asked him  but he says Im not equipped. Thats all right, Ralph said. We appreciate everything youve done, dont we, Lois? We certainly do, Lois said. Ralph reached for the doorhandle, then let it go again. He turned to face Dorrance. Whats this about? Really, I mean. Its not about saving the two thousand or so people Clotho and Lachesis said are going to be here tonight, thats for sure. To the kind of AllTime forces they talked about, two thousand lives are probably just a little more grease on the bearings. So whats it all about, Alfie? Why are we here? Dorrances grin had faded at last; with it gone he looked younger and strangely formidable. Job asked God the same question, he said, and got no answer. Youre not going to get one either, but Ill tell you this much youve become the pivotpoint of great events and vast forces. The work of the higher universe has almost completely come to a stop as those of both the Random and the Purpose turn to mark your progress. Thats great, but I dont get it, Ralph said, more in resignation than in anger. Neither do I, but those two thousand lives are enough for me, Lois said quietly. I could never live with myself if I didnt at least try to stop whats going to happen. Id dream of the deathbag around that building for the rest of my life. Even if I only got an hours sleep a night Id dream of it. Ralph considered this, then nodded. He opened his door and swung one foot out. Thats a good point. And Helenll be there. She might even bring Nat. Maybe, for little ShortTime farts like us, thats enough. And maybe, he thought, I want a rematch with Doc 3. Oh, Ralph, Carolyn mourned. Clint Eastwood? Again? No, not Clint Eastwood. Not Sylvester Stallone or Arnold Schwarzenegger, either. Not even John Wayne. He was no big actionhero or moviestar; he was just plain old Ralph Roberts from Harris Avenue. That didnt make the grudge he bore the doc with the rusty scalpel any less real, however. And now that grudge was a lot bigger than just a stray dog and the retired history teacher who had lived downstairs for the last ten years or so. Ralph kept thinking of the parlor at High Ridge, and the women propped against the wall below the poster of Susan Day. It wasnt upon Merrilees pregnant belly which the eye in his mind kept focusing but Gretchen Tillburys hair  her beautiful blonde hair that had been mostly burned off by the closerange rifleshot that had taken her life. Charlie Pickering had pulled the trigger, and maybe Ed Deepneau had put the gun in his hands, but it was Atropos Ralph blamed, Atropos the jumpropethief, Atropos the hatthief, Atropos the combthief. Atropos the earringthief. Come on, Lois, he said. Lets But she put her hand on his arm and shook her head. Not just yet  get back in here and shut the door. He looked at her carefully, then did what she said. She paused, gathering her thoughts, and when she spoke, she looked directly at Old Dor. I still dont understand why we were sent out to High Ridge, she said. They never even came right out and said that was what we were supposed to do, but we know  dont we, Ralph?  that that was what they wanted from us. And I want to understand. If were supposed to be here, why did we have to go out there? I mean, we saved some lives, and Im glad, but I think Ralphs right  a few lives dont mean much to the people running this show. Silence for a moment, and then Dorrance said, Did Clotho and Lachesis really strike you as allwise and allknowing, Lois? Well . . . they were smart, but I guess they werent exactly geniuses, she said after a moments thought. At one point they called themselves working joes who were a long way down the ladder from the boardroom executives who actually made the decisions. Old Dor was nodding and smiling. Clotho and Lachesis are almost ShortTimers themselves, in the big scheme of things. They have their own fears and mental blindspots. They are also capable of making bad decisions . . . but in the end, that doesnt matter, because they also serve the Purpose. And katet. They thought wed lose if we went headtohead with Atropos, didnt they? Ralph asked. Thats why they talked themselves into believing we could accomplish what they wanted to using the back door . . . the back door being High Ridge. Yes, Dor said. Thats it. Great, Ralph said. I love a vote of confidence. Especially when No, Dor said. Thats not it. Ralph and Lois exchanged a bewildered glance. What are you talking about? Its both things at the same time. Thats very often the way things are within the Purpose. You see . . . well . . . He sighed. I hate all these questions. I hardly ever answer questions, did I tell you that? Yes, Lois said. You did. Yes. And now, bingo! All these questions. Nasty! And useless! Ralph looked at Lois, and she looked back at him. Neither of them made any move to get out. Dor heaved a sigh. All right . . . but this is the last thing Im going to say, so pay attention. Clotho and Lachesis may have sent you to High Ridge for the wrong reasons, but the Purpose sent you there for the right ones. You fulfilled your task there. By saving the women, Lois said. But Dorrance was shaking his head. Then what did we do? she nearly shouted. What? Dont we have a right to know what part of the goshdamned Purpose we fulfilled? No, Dorrance said. At least not yet. Because you have to do it again. This is crazy, Ralph said. It isnt, though, Dorrance replied. He was holding For Love tightly against his chest now, bending it back and forth and looking at Ralph earnestly. Random is crazy. Purpose is sane. All right, Ralph thought, what did we do at High Ridge besides save the people in the cellar? And John Leydecker, of course  I think Pickering might have killed him as well as Chris Nell if I hadnt intervened. Could it be something to do with Leydecker? He supposed it could, but it didnt feel right. Dorrance, he said, cant you please give us a little more information? I mean No, Old Dor said, not unkindly. No more questions, no more time. Well have a good meal together after this is over . . . if were still around, that is. You really know how to cheer a fellow up, Dor. Ralph opened his door. Lois did the same, and they both stepped out into the parking lot. He bent down and looked at Joe Wyzer. Is there anything else? Anything you can think of? No, I dont think Dor leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Joe listened, frowning. Well? Ralph asked when Dorrance sat back. What did he say? He said not to forget my comb, Joe said. I dont have the slightest idea what hes talking about, but what else is new? Thats okay, Ralph said, and smiled a little. Its one of the few things I do understand. Come on, Lois  lets check out the crowd. Mingle a little. 4 Halfway across the parking lot, she elbowed him so hard in the side that Ralph staggered. Look! she whispered. Right over there! Isnt that Connie Chung? Ralph looked. Yes; the woman in the beige coat standing between two techs with the CBS logo on their jackets was almost certainly Connie Chung. He had admired her pretty, intelligent face and pleasant smile over too many evening meals to have much doubt about it. Either her or her twin sister, he said. Lois seemed to have forgotten all about Old Dor and High Ridge and the bald docs; in that moment she was once more the woman Bill McGovern had liked to call our Lois. Ill be darned! Whats she doing here? Well, Ralph began, and then covered his mouth to hide a jawcracking yawn, I guess whats going on in Derry is national news now. She must be here to do a live segment in front of the Civic Center for tonights news. In any case Suddenly, with no warning at all, the auras swam back. Ralph gasped. Jesus! Lois, are you seeing this? But he didnt think she was. If she had been, Ralph didnt think Connie Chung would have rated even an honorable mention on Loiss attentionroster. This was horrible almost beyond conceiving, and for the first time Ralph fully realized that even the bright world of auras had its dark side, one that would make an ordinary person fall on his knees and thank God for his reduced perceptions. And this isnt even stepping up the ladder, he thought. At least, I dont think it is.


