How are you feeling, Eleanor? Not bad. She watched Azzie jump down and oil out the door, his work for the evening done. Ive had many visitors. They made your cat nervous, but he stuck it out until you came. Hes not my cat, Eleanor. He belongs to the house. No, she said, as if the subject no longer interested her much, hes yours. Dan doubted if Eleanor had had even one visitorother than Azreel, that was. Not tonight, not in the last week or month, not in the last year. She was alone in the world. Even the dinosaur of an accountant who had overseen her money matters for so many years, lumbering in to visit her once every quarter and toting a briefcase the size of a Saabs trunk, had now gone to his reward. Miss OohLaLa claimed to have relatives in Montreal, but I have not quite enough money left to make visiting me worthwhile, cher. Whos been in, then? Thinking she might mean Gina Weems or Andrea Bottstein, the two nurses working the threetoeleven in Riv One tonight. Or possibly Poul Larson, a slowmoving but decent orderly whom Dan thought of as the antiFred Carling, had stopped by for a natter. As I said, many. They are passing even now. An endless parade of them. They smile, they bow, a child wags his tongue like a dogs tail. Some of them speak. Do you know the poet George Seferis? No, maam, I dont. Were there others here? He had reason to believe it was possible, but he had no sense of them. Not that he always did. Mr. Seferis asks, Are these the voices of our dead friends, or just the gramophone? The children are the saddest. There was a boy here who fell down a well. Is that so? Yes, and a woman who committed suicide with a bedspring. He felt not even the slightest hint of a presence. Could his encounter with Abra Stone have sapped him? It was possible, and in any case, the shining came and went in tides he had never been able to chart. He didnt think that was it, however. He thought Eleanor had probably lapsed into dementia. Or she might be having him on. It wasnt impossible. Quite the wag was Eleanor OohLaLa. Someonewas it Oscar Wilde?was reputed to have made a joke on his deathbed Either that wallpaper goes, or I do. You are to wait, Eleanor said. There was no humor in her voice now. The lights will announce an arrival. There may be other disturbances. The door will open. Then your visitor will come. Dan looked doubtfully at the door to the hall, which was open already. He always left it open, so Azzie could leave if he wanted to. He usually did, once Dan showed up to take over. Eleanor, would you like some cold juice? I would if there were ti she began, and then the life ran out of her face like water from a basin with a hole in it. Her eyes fixed at a point over his head and her mouth fell open. Her cheeks sagged and her chin dropped almost to her scrawny chest. The top plate of her dentures also dropped, slid over her lower lip, and hung in an unsettling openair grin. Fuck, that was quick. Carefully, he hooked a finger beneath the denture plate and removed it. Her lip pulled out, then snapped back with a tiny plip sound. Dan put the plate on her night table, started to get up, then settled back. He waited for the red mist the old Tampa nurse had called the gasp . . . as though it were a pullingin instead of a lettingout. It didnt come. You are to wait. All right, he could do that, at least for awhile. He reached for Abras mind and found nothing. Maybe that was good. She might already be taking pains to guard her thoughts. Or maybe his own abilityhis sensitivityhad departed. If so, it didnt matter. It would be back. It always had been, at any rate. He wondered (as he had before) why he had never seen flies on the face of any Rivington House guest. Maybe because he didnt need to. He had Azzie, after all. Did Azzie see something with those wise green eyes of his? Maybe not flies, but something? He must. Are these the voices of our dead friends, or just the gramophone? It was so quiet on this floor tonight, and still so early! There was no sound of conversation from the common room at the end of the hall. No TV or radio played. He couldnt hear the squeak of Pouls sneakers or the low voices of Gina and Andrea down at the nurses station. No phone rang. As for his watch Dan raised it. No wonder he couldnt hear its faint ticking. It had stopped. The overhead fluorescent bar went off, leaving only Eleanors table lamp. The fluorescent came back on, and the lamp flickered out. It came on again and then it and the overhead went off together. On . . . off . . . on. Is someone here? The pitcher on the night table rattled, then stilled. The dentures he had removed gave a single unsettling clack. A queer ripple ran along the sheet of Eleanors bed, as if something beneath it had been startled into sudden motion. A puff of warm air pressed a quick kiss against Dans cheek, then was gone. Who is it? His heartbeat remained regular, but he could feel it in his neck and wrists. The hair on the back of his neck felt thick and stiff. He suddenly knew what Eleanor had been seeing in her last moments a parade of ( ghostie people) the dead, passing into her room from one wall and passing out through the other. Passing out? No, passing on. He didnt know Seferis, but he knew Auden Death takes the rollinginmoney, the screamingly funny, and those who are very well hung. She had seen them all and they were here n But they werent. He knew they werent. The ghosts Eleanor had seen were gone and she had joined their parade. He had been told to wait. He was waiting. The door to the hall swung slowly shut. Then the bathroom door opened. From Eleanor Ouellettes dead mouth came a single word Danny. 