Im only looking at that wider world, like a man looking through a window. Im not actually in it. Nor did he want to be in it. Just looking at something like this was almost enough to make you wish you were blind. Lois was frowning at him. What, the colors? No. Should I try to? Is there something wrong with them? He tried to answer and couldnt. A moment later he felt her hand seize his arm in a painful pincers grip above the elbow and knew that no explanation was necessary. For better or worse, Lois was now seeing for herself. Oh dear, she whimpered in a breathless little voice that teetered on the edge of tears. Oh dear, oh dear, oh jeez Louise. From the roof of Derry Home, the aura hanging over the Civic Center had looked like a vast, saggy umbrella  the Travelers Insurance Company logo colored black by a childs crayon, perhaps. Standing here in the parking lot, it was like being inside a large and indescribably nasty mosquito net, one so old and badly caredfor that its gauzy walls had silted up with blackishgreen mildew. The bright October sun shrank to a bleary circle of tarnished silver. The air took on a gloomy, foggy cast that made Ralph think of pictures of London at the end of the nineteenth century. They were not just looking at the Civic Center deathbag, not anymore; they were buried alive in it. Ralph could feel it pressing hungrily in on him, trying to overwhelm him with feelings of loss and despair and dismay. Why bother? he asked himself, watching apathetically as Joe Wyzers Ford drove back down toward Main Street with Old Dor still sitting in the back seat. I mean hey, really, what the hell is the use? We cant change this thing, no way we can. Maybe we did something out at High Ridge, but the difference between what was going on out there and whats happening here is like the difference between a smudge and a black hole. If we try to mess in with this business, were going to get flattened. He heard moaning from beside him and realized Lois was crying. Mustering his flagging energy, he slid an arm around her shoulders. Hold on, Lois, he said. We can stand up to this. But he wondered. Were breathing it in! she wept. Its like were sucking up death! Oh, Ralph, lets get away from here! Please lets just get away from here! The idea sounded as good to him as the idea of water must sound to a man dying of thirst in the desert, but he shook his head. Two thousand people are going to die here tonight if we dont do something. Im pretty confused about the rest of this business but that much I can grasp with no trouble at all. Okay, she whispered. Just keep your arm around me so I dont crack my head open if I faint. It was ironic, Ralph thought. They now had the faces and bodies of people in the early years of a vigorous middle age, but they shuffled across the parking lot like a pair of oldtimers whose muscles have turned to string and whose bones have turned to glass. He could hear Loiss breathing, rapid and labored, like the breathing of a woman who has just sustained some serious injury. Ill take you back if you want, Ralph said, and he meant it. He would take her back to the parking lot, he would take her to the orange busstop bench he could see from here. And when the bus came, getting on and going back to Harris Avenue would be the simplest thing in the world. He could feel the killer aura which surrounded this place pressing in on him, trying to smother him like a plastic drycleaning bag, and he found himself remembering something McGovern had said about May Lochers emphysema that it was one of those diseases that keep on giving. And now he supposed he had a pretty good idea of how May Locher had felt during her last few years. It didnt matter how hard he sucked at the black air or how deep he dragged it down; it did not satisfy. His heart and head went on pounding, making him feel as if he were suffering the worst hangover of his life. He was opening his mouth to repeat that hed take her back when she spoke up, talking in little outofbreath gasps. I guess I can make it . . . but I hope . . . it wont take long. Ralph, how come we can feel something this bad even without being able to see the colors? Why cant they? She pointed at the media people milling around the Civic Center. Are we ShortTimers that insensitive? I hate to think that. He shook his head, indicating that he didnt know, but he thought that perhaps the news crews, video technicians, and security guards clustered around the doors and beneath the spraypainted banner hanging from the canopy did feel something. He saw lots of hands holding styrofoam cups of coffee, but he didnt see anyone actually drinking the stuff. There was a box of doughnuts sitting on the hood of a station wagon, but the only one which had been taken out had been laid aside on a napkin with just a single bite gone. Ralph ran his eye over two dozen faces without seeing a single smile. The newspeople were going about their work  setting camera angles, marking locations from which the talking heads would do their standups, laying down coaxial cable and ducttaping it to the cement  but they were doing it without the sort of excitement which Ralph would have expected to accompany a story as big as this one was turning out to be. Connie Chung walked out from beneath the canopy with a bearded, handsome cameraman  MICHAEL ROSENBERG, the tag on his CBS jacket said  and then raised her small hands in a framing gesture, showing him how she wanted him to shoot the bedsheet banner hanging down from the canopy. Rosenberg nodded. Chungs face was pale and solemn, and at one point during her conversation with the bearded cameraman, Ralph saw her pause and raise a hand uncertainly to her temple, as if she had lost her train of thought or perhaps felt faint. There seemed to be an underlying similarity to all the expressions he saw  a common chord  and he thought he knew what it was they were all suffering from what had been called melancholia when he was a kid, and melancholia was just a fancy word for the blues. Ralph found himself remembering times in his life when hed hit the emotional equivalent of a cold spot while swimming or clear air turbulence while flying. Youd be cruising along through your day, sometimes feeling great, sometimes just feeling okay, but getting along and getting it done . . . and then, for no apparent reason at all, youd go down in flames and crash. A sense of What the hells the use would slide over you  unconnected to any real event in your life at that moment but incredibly powerful all the same  and you felt like simply creeping back to bed and pulling the covers up over your head. Maybe this is what causes feelings like that, he thought. Maybe its running into something like this  some big mess of death or sorrow waiting to happen, spread out like a banquet tent made of cobwebs and tears instead of canvas and rope. We dont see it, not down on our ShortTime level, but we feel it. Oh yes, we feel it. And now . . . Now it was trying to suck them dry. Maybe they werent vampires, as they both had feared, but this thing was. The deathbag had a sluggish, halfsentient life, and it would suck them dry if it could. If they let it. Lois stumbled against him and Ralph had all he could do to keep them both from sprawling to the pavement. Then she lifted her head (slowly, as if her hair had been dipped in cement), curled a hand around her mouth, and inhaled sharply. At the same time she flickered a little. Under other circumstances, Ralph might have dismissed that flicker as a momentary glitch in his own eyes, but not now. She had slid up. Just a little. Just enough to feed. He hadnt seen Lois dip into the waitresss aura, but this time everything happened in front of him. The auras of the newspeople were like small but brightly colored Japanese lanterns glowing bravely in a vast, gloomy cavern. Now a tight beam of violet light speared out from one of them  from Michael Rosenberg, Connie Chungs bearded cameraman, in fact. It divided in two an inch or so in front of Loiss face. The upper branch divided in two again and slipped into her nostrils; the lower branch went between her parted lips and into her mouth. He could see it glowing faintly behind her cheeks, lighting her from the inside as a candle lights a jackolantern. Her grip on him loosened, and suddenly the leaning pressure of her weight was gone. A moment later the violet beam of light disappeared. She looked around at him. Color  not a lot, but some  was returning to her leaden cheeks. Thats better  a lot better. Now you, Ralph! He was reluctant  it still felt like stealing  but it had to be done if he didnt want to simply collapse right here; he could almost feel the last of Nirvana Boys borrowed energy running out through his pores. He curled his hand around his mouth now as he had in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot that morning and turned slightly to his left, seeking a target. Connie Chung had backed several steps closer to them; she was still looking up at the bedsheet banner hanging from the canopy and talking to Rosenberg (who seemed none the worse for wear as a result of Loiss borrowing) about it. With no further thought, Ralph inhaled sharply through the curled tube of his fingers. Chungs aura was the same lovely shade of weddinggown ivory as those which had surrounded Helen and Nat on the day theyd come to his apartment with Gretchen Tillbury. Instead of a ray of light, something like a long, straight ribbon shot from Chungs aura. Ralph felt strength begin to fill him almost at once, banishing the aching weariness in his joints and muscles. And he could think clearly again, as if a big cloud of sludge had just been washed out of his brain. Connie Chung broke off, looked up at the sky for a moment, then began to talk to the cameraman again. Ralph glanced around and saw Lois looking at him anxiously. Any better? she whispered. All kinds, he said, but its still like being zipped up in a bodybag. I think  Lois began, and then her eyes fixed on something to the left of the Civic Center doors. She screamed and shrank back against Ralph, her eyes so wide it seemed they must tumble from their sockets. He followed her gaze and felt his breath stop in his throat. The planners had tried to soften the buildings plain brick sides by planting evergreen bushes along them. These had either been neglected or purposely allowed to grow until they interlaced and threatened to entirely hide the narrow strip of grass between them and the concrete walk which bordered the drivethrough. Giant bugs that looked like prehistoric trilobites were squirming in and out of these evergreens in droves, crawling over each other, bumping heads, sometimes rearing up and pawing each other with their front legs like stags locking horns during mating season. They werent transparent, like the bird on the satellite dish, but there was something ghostly and unreal about them, just the same. Their auras flickered feverishly (and brainlessly, Ralph guessed) through a whole spectrum of colors; they were so bright and yet so ephemeral that it was almost possible to think of them as weird lightningbugs. Except thats not what they are. You know what they are. Hey! It was Rosenberg, Chungs cameraman, who hailed them, but most of the others in front of the building were looking. She okay, bud? Yes, Ralph called back. He still had his hand curled around his mouth and lowered it quickly, feeling foolish. She just . . . I saw a mouse! Lois called, smiling a daffy, dazed smile . . . an our Lois smile if Ralph had ever seen one. He was very proud of her. She pointed toward the evergreen shrubs to the left of the door with a finger that was almost steady. He went right in there. Gosh, but he was a fat one! Did you see him, Norton? No, Alice. Stick around, lady, Michael Rosenberg called. Youll see all kinds of wildlife here tonight. There was some desultory, almost forced laughter, and then they turned back to their tasks. God, Ralph! Lois whispered. Those . . . those things . . . He took her hand and squeezed it. Steady, Lois. They know, dont they? Thats why theyre here. Theyre like vultures. Ralph nodded. As he watched, several bugs emerged from the tops of the bushes and began to ooze aimlessly up the wall. They moved with dazed sluggishness  like flies buzzing against a windowpane in November  and left slimy trails of color behind them. These quickly dimmed and faded. Other bugs crawled out from beneath the bushes and onto the small strip of lawn. One of the local news commentators began strolling toward this infested area, and when he turned his head, Ralph saw it was John Kirkland. He was talking to a goodlooking woman dressed in one of those power look business outfits which Ralph found  under normal circumstances, anyway  extremely sexy. He guessed she was Kirklands producer, and wondered if Lisette Bensons aura turned green when this woman was around. Theyre going toward those bugs! Lois whispered fiercely at him. We have to stop them, Ralph  we have to! Were not going to do a damned thing. But Lois, we cant start raving about bugs nobody but us can see. Well end up in the nuthatch if we do. Besides, the bugs arent there for them. He paused and added I hope. They watched as Kirkland and his goodlooking colleague walked onto the lawn . . . and into a jellylike knot of the twitching, crawling trilobites. One slid onto Kirklands highly polished loafer, paused until he stopped moving for a second, then climbed onto his pantsleg. I dont give much of a shit about Susan Day, one way or the other, Kirkland was saying. WomanCares the story here, not her  crying babes wearing black armbands. Watch out, John, the woman said dryly. Your sensitivity is showing. Is it? Goddam. The bug on his pantsleg appeared bound for his crotch. It occurred to Ralph that if Kirkland were suddenly given the power to see what was shortly going to be crawling over his balls, he would probably go right out of his mind. Okay, but be sure to talk to the women who run the local powernetwork, the producer was saying. Now that Tillburys dead, the ones that matter are Maggie Petrowsky, Barbara Richards, and Dr Roberta Warper. Warpers going to introduce the Big Kahuna tonight, I think . . . or maybe in this case its the Big Kahunette. The woman took a step off the sidewalk and one of her high heels skewered a lumbering colorbug. A rainbow of guts spewed out of it, and a waxywhite substance that looked like stale mashed potatoes. Ralph had an idea the white stuff had been eggs. Lois pressed her face against his arm. And keep your eyes open for a lady named Helen Deepneau, the producer said, taking a step closer to the building. The bug stuck on the heel of her shoe flopped and twisted as she walked. Deepneau, Kirkland said. He tapped his knuckles against his brow. Somewhere, deep inside, a bell is ringing. Nah, its just your last active braincell rolling around in there, the producer said. Shes Ed Deepneaus wife. Theyre separated. If you want tears, shes your best bet. She and Tillbury were good friends. Maybe special friends, if you know what I mean. Kirkland leered  an expression so foreign to his oncamera persona that Ralph felt slightly disoriented. One of the colorbugs, meanwhile, had found its way onto the toe of the womans shoe and was working its way up her leg. Ralph watched in helpless fascination as it disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt. Watching the moving bump climb her thigh was like watching a kitten under a bathtowel. And again, it seemed that Kirklands colleague felt something; as she talked to him about interviews during Days speech, she reached down and absently scratched at the lump, which had now made it almost all the way up to her right hip. Ralph didnt hear the thick popping sound the fragile, flabby thing made when it burst, but he could imagine it. Was helpless not to, it seemed. And he could imagine its innards dripping down her nyloned leg like pus. It would remain there at least until her evening shower, unseen, unfelt, unsuspected. Now the two of them began discussing how they should cover the scheduled prolife rally this afternoon . . . assuming it actually happened, that was. The woman was of the opinion that not even The Friends of Life would be dumbheaded enough to show up at the Civic Center after what had happened at High Ridge. Kirkland told her it was impossible to underestimate the idiocy of fanatics; people who could wear that much polyester in public were clearly a force to be reckoned with. And all the time they were talking, exchanging quips and ideas and gossip, more of the swollen, multicolored bugs were swarming busily up their legs and torsos. One pioneer had made it all the way up to Kirklands red tie, and was apparently bound for his face. Movement off to the right caught Ralphs eye. He turned toward the doors in time to see one of the techs elbowing a buddy and pointing at him and Lois. Ralph suddenly had an alltooclear picture of what they were seeing two people with no visible reason for being here (neither of them was wearing a black armband and they were clearly not representatives of the media) just hanging out at the edge of the parking lot. The lady, who had already screamed once, had her face buried against the gentlemans arm . . . and the gentleman in question was gaping like a fool at nothing in particular. Ralph spoke softly and from the corner of his mouth, like an inmate discussing escape in an old Warner Bros. jailbreak epic. Get your head up. Were attracting more attention than we can afford. For a moment he really didnt believe she was going to be able to do that . . . and then she came through and lifted her head. She glanced at the shrubs growing along the wall one final time  an involuntary, horrified little peek  and then looked resolutely back at Ralph and only Ralph. Do you see any sign of Atropos, Ralph? That is why were here, isnt it . . . to pick up his trail? Maybe. I suppose. Havent even looked, to tell the truth  too many other things going on. I think we ought to get a little closer to the building. This wasnt a thing he wanted to do, but it seemed very important to do something. He could feel the deathbag all around them, a gloomy, suffocating presence that was passively opposed to forward motion of any kind. That was what they had to fight. All right, she said. Im going to ask for Connie Chungs autograph, and Im going to be all giggly and silly while I do it. Can you stand that? Yes. Good. Because that will mean that if theyre looking at anybody, theyll be looking at me. Sounds good. He spared one last look at John Kirkland and the woman producer. They were now discussing what events might cause them to break into the evenings network feed and go live, totally unaware of the lumbering