2 When you enter the town of Sidewinder, you pass a sign reading WELCOME TO THE TOP OF AMERICA! It isnt, but its close. Twenty miles from the place where the Eastern Slope becomes the Western, a dirt road splits off from the main highway, winding north. The burnedinwood sign arched over this byway reads WELCOME TO THE BLUEBELL CAMPGROUND! STAY AWHILE, PARTNER! That sounds like good old western hospitality, but locals know that more often than not the road is gated shut, and when it is, a less friendly sign hangs from it CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. How they do business is a mystery to the folks in Sidewinder, whod like to see the Bluebell open every day the upcountry roads arent snowed in. They miss the commerce the Overlook used to bring in, and hoped the campground would at least partially make up for it (although they know that Camper People dont have the kind of money the Hotel People used to pump into the local economy). That hasnt been the case. The general consensus is that the campground is some rich corporations tax haven, a designated moneyloser. Its a haven, all right, but the corporation it shelters is the True Knot, and when they are in residence, the only RVs in the big parking lot are their RVs, with Rose the Hats EarthCruiser standing tallest among them. On that September evening, nine members of the True were gathered in the highceilinged, pleasantly rustic building known as Overlook Lodge. When the campground was open to the public, the Lodge served as a restaurant that put on two meals a day, breakfast and dinner. The food was prepared by Short Eddie and Big Mo (rube names Ed and Maureen Higgins). Neither was up to Dick Halloranns culinary standardsfew were!but its hard to screw up too badly on the things Camper People like to eat meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, pancakes drenched in Log Cabin syrup, meatloaf, chicken stew, meatloaf, Tuna Surprise, and meatloaf with mushroom gravy. After dinner, the tables were cleared for bingo or card parties. On weekends, there were dances. These festivities took place only when the campground was open. This eveningas, three time zones east, Dan Torrance sat beside a dead woman and waited for his visitorthere was business of a different sort to transact in Overlook Lodge. Jimmy Numbers was at the head of a single table that had been set up in the middle of the polished birdseye maple floor. His PowerBook was open, the desktop displaying a photograph of his hometown, which happened to be deep in the Carpathian Mountains. ( Jimmy liked to joke that his grandfather had once entertained a young London solicitor named Jonathan Harker.) Clustered around him, looking down at the screen, were Rose, Crow Daddy, Barry the Chink, Snakebite Andi, Token Charlie, Apron Annie, Diesel Doug, and Grampa Flick. None of them wanted to stand next to Grampa, who smelled as if he might have had a minor disaster in his pants and then forgotten to shower it off (a thing that happened more and more frequently these days), but this was important and they put up with him. Jimmy Numbers was an unassuming guy with a receding hairline and a pleasant if vaguely simian face. He looked about fifty, which was onethird of his actual age. I googled LicketySpliff and got nothing useful, which is what I expected. In case you care, licketyspliff is teenage slang that means to do something really slow instead of really fast We dont, Diesel Doug said. And by the way, you smell a trifle rank, Gramps. No offense, but when was the last time you wiped your ass? Grampa Flick bared his teetheroded and yellow, but all his ownat Doug. Your wife wiped it for me just this morning, Deez. With her face, as it happens. Kinda nasty, but she seems to like that kind of thi Shut your heads, both of you, Rose said. Her voice was toneless and unthreatening, but Doug and Grampa both shrank away from her, their faces those of chastened schoolboys. Go on, Jimmy. But stay on point. I want to have a concrete plan, and soon. The rest of them are going to be reluctant no matter how concrete the plan is, Crow said. Theyre going to say its been a good year for steam. That movie theater thing, the church fire in Little Rock, and the terrorist thing in Austin. Not to mention Jurez. I was dubious about going south of the border, but it was good. Better than good, actually. Jurez had become known as the murder capital of the world, earning its sobriquet with over twentyfive hundred homicides a year. Many were torturekillings. The pervading atmosphere had been exceedingly rich. It wasnt pure steam, and it made you feel a little whoopsy in the stomach, but it did the job. All those fucking beans gave me the runs, Token Charlie said, but I have to admit that the pickings were excellent. It was a good year, Rose agreed, but we cant make a business of Mexicowere too conspicuous. Down there, were rich americanos. Up here, we fade into the woodwork. And arent you tired of living from year to year? Always on the move and always counting canisters? This is different. This is the motherlode. None of them replied. She was their leader and in the end they would do what she said, but they didnt understand about the girl. That was all right. When they encountered her for themselves, they would. And when they had her locked up and producing steam pretty much to order, theyd offer to get down on their knees and kiss Roses feet. She might even take them up on it. Go on, Jimmy, but get to the point. Im pretty sure what you picked up was a teenslang version of LicketySplit. Its a chain of New England convenience stores. There are seventythree in all, from Providence to Presque Isle. A grammar school kid with an iPad could have nailed that in about two minutes. I printed out the locations and used Whirl 360 to get pix. I found six that have mountain views. Two in Vermont, two in New Hampshire, and two in Maine. His laptop case was under his chair. He grabbed it, fumbled in the flap pocket, brought out a folder, and handed it to Rose. These arent pictures of the stores, theyre pictures of various mountain views that can be seen from the neighborhoods the stores are in. Once more courtesy of Whirl 360, which is far better than Google Earth, and God bless its nosy little heart. Take a look and see if any ring a bell. If not, see if there are any you can definitely eliminate. Rose opened the folder and slowly went through the photographs. The two showing Vermonts Green Mountains she put aside at once. One of the Maine locations was also wrong; it showed only one mountain, and she had seen a whole range of them. The other three she looked at longer. Finally she handed them back to Jimmy Numbers. One of these. He turned the pictures over. Fryeburg, Maine . . . Madison, New Hampshire . . . Anniston, New Hampshire. Got a feel for which one of the three? Rose took them again, then held up the photos of the White Mountains as seen from Fryeburg and Anniston. I think its one of these, but Im going to make sure. How are you going to do that? Crow asked. Im going to visit her. If everything you say is true, that could be dangerous. Ill do it when shes asleep. Young girls sleep deeply. Shell never know I was there. Are you sure you need to do that? These three places are pretty close together. We could check them all. Yes! Rose cried. Well just cruise around and say, Were looking for a local girl, but we cant seem to read her location the way we normally can, so give us a little help. Have you noticed any junior high girls around here with precognition or mindreading talents?  Crow Daddy gave a sigh, stuck his big hands deep in his pockets, and looked at her. Im sorry, Rose said. Im a little on edge, all right? I want to do this and get it done. And you dont have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. 3 Dan sat looking at the late Eleanor Ouellette. The open eyes, now beginning to glaze. The tiny hands with their palms upturned. Most of all at the open mouth. Inside was all the clockless silence of death. Who are you? Thinking As if I didnt know. Hadnt he wished for answers? You grew up fine. The lips didnt move, and there seemed to be no emotion in the words. Perhaps death had robbed his old friend of his human feelings, and what a bitter shame that would be. Or perhaps it was someone else, masquerading as Dick. Something else. If youre Dick, prove it. Tell me something only he and I could know. Silence. But the presence was still here. He felt it. Then You asked me why Mrs. Brant wanted the carpark mans pants. Dan at first had no idea what the voice was talking about. Then he did. The memory was on one of the high shelves where he kept all the bad Overlook memories. And his lockboxes, of course. Mrs. Brant had been a checkout on the day Danny arrived with his parents, and he had caught a random thought from her as the Overlooks valet delivered her car Id sure like to get into his pants. You were just a little boy with a great big radio inside your head. I felt sorry for you. I was scared for you, too. And I was right to be scared, wasnt I? In that there was a faint echo of his old friends kindness and humor. It was Dick, all right. Dan looked at the dead woman, dumbfounded. The lights in the room flickered on and off again. The water pitcher