trilobites crawling back and forth on their faces. One of them was currently squirming slowly into John Kirklands mouth. Ralph looked away in a hurry and let Lois pull him over to where Ms Chung stood with Rosenberg, the bearded cameraman. He saw the two of them glance first at Lois and then at each other. The shared look was one part amusement and three parts resignation  here comes one of them  and then Lois gave his hand a hard little squeeze that said, Never mind me, Ralph, you take care of your business and Ill take care of mine. Pardon me, but arent you Connie Chung? Lois asked in her gushiest isntthisthelivingend voice. I saw you over there and at first I said to Norton, Is that the lady whos on with Dan Rather, or am I crazy? And then I am Connie Chung, and its very nice to meet you, but Im getting ready for tonights news, so if you could excuse me Oh, of course, I wouldnt dream of bothering you, I only want an autograph  just a quick little scribble would do  because Im your number one fan, at least in Maine. Ms Chung glanced at Rosenberg. He was already holding a pen out in one hand, much as a good OR nurse has the instrument the doctor will want next even before he calls for it. Ralph turned his attention to the area in front of the Civic Center and slid his perceptions up the tiniest bit. What he saw in front of the doors was a semitransparent, blackish substance that puzzled him at first. It was about two inches deep and looked almost like some sort of geological formation. That couldnt be, though . . . could it? If what he was looking at was real (the way objects in the ShortTime world were real, at least), the stuff would have blocked the doors from opening, and it wasnt doing that. As Ralph watched, two TV techs strolled ankledeep through the stuff as if it were no more substantial than lowlying groundmist. Ralph remembered the aural footprints people left behind  the ones that looked like Arthur Murray learntodance diagrams  and suddenly thought he understood. The tracks faded away like cigarette smoke . . . except that cigarette smoke really didnt go away; it left a residue on walls, on windows, and in lungs. Apparently, human auras left their own residue. It probably wasnt enough to see once the colors faded if it was only one person, but this was the biggest public meetingplace in Maines fourthlargest city. Ralph thought of all the people who had poured in and out through these doors  all the banquets, conventions, coinshows, concerts, basketball tourneys  and understood that semitransparent slag. It was the equivalent of the slight dip you sometimes saw in the middle of muchused steps. Never mind that now, sweetheart  take care of your business. Nearby, Connie Chung was scribbling her name on the back of Loiss lightbill for September. Ralph looked at that slaggy residue on the cement apron in front of the doors, hunting for a trace of Atropos, something which might register more as smell than sight, a nasty, meaty aroma like the alley which used to run behind Mr Hustons butcher shop when Ralph was a kid. Thank you! Lois was burbling. I said to Norton, She looks just like she does on TV, just like a little China doll. Those were my exact words. Very welcome, Im sure, Chung said, but I really have to get back to work. Of course you do. Say hello to Dan Rather for me, wont you? Tell him I said Courage! I certainly will. Chung smiled and nodded as she handed the pen back to Rosenberg. Now, if youll excuse us If its here, its higher up than I am, Ralph thought. Ill have to slide up a little bit farther. Yes, but hed have to be careful, and not just because time had become an extremely valuable commodity. The simple fact was that if he went up too high, he would disappear from the ShortTime world, and that was the sort of occurrence which might even distract these newspeople from the impending prochoice rally . . . at least for awhile. Ralph concentrated, but when the painless spasm inside his head happened this time, it didnt come as a blink but as the soft lowering of a lash. Color bloomed silently into the world; everything stood forth with exclamatory brilliance. Yet the strongest of these colors, the oppressive keychord, was the black of the deathbag, and it was a negation of all the others. Depression and that sense of debilitating weakness fell on him again, sinking into his heart like the pointed ends of a clawhammer. He realized that if he had business to do up here, he had better do it quickly and scoot back down to the ShortTime level before he was stripped clean of lifeforce. He looked at the doors again. For a moment there was still nothing but the fading auras of ShortTimers like himself . . . and then what he was looking for suddenly came clear, rising into his view as a message which has been written in lemon juice rises into sight when it is held close to a candleflame. He had expected something which would look and smell like the rotting guts in the bins behind Mr Hustons knackers shop, but the reality was even worse, possibly because it was so unexpected. There were fans of a bloody, mucusy substance on the doors themselves  marks made by Atroposs restless fingers, perhaps  and a revoltingly large puddle of the same stuff sinking into the hardened residue in front of the doors. There was something so terrible about this stuff  so alien  that it made the colorbugs look almost normal by comparison. It was like a pool of vomit left by a dog suffering from some new and dangerous strain of rabies. A trail of this stuff led away from the puddle, first in drying clots and splashes, then in smaller drips like spilled paint. Of course, Ralph thought. Thats why we had to come here. The little bastard cant stay away from the place. Its like cocaine to a dopeaddict. He could imagine Atropos standing right here where he, Ralph, was standing now, looking . . . grinning . . . then stepping forward and putting his hands on the doors. Caressing them. Creating those filthy, filmy marks. Could imagine Atropos drawing strength and energy from the very blackness which was robbing Ralph of his own vitality. He has other places to go and other things to do, of course  every day is undoubtedly a busy day when youre a supernatural psycho like him  but it must be hard for him to stay away from this place for long, no matter how busy he is. And how does it make him feel? Like a tight fuck on a summer afternoon, thats how. Lois tugged his sleeve from behind and he turned to her. She was still smiling, but the feverish intensity in her eyes made the expression on her lips look suspiciously like a scream. Behind her, Connie Chung and Rosenberg were strolling back toward the building. Youve got to get me out of here, Lois whispered. I cant stand it anymore. I feel like Im losing my mind. [Okay  no problem.] I cant hear you, Ralph  and I think I can see the sun shining through you. Jesus, Im sure I can! [Oh  wait] He concentrated, and felt the world slide slightly around him. The colors faded; Loiss aura seemed to disappear back inside her skin. Better? Well, solider, anyway. He smiled briefly. Good. Come on. He took her by the elbow and began guiding her back toward where Joe Wyzer had dropped them off. It was the same direction in which the bloody splashes led. Did you find what you were looking for? Yes. She brightened at once. Thats great! I saw you go up, you know  it was very odd, like watching you turn into a sepiatoned photograph. And then . . . thinking I could see the sun shining through you . . . that was very peculiar. She looked at him severely. Bad, huh? No . . . not bad, exactly. Just peculiar. Those bugs, now . . . they were bad. Ugh! I know what you mean. But I think theyre all back there. Maybe, but were still a long way from being out of the woods, arent we? Yeah  a long way from Eden, Carol would have said. Just stick with me, Ralph Roberts, and dont get lost. Ralph Roberts? Never heard of him. Nortons the name. And that, he was happy to see, made her laugh. CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR 1 They walked slowly across the asphalt parking lot with its gridwork of spraypainted yellow lines. Tonight, Ralph knew, most of these spaces would be filled. Come, look, listen, be seen . . . and, most importantly, show your city and a whole watching country beyond it that you cannot be intimidated by the Charlie Pickerings of the world. Even the minority kept away by fear would be replaced by the morbidly curious. As they approached the racetrack, they also approached the edge of the deathbag. It was thicker here, and Ralph could see slow, swirling movement, as if the deathbag were made up of tiny specks of charred matter. It looked a bit like the air over an open incinerator, shimmering with heat and fragments of burnt paper. And he could hear two sounds, one overlaying the other. The top one was a silvery sighing. The wind might make a sound like that, Ralph thought, if it learned how to weep. It was a creepy sound, but the one beneath it was actively unpleasant  a slobbery chewing noise, as if a gigantic toothless mouth were ingesting large amounts of soft food somewhere close by. Lois stopped as they approached the deathbags dark, particleflecked skin and turned frightened, apologetic eyes up to Ralph. When she spoke, it was in a little girls voice I dont think I can go through that. She paused, struggled, and at last brought out the rest. Its alive, you know. The whole thing. It sees them  Lois jerked a thumb back over her shoulder to indicate both the people in the parking lot and the news crews closer in to the building  and thats bad, but it also sees us, and thats worse . . . because it knows that we see it. It doesnt like being seen. Felt, maybe, but not seen. Now the lowerpitched sound  the slobbery eating sound  seemed almost to be articulating words, and the longer Ralph listened, the more sure he became that that was actually the case. [Geddout. Fucoff. Beedit.] Ralph, Lois whispered. Do you hear it? [Hatechew. Killyew. Eeechew.] He nodded and took her by the elbow again. Come on, Lois. Come ? Where? Down. All the way. For a moment she only looked at him, not understanding; then the light dawned and she nodded. Ralph felt the blink happen inside him  a little stronger than the eyelashflutter of a few moments ago  and suddenly the day around him cleared. The swirling, smoggy barrier ahead of them melted away and was gone. Nevertheless, they closed their eyes and held their breath as they approached the place where they knew the edge of the deathbag lay. Ralph felt Loiss hand tighten on his as she hurried through the invisible barrier, and as he passed through himself, a dark node of tangled memories  the slow death of his wife, the loss of a favorite dog as a child, the sight of Bill McGovern leaning over with one hand pressed against his chest  seemed to first lightly surround his mind and then clamp down on it like a cruel hand. His ears filled with that silvery sobbing sound, so constant and so chillingly vacuous; the weeping voice of a congenital idiot. Then they were through. 2 As soon as they had passed beneath the wooden arch on the far side of the parking lot (WERE OFF TO THE RACES AT BASSEY PARK! was printed along its curve), Ralph drew Lois over to a bench and made her sit down, although she insisted vehemently that she was just fine. Good, but I need a second or two to get myself back together. She brushed a lock of hair off his temple and planted a gentle kiss in the hollow beneath. Take all the time you need, dear heart. That turned out to be about five minutes. When he felt reasonably confident that he could stand up without coming unlocked at the knees, Ralph took her hand again and they stood up together. Did you find it, Ralph? Did you find his trail? He nodded. In order to see it, we have to go up about two jumps. I tried going up just enough to see the auras at first, because that doesnt seem to speed everything up, but it didnt work. It has to be a little more than that. All right. But we have to be careful. Because when we can see We can be seen. Yes. We cant lose track of the time, either. Absolutely not. Are you ready? Almost. I think I need another kiss first. Just a little one will do. Smiling, he gave it to her. Now Im ready. Okay  here we go. Blink! 3 The reddish splotches of spoor led them across the packeddirt area where the midway stood during County Fair week, then to the racetrack where the pacers ran from May to September. Lois stood at the chesthigh slat fence for a moment, glanced around to make sure the grandstand was empty, and then boosted herself up. She moved with the sweet litheness of a young girl at first, but once she had swung a leg over the top and straddled the fence, she paused. On her face was an expression of mingled surprise and dismay. [Lois? Are you all right?] [Yes, fine. Its my darned old underwear! I guess Ive lost weight, because it just wont stay where it belongs! For gosh sakes!] Ralph realized he could see not just the frilly hem of Loiss slip but three or four inches of pink nylon.


He stifled a grin as she sat astride the broad plank top of the fence, yanking at the fabric. He thought of telling her she looked cuter than kittenbritches and decided that might not be such a good idea. [Turn your back while I get this damned slip fixed, Ralph. And wipe the smirk off your face while youre at it.] He turned his back on her and looked at the Civic Center. If there had been a smirk on his face (he thought it more likely that she had seen one in his aura), the sight of that dark, slowly swirling deathbag took care of it in a hurry. [Lois, you might be happier if you just took it off.] [Pardon me all to heck and back, Ralph Roberts, but I wasnt raised to take off my underwear and leave it lying around on racetracks, and if you ever knew a girl who did do things like that, I hope it was before you met Carolyn. I only wish I had a] Vague image of a gleaming steel safetypin in Ralphs head. [I dont suppose you have one, do you, Ralph?] He shook his head and sent back an image of his own sand running through an hourglass. [All right, all right, I get the message. I think Ive fixed it so itll hold together at least a little longer. You can turn around now.] He did. She was letting herself down the other side of the board fence, and doing it with easy confidence, but her aura had paled considerably, and Ralph could see dark circles under her eyes again. The Revolt of the Foundation Garments had been quelled, however, at least for the time being. Ralph boosted himself up, swung a leg over the fence, and dropped down on the other side. He liked the way doing it felt  it seemed to wake old, long memories in his bones. [Were going to need to power up again before long, Lois.] Lois, nodding wearily [I know. Come on, lets go.] 4 They followed the trail across the racetrack, climbed another board fence on the other side, then descended a brushy, overgrown slope to Neibolt Street. Ralph saw Lois grimly holding her slip up through the skirt of her dress as they struggled down the hill, thought again about asking if she wouldnt be happier just ditching the damned thing, and decided again to mind his own business. If it became enough of a problem to her, she would do it without any further advice on the subject from him. Ralphs greatest worry  that Atroposs trail would simply peter out on them  initially proved groundless. The dim pink blotches led directly down the crumbling, patched surface of Neibolt Street, between paintless tenements that should have been demolished years ago. Tattered laundry flapped on sagging lines; dirty children with snotty noses watched them pass from dusty front yards. A beautiful towheaded boy of about three gave Ralph and Lois a deeply suspicious look from his front step, then grabbed his crotch with one hand and used the other to flash them the bird. Neibolt Street deadended at the old trainyards, and here Ralph and Lois momentarily lost the track. They stood by one of the sawhorses blocking off an ancient rectangular cellarhole  all that remained of the old passenger depot  and looked around at a big semicircle of waste ground. Rustyred siding tracks glowered from deep within tangles of sunflowers and thorny weeds; shards from a hundred broken bottles twinkled in the afternoon sun. Spraypainted in hot pink letters across the splintery side of the old diesel shed were the words SUZY SUCKT MY BIG FAT ONE. This sentimental declaration stood within a border of dancing swastikas. Ralph [Where the hell did it go?] [Down there, Ralph  see?] She was pointing along what had been the main line until 1963, the only line until 1983, and was now just another pair of rusty, overgrown steel tracks on the way to nowhere. Even most of the ties were gone, burned as evening campfires either by local winos or vags passing through on their way to the potato fields of Aroostook County or the apple orchards and fishing smacks of the Maritimes. On one of the few remaining crossties, Ralph saw splashes of pink spoor. They looked fresher than the ones they had followed down Neibolt Street. He stared along the halfhidden course of the tracks, trying to recall. If memory served, this line skirted the Municipal Golf Course on its way back to . . . well, on its way back to the west side. Ralph thought this must be the same set of defunct tracks which ran along the edge of the airport and past the picnic area where Faye Chapin might even now be brooding over the seedings in the upcoming Runway 3 Classic. Its all been one big loop, he thought. Its taken us damned near three days, but I think in the end were going to be right back where we started . . . not Eden, but Harris Avenue. Say, you guys! How you doon? It was a voice Ralph almost thought he recognized, and that feeling was reinforced by his first look at the man it came from. He was standing behind them, at the point where the Neibolt Street sidewalk finally gave up the ghost. He looked