gave another brief jitter. I cant stay long, son. It hurts to be here. Dick, theres a little girl Abra. Almost a sigh. Shes like you. It all comes around. She thinks theres a woman who may be after her. She wears a hat. Its an oldfashioned tophat. Sometimes she only has one long tooth on top. When shes hungry. This is what she told me, anyway. Ask your question, son. I cant stay. This world is a dream of a dream to me now. There are others. The tophat womans friends. Abra saw them with flashlights. Who are they? Silence again. But Dick was still there. Changed, but there. Dan could feel him in his nerve endings, and as a kind of electricity skating on the damp surfaces of his eyes. They are the empty devils. They are sick and dont know it. I dont understand. No. And thats good. If you had ever met themif they had ever gotten so much as a sniff of youyoud be long dead, used and thrown away like an empty carton. Thats what happened to the one Abra calls the baseball boy. And many others. Children who shine are prey to them, but you already guessed that, didnt you? The empty devils are on the land like a cancer on the skin. Once they rode camels in the desert; once they drove caravans across eastern Europe. They eat screams and drink pain. You had your horrors at the Overlook, Danny, but at least you were spared these folks. Now that the strange woman has her mind fixed on the girl, they wont stop until they have her. They might kill her. They might Turn her. Or they might keep her and use her until shes all used up, and that would be worst of all. I dont understand. Scoop her out. Make her empty like them. From the dead mouth there came an autumnal sigh. Dick, what the hell am I supposed to do? Get the girl what she asked for. Where are they, these empty devils? In your childhood, where every devil comes from. Im not allowed to say more. How do I stop them? The only way is to kill them. Make them eat their own poison. Do that and they disappear. The woman in the hat, the strange woman, whats her name? Do you know? From down the hall came the clash of a mopbucket squeegee, and Poul Larson began to whistle. The air in the room changed. Something that had been delicately balanced now began to swing out of true. Go to your friends. The ones who know what you are. It seems to me you grew up fine, son, but you still owe a debt. There was a pause, and then the voice that both was and wasnt Dick Halloranns spoke one final time, in a tone of flat command Pay it. Red mist rose from Eleanors eyes, nose, and open mouth. It hung over her for perhaps five seconds, then disappeared. The lights were steady. So was the water in the pitcher. Dick was gone. Dan was here with only a corpse. Empty devils. If he had ever heard a more terrible phrase, he couldnt remember it. But it made sense . . . if you had seen the Overlook for what it really was. That place had been full of devils, but at least they had been dead devils. He didnt think that was true of the woman in the tophat and her friends. You still owe a debt. Pay it. Yes. He had left the little boy in the sagging diaper and the Braves tshirt to fend for himself. He would not do that with the girl. 4 Dan waited at the nurses station for the funeral hack from Geordie  Sons, and saw the covered gurney out the back door of Rivington One. Then he went to his room and sat looking down at Cranmore Avenue, now perfectly deserted. A night wind blew, stripping the earlyturning leaves from the oaks and sending them dancing and pirouetting up the street. On the far side of the town common, Teenytown was equally deserted beneath a couple of orange hiintensity security lights. Go to your friends. The ones who know what you are. Billy Freeman knew, had almost from the first, because Billy had some of what Dan had. And if Dan owed a debt, he supposed Billy did, too, because Dans larger and brighter shining had saved Billys life. Not that Id put it that way to him. Not that hed have to. Then there was John Dalton, who had lost a watch and who just happened to be Abras pediatrician. What had Dick said through Eleanor OohLaLas dead mouth? It all comes around. As for the thing Abra had asked for, that was even easier. Getting it, though . . . that might be a little complicated. 