fifty or so, but Ralph guessed he might actually be five or even ten years younger than that. He was wearing a sweatshirt and old ragged jeans. The aura surrounding him was as green as a glass of Saint Patricks Day beer. That was finally what turned the trick for Ralph. It was the wino who had approached him and Bill on the day he had found Bill in Strawford Park, bawling over his old pal Bob Polhurst . . . who, as it had turned out, had outlived him. Life was funnier than Groucho Marx sometimes. A queer sense of fatalism was creeping over Ralph, and with it an intuitive understanding of the forces which now surrounded them. It was one he could have done without. It hardly mattered if those forces were beneficent or malign, Random or Purpose; they were gigantic, that was what mattered, and they made the things Clotho and Lachesis had said about choice and free will seem like a joke. He felt as if he and Lois were roped to the spokes of a gigantic wheel  a wheel which kept rolling them back to where they had come from even as it took them deeper and deeper into this horrible tunnel. You got a bitta the old spare change, mister? Ralph slid down a little so the wino would be sure to hear him when he talked. Ill bet your uncle called you from Dexter, Ralph said. Told you you could have your old job back at the mill . . . but only if you got there today. Is that about right? The wino blinked at him in cautious surprise. Well . . . yeah. Sumpin like that. He felt for the story  one he probably believed in more fully than anyone he told it to these days  and found its tattered thread again. Dass a good job, you know? And I could have it back. Theres a Bangor n Aroostook bus at two oclock, but the fares fivefifty and so far I got only toon a quarter . . . Seventysix cents is what youve got, Lois said. Two quarters, two dimes, one nickel, and a penny. But considering how much you drink, your aura looks extremely healthy, Ill say that much for you. You must have the constitution of an ox. The wino gave her a puzzled look, then took a step backward and wiped his nose with the palm of one hand. Dont worry, Ralph reassured him, my wife sees auras everywhere. Shes a very spiritual person. Izzat so, now? Uhhuh. Shes also very generous, and I think shell do quite a bit better by you than a little spare change. Wont you, Alice? Hell just drink it up, she said. Theres no job in Dexter. No, probably not, Ralph said, fixing her with his eyes, but his aura does look extremely healthy. Extremely. You kinda got your own spiritual side, I guess, the wino said. His eyes were still shifting cautiously back and forth between Ralph and Lois, but there was a guarded flicker of hope in them. You know, thats true, Ralph said. And just lately its really come to the fore. He pursed his lips as if an interesting thought had just occurred to him, and inhaled. A bright green ray shot out of the panhandlers aura, crossed the ten feet separating him from Ralph and Lois, and entered Ralphs mouth. The taste was clear and at once identifiable Boones Farm Apple Wine. It was rough and lowdown, but sort of pleasant, just the same  it had a working mans sparkle to it. With the taste came that sense of returning strength, which was good, and a sharpedged clarity of thought that was even better. Lois, meanwhile, was holding out a twentydollar bill. The wino didnt immediately see it, however; he was scowling up into the sky. At that instant, another bright green ray quilled out of his aura. It shot across the weedy clearing beside the cellarhole like a brilliant flashlight beam and into Loiss mouth and nose. The bill in her hand shook briefly. [Oh, God, thats so good!] Goddam jetjockeys from Charleston Air Force Base! the wino cried disapprovingly. They aint spozed to boom the sounbarrier til they get out over the ocean! I damn near wet my  His eye fell on the bill between Loiss fingers, and his scowl deepened. Saaay, what kind of joke you think you pullin here? I aint stupid, you know. Maybe I like a drink every now n then, but that dont make me stupid. Give it time, Ralph thought. It will. No one thinks youre stupid, Lois said, and its no joke. Take the money, sir. The bum tried to hold onto his suspicious glower, but after another close look at Lois (and a quick sideglance at Ralph), it was overwhelmed by a large and winning smile. He stepped toward Lois, putting out his hand to take the money, which he had earned without even knowing it. Lois raised her hand just before he could close his fingers on the bill. Just mind you get something to eat as well as something to drink. And you might ask yourself if youre happy with the way youre living. Youre absolutely right! the wino cried enthusiastically. His eyes never left the bill between Loiss fingers. Absolutely, maam! They got a program other side of the river, detox and rehab, you know. Im thinkin about it. I really am. I think about it every damn day. But his eyes were still tacked to the twenty, and he was almost drooling. Lois gave Ralph a brief, doubtful look, then shrugged and let the bill pass from her fingers to his. Thanks! Thanks, lady! His eyes shifted to Ralph. Dis lady a real princess! I jus hope you know dat! Ralph favored Lois with a fond glance. As a matter of fact, I do, he said. 5 Half an hour later, the two of them were walking between the rusty steel rails as they curved gently past the Municipal Golf Course . . . except they had drifted up a little higher above the ShortTime world after their meeting with the wino (perhaps because he had been a little high himself ), and walking was not exactly what they were doing. There was little or no effort involved, for one thing, and although their feet were moving, to Ralph it felt more like gliding than walking. Nor was he entirely sure they were visible to the ShortTime world; squirrels hopped unconcernedly about their feet, busy gathering supplies for the winter ahead, and once he saw Lois duck sharply as a wren almost parted her hair. The bird veered to the left and upward, as if realizing only at the last moment that there was a human in its flightpattern. The golfers didnt pay them any mind, either. Ralphs opinion of golfers was that they were selfabsorbed to the point of obsession, but he thought this lack of interest extreme even so. If he had seen a couple of neatly dressed adults strolling along a defunct GSWM spurline in the middle of the day, he thought he might have taken a brief timeout to try and guess what they were up to and where they might be going. I think Id be especially curious about why the lady kept on muttering stay where you are, you darned old thing and hitching at her skirt, Ralph thought, and grinned. But the golfers didnt even spare them a glance, although a foursome bound for the ninth hole passed close enough so that Ralph could hear them worrying over a developing softness in the bond market. The idea that he and Lois had become invisible again  or at least very dim  began to seem more and more plausible to Ralph. Plausible . . . and worrisome. Time goes faster when youre high, Old Dor had said. The trail became fresher as they went west, and Ralph liked the drips and splashes which made it up less and less. Where the goop had fallen on the steel rails, it had eaten away the rust like corrosive acid. The weeds it had fallen on were black and dead  even the hardiest of them had died. As Ralph and Lois passed Derry Munis third green and entered a tangle of scrawny trees and undergrowth, Lois tugged at his sleeve. She pointed ahead. Large splotches of Atroposs spoor gleamed like sick paint on the trunks of the trees now pressing in close to the tracks, and there were pools of it in some of the sunken dips between the old rails  places where crossties had once been, Ralph supposed. [Were getting close to where he lives, Ralph.] [Yes.] [If he comes back and finds us in his place, what will we do?] Ralph shrugged. He didnt know, and wasnt sure he cared. Let the forces that were moving them around like pawns on a chessboard  the ones Mr C and Mr L had called the Higher Purpose  worry about that. If Atropos showed up, Ralph would try to yank out the little bald buggers tongue and strangle him with it. And if that upset somebodys applecart, too goddam bad. He couldnt take responsibility for grand plans and LongTime business; his job now was to watch out for Lois, who was at risk, and try to stop the carnage that was going to occur not far from here in just a few hours. And who knew? He might even find a little extra time along the way which he could use to try and protect his own partially rejuvenated hide. This was the stuff he had to do, and if the nasty little fuck got in Ralphs way, one of them was going down. If that didnt fit in with the big boys plans, tough titty. Lois was picking most of this up from his aura  he could read that in her own when she touched his arm and he turned to look at her. [What does that mean, Ralph? That youll try to kill him if he gets in our way?] He considered this, then nodded. [Yeah  thats exactly what it means.] She thought about it, then nodded. [Ralph?] He looked at her, eyebrows raised. [If it needs to be done, Ill help you do it.] He was absurdly touched by this . . . and at pains to hide the rest of his thinking from her that the only reason she was still with him at all was so that he could keep a protective eye on her. That thought led him back toward her earrings, but he pushed the image of them away, not wanting her to see  or even suspect  them in his aura. Loiss thoughts, meanwhile, had gone on in a different, marginally safer, direction. [Even if we get in and out without meeting him, hell know someone was there, wont he? Hell probably know who it was, too.] Ralph couldnt deny it, but didnt see that it mattered much; their options had been narrowed to just this one, at least temporarily. They would take it a step at a time and just keep hoping that when the sun came up tomorrow morning, they would be around to see it. Although, given a choice, Id probably opt to sleep in, Ralph thought, and a small, wistful grin touched the corners of his mouth. God, it feels like years since I slept in. His mind flashed from there to Carolyns favorite saying, the one about how it was a long walk back to Eden. It seemed to him right now that Eden might simply be sleeping until noon . . . or maybe a little past. He took Loiss hand and they started forward along Atroposs trail again. 6 Forty feet east of the cyclone fence marking the edge of the airport, the rusty tracks petered out. Atroposs trail pushed on, however, although not for long; Ralph was quite sure he could see the spot where it ended, and the image of the two of them roped to the spokes of a big wheel recurred. If he was right, Atroposs den was only a stones throw from where Ed had run into the fat man with the barrels of fertilizer in the back of his pickup truck. The wind gusted, bringing them a sick, rotten smell from close by, and, from a little further away, the voice of Faye Chapin, haranguing someone on his favorite subject . . . what I always say! Mahjongg is like chess, chess is like life, so if you can play either of those games  The wind dropped again. Ralph could still hear Fayes voice if he strained his ears, but he had lost the individual words. That was all right, though; he had heard the lecture often enough to know pretty much how it went. [Ralph, that stink is awful! Its him, isnt it?] He nodded, but didnt think Lois saw him. She held his hand tightly in hers, looking straight ahead with wide eyes. The splotchy track which had begun at the doors of the Civic Center ended at the base of a drunkenly leaning dead oak tree two hundred feet away. The cause of both the trees death and its final leaning position was clear one side of the venerable relic had been peeled like a banana by a glancing stroke of lightning. The cracks and crenellations and bulges of its gray bark seemed to make the shapes of halfburied, silently screaming faces, and the tree spread its nude branches against the sky like grim ideograms . . . ones which bore  at least in Ralphs imagination  an uncomfortable resemblance to the Japanese ideograms which meant kamikaze. The bolt which had killed the tree hadnt succeeded in knocking it over, but it had certainly done its best. The part of its extensive rootsystem which faced the airport had been yanked right out of the ground. These roots had extended beneath the chainlink fence and pulled a section of it upward and outward in a bell shape that made Ralph think, for the first time in years, of a childhood acquaintance named Charles Engstrom. Dont you play with Chuckie, Ralphs mother used to tell him. Hes a dirty boy. Ralph didnt know if Chuckie was a dirty boy or not, but he was fruitcrackers, no question about that. Chuckie Engstrom liked to hide behind the tree in his front yard with a long treebranch which he called his Peekie Wand. When a woman in a full skirt passed, Chuckie would tiptoe after her, extending the Peekie Wand under the hem and then lifting. Quite often he got to check out the color of the womans underwear (the color of ladies underwear held great fascination for Chuckie) before she realized what was going on and chased the wildly cackling lad back to his house, threatening to tell his mother. The airport fence, pulled out and up by the old oaks roots, reminded Ralph of the way the skirts of Chuckies victims had looked when he started to raise them with the Peekie Wand. [Ralph?] He looked at her. [Whos Piggy Juan? And why are you thinking about him now?] Ralph burst out laughing. [Did you see that in my aura?] [I guess so  I dont really know anymore. Who is he?] [Tell you another time. Come on.] He took her hand and they walked slowly toward the oak tree where Atroposs trail ended, into the thickening odor of wild decay that was his scent. CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE 1 They stood at the base of the oak, looking down. Lois was gnawing obsessively on her lower lip. [Do we have to go down there, Ralph? Do we really?] [Yes.] [But why? What are we supposed to do? Take something he stole? Kill him? What?] Other than retrieve Joes comb and Loiss earrings, he didnt know . . . but he felt certain he would know, that they both would, when the time came. [I think for now we better just keep moving, Lois.] The lightning had acted like a strong hand, shoving the tree violently toward the east and opening a large hole at the bottom on its western side. To a man or woman with ShortTime vision, that hole would undoubtedly look dark  and maybe a little scary, with its crumbly sides and barely glimpsed roots squirming in the deep shadows like snakes  but otherwise not very unusual. A kid with a good imagination might see more, Ralph thought. That dark space at the bottom of the tree might make him think of pirate treasure . . . outlaw hideouts . . . trollholes . . . But Ralph didnt think even an imaginative ShortTime kid would have been able to see the dim red glow filtering up from beneath the tree, or realize that those squirming roots were actually rough rungs leading down to some unknown (and undoubtedly unpleasant) place. No  even an imaginative kid wouldnt see those things . . . but he or she might sense them. Right. And after doing so, one with any brains would turn and run as if all the demons of hell were in hot pursuit. As would he and Lois, if they had any sense at all. Except for Loiss earrings. Except for Joe Wyzers comb. Except for his own lost place in the Purpose. And, of course, except for Helen (and possibly Nat) and the two thousand other people who were going to be at the Civic Center tonight. Lois was right. They were supposed to do something, and if they backed out now, it was a something that would remain forever donebunundone. And those are the ropes, he thought. The ropes the powers that be use to tie us poor, muddled ShortTime creatures to their wheel. He now visualized Clotho and Lachesis through a bright lens of hate, and he thought that if the two of them had been here right now, they would have exchanged one of their uneasy looks and then taken a quick step or two away. And they would be right to do that, he thought. Very right. [Ralph? Whats wrong? Why are you so angry?] He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. [Its nothing. Come on. Lets go before we lose our nerve.] She looked at him a moment longer, then nodded. And when Ralph sat down and poked his legs into the gaping, rootlined mouth at the foot of the tree, she was right beside him. 2 Ralph slid beneath the tree on his back, holding his free hand over his face to keep dirt from crumbling into his open eyes. He tried not to flinch as rootknuckles caressed the side of his neck and prodded the small of his back. The smell under the tree was a revolting monkeyhouse aroma that made his gorge rise. He was able to go on kidding himself that he would get used to it until he was all the way into the hole under the oak, and then the kidding stopped. He raised himself on one elbow, feeling smaller roots digging at his scalp and dangling flaps of bark tickling his cheeks, and ejected as much of his breakfast as still remained in the holdingtank. He could hear Lois doing the same thing on his left. A terrible, woozy faintness went rolling through his head like a breaking wave. The stench was so thick he was almost eating it, and he could see the red stuff they had followed to this nightmare place under the tree all over his hands and arms. Just looking at this stuff had been bad; now he found himself taking a bath in it, for Gods sake. Something groped for his hand and he almost gave in to panic before realizing it was Lois. He laced his fingers through hers. [Ralph, come up a little bit! Its better! You can breathe!] He understood what she meant at once, and had to restrain himself, haul himself down, at the last moment. If he hadnt, he would have shot up the ladder of perception like a rocket under full thrust. The world wavered, and suddenly there seemed to be a little more light in this stinking hole . . . and a little more room, too. The smell didnt go away, but it became bearable. Now it was like being in a small closed tent full of people with dirty feet and sweaty armpits  not nice, but something you could live with, at least for awhile. Ralph suddenly imagined the face of a pocketwatch, complete with hands that were moving too fast. It was better without the stench trying to pour down his throat and gag him, but this was still a dangerous place to be  suppose they came out of here tomorrow morning, with nothing left of the Civic Center but a smoking hole on Main Street? And it could happen. Keeping track of time down here  short time, long time, or alltime  was impossible. He glanced at his watch, but it was meaningless. He should have set it earlier, but he had forgotten. Let it go, Ralph  you cant do anything about it, so let it go. He tried, and as he did it occurred to him that Old Dor had been a hundred per cent correct on the day Ed had crashed into Mr West Side Gardeners pickup truck; it was better not to mess into LongTime business. And yet here they were, the worlds oldest Peter Pan and the worlds oldest Wendy, sliding under a magic tree into some slimy underworld neither one of them wanted to see. Lois was looking at him, her pale face lit with that sick red glow, her expressive eyes full of fright. He saw dark threads on her chin and realized it was blood. She had quit just nibbling at her lower lip and had begun taking bites out of it. [Ralph, are you all right?] [I get to crawl under an old oak tree with a pretty girl and you even have to ask? Im fine, Lois. But I think we better hurry.] [All right.] He felt around below him and placed his foot on a gnarled rootknuckle. It took his weight and he slid down the stony slope, squeezing beneath another root and holding Lois around the waist. Her skirt skidded up to her thighs and Ralph thought again, briefly, about Chuckie Engstrom and his Peekie Wand. He was both amused and exasperated to see Lois was trying to pull the skirt back down. [I know that a lady tries to keep her skirt down whenever possible, but I think the rule goes by the boards when youre sliding down troll staircases under old oak trees. Okay?] She gave him an embarrassed, frightened little smile. [If Id known what we were going to be doing, I would have worn slacks. I thought we were just going to the hospital.] If Id known what we were going to be doing, Ralph thought, I would have cashed in my bonds, developing softness in the market or not, and had us on a plane to Rio, my dear. He felt around with his other foot, very aware that if he fell, he was probably going to end up in a place far beyond the reach of Derry Rescue. Just above his eyes, a reddish worm poked out of the earth, dribbling little crumbles of dirt down on Ralphs forehead. For what seemed like an eternity he felt nothing, and then his foot found smooth wood  not a root this time, but something like a real step. He slid down, still holding Lois around the waist, and waited to see if the thing he was standing on would hold or snap under their combined weight. It held, and it was wide enough for both of them. Ralph looked down and saw that it was the top step of a narrow staircase which curved down into the redtinged dark. It had been built for  and perhaps by  a creature that was a lot shorter than they were, making it necessary for them to hunch, but it was still better than the nightmare of the last few moments. Ralph looked at the ragged wedge of daylight above them, his eyes gazing out of his dirt and sweatstreaked face with an expression of dumb longing. Daylight had never looked so sweet or so distant. He turned back to Lois and nodded to her. She squeezed his hand and nodded back. Bending over, cringing each time a dangling root touched their necks or backs, they started down the staircase. 3 The descent seemed endless. The red light grew brighter, the stench of Atropos grew thicker, and Ralph was aware that they were both going up as they went down; it was either that or be flattened by the smell. He continued telling himself that they were doing what they had to do, and that there must be a timekeeper on an operation this big  someone who would give them a poke if and when the schedule got too tight for comfort  but he kept worrying, just the same. Because there might not be a timekeeper, or an ump, or a team of refs in zebrastriped shirts. All bets are off, Clotho had said. Just as Ralph was starting to wonder if the stairs went all the way down into hell itself, they ended. A short stonelined corridor, no more than forty inches high and twenty feet long, led to an arched doorway. Beyond it, that red glow pulsed and flared like the reflected glow of an open oven. [Come on, Lois, but be ready for anything. Be ready for him.] She nodded, hitched at her wayward slip again, then walked beside him up the narrow passage. Ralph kicked something that wasnt a stone and bent over to pick it up. It was a red plastic cylinder, wider at one end than at the other. After a moment he realized what it was a jumprope handle. Threesixnine, hon, the goose drank wine. Dont butt into what doesnt concern you, ShortTime, Atropos had said, but he had butted in, and not just because of what the little bald doctors called ka, either. He had gotten involved because what Atropos was up to was his concern, whatever the little creep might think to the contrary. Derry was his town, Lois Chasse was his friend, and Ralph found within himself a sincere desire to make Doc 3 sorry hed ever seen Loiss diamond earrings. He flipped the jumprope handle away and started walking again. A moment later he and Lois passed under the arch and simply stood there, staring into Atroposs underground apartment. With their wide eyes and linked hands, they looked more like children in a fairytale than ever  not Peter Pan and Wendy now but Hansel and Gretel, coming upon the witchs candy house after days spent wandering in the trackless forest. 4 [Oh, Ralph. Oh my God, Ralph . . . do you see?] [Shhh, Lois. Shhh.] Directly ahead of them was a small, mean chamber which seemed to be a combination kitchen and bedroom. The room was simultaneously sordid and creepy. Standing in the center was a low round table which Ralph thought was the amputated top half of a barrel. The remains of a meal  some gray, rancid gruel that looked like liquefied brains congealing in a chipped soup tureen  stood on it. There was a single dirty folding chair. To the right of the table was a primitive commode which consisted of a rusty steel drum with a toiletseat balanced on top of it. The smell rising from this was incredibly foul. The rooms only decoration was a fulllength brassbordered mirror on one wall, its reflective surface so agedarkened that the Ralph and Lois captured within it looked as if they might have been floating in ten or twelve feet of water. To the left of the mirror was a stark sleeping accommodation which consisted of a filthy mattress and a burlap sack stuffed with straw or feathers. Both pillow and mattress glowed and raved with the nightsweats of the creature who used them. The dreams inside that burlap pillow would drive me insane, Ralph thought. Somewhere, God only knew how much further under the earth, water was dripping hollowly. On the far side of the apartment was another, higher arch, through which they could see a jumbled, surreal storage area. Ralph actually blinked two or three times to try to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. This is the place, all right, he thought. Whatever we came to find, its here. Lois began to drift toward this second arch as if hypnotized. Her mouth was quivering with dismay, but her eyes were full of helpless curiosity  it was the expression, he was quite sure, that must have been on the face of Bluebeards wife when she had used the key which unlocked the door to her husbands forbidden room. Ralph was suddenly sure that Atropos was lurking just inside that arch with his rusty scalpel poised. He hurried after Lois and stopped her just before she could step through. He grasped her upper arm, then put a finger to his lips and shook his head at her before she could speak. He hunkered down with the fingers of one hand tented on the packed dirt floor, looking like a sprinter awaiting the crack of the starters gun. Then he launched himself through the arch (relishing the eager response of his body even at this moment), hitting on his shoulder and rolling. His feet struck a cardboard box and knocked it over, spilling out a jumble of stuff mismatched gloves and socks, a couple of old paperbacks, a pair of Bermuda shorts, a screwdriver with smears of maroon stuff  maybe paint, maybe blood  on its steel shaft. Ralph got to his knees, looking back toward Lois, who was standing in the doorway and staring at him with her hands clasped under her chin.