5 When Abra got up on Sunday morning, there was an email message from dtor36nhmlx.com. Abra I have spoken to a friend using the talent we share, and am convinced that you are in danger. I want to speak about your situation to another friend, one we have in common John Dalton. I will not do so unless I have your permission. I believe John and I can retrieve the object you drew on my blackboard. Have you set your burglar alarm? Certain people may be looking for you, and its very important they not find you. You must be careful. Good wishes and STAY SAFE. Delete this email. Uncle D. She was more convinced by the fact of his email than its content, because she knew he didnt like communicating that way; he was afraid her parents would snoop in her mail and think she was exchanging notes with Chester the Molester. If they only knew about the molesters she really had to worry about. She was frightened, but alsonow that it was bright daylight and there was no beautiful lunatic in a tophat peering in the window at herrather excited. It was sort of like being in one of those loveandhorror supernatural novels, the kind Mrs. Robinson in the school library sniffily called tweenager porn. In those books the girls dallied with werewolves, vampireseven zombiesbut hardly ever became those things. It was also nice to have a grown man stand up for her, and it didnt hurt that he was handsome, in a scruffy kind of way that reminded her a little of Jax Teller on Sons of Anarchy, a show she and Emma Deane secretly watched on Ems computer. She sent Uncle Dans email not just to her trash but to the permanent trash, which Emma called the nuclear boyfriend file. (As if you had any, Em, Abra thought snidely.) Then she turned off her computer and closed the lid. She didnt email him back. She didnt have to. She just had to close her eyes. Zipzip. Message sent, Abra headed for the shower. 6 When Dan came back with his morning coffee, there was a new communiqu on his blackboard. You can tell Dr. John but NOT MY PARENTS. No. Not her parents. At least not yet. But Dan had no doubt theyd find out something was going on, and probably sooner rather than later. He would cross that bridge (or burn it) when he came to it. Right now he had a lot of other things to do, beginning with a call. A child answered, and when he asked for Rebecca, the phone was dropped with a clunk and there was a distant, goingaway cry of Gramma! Its for you! A few seconds later, Rebecca Clausen was on the line. Hi, Becka, its Dan Torrance. If its about Mrs. Ouellette, I had an email this morning from Thats not it. I need to ask for some time off. Doctor Sleep wants time off? I dont believe it. I had to practically kick you out the door last spring to take your vacation, and you were still in once or twice a day. Is it a family matter? Dan, with Abras theory of relativity in mind, said it was. CHAPTER TEN GLASS ORNAMENTS 1 Abras father was standing at the kitchen counter in his bathrobe and beating eggs in a bowl when the kitchen phone rang. Upstairs, the shower was pounding. If Abra followed her usual Sunday morning MO, it would continue to pound until the hot water gave out. He checked the incoming call window. It was a 617 area code, but the number following wasnt the one in Boston he knew, the one that rang the landline in his grandmotherinlaws condo. Hello? Oh, David, Im so glad I got you. It was Lucy, and she sounded utterly exhausted. Where are you? Why arent you calling from your cell? Mass General, on a pay phone. You cant use cells in here, there are signs everywhere. Is Momo all right? Are you? I am. As for Momes, shes stable . . . now . . . but for awhile it was pretty bad. A gulp. It still is. That was when Lucy broke down. Not just crying, but sobbing her heart out. David waited. He was glad Abra was in the shower, and hoped the hot water would hold out for a long time. This sounded bad. At last Lucy was able to talk again. This time she broke her arm. Oh. Okay. Is that all? No, it is not all! Nearly shouting at him in that whyaremensostupid voice that he absolutely loathed, the one he told himself was a part of her Italian heritage without ever considering that he might, on occasion, actually be quite stupid. He took a steadying breath. Tell me, honey. She did, although twice she broke into sobs again, and David had to wait her out. She was dead beat, but that was only part of the problem. Mostly, he realized, she was just accepting in her gut what her head had known for weeks her momo was really going to die. Maybe not peacefully. Concetta, who slept in only the thinnest of dozes now, had awakened after midnight and needed the toilet. Instead of buzzing for Lucy to bring the bedpan, she had tried to get up and go to the bathroom by herself. She had managed to swing her legs out onto the floor and sit up, but then dizziness had overcome her and she had tumbled off the bed, landing on her left arm. It hadnt just broken, it had shattered. Lucy, tired out from weeks of night nursing that she had never been trained to do, awoke to the sound of her grandmothers cries. She wasnt just calling for help, Lucy said, and she wasnt screaming, either. She was shrieking, like a fox thats had a limb torn off in one of those terrible leghold traps. Honey, that must have been awful. Standing in a firstfloor alcove where there were snack machines andmirabile dictua few working phones, her body aching and covered with drying sweat (she could smell herself, and it sure wasnt Dolce  Gabbana Light Blue), her head pounding with the first migraine shed had in four years, Lucia Stone knew she could never tell him how awful it had really been. What a stinking revelation it had been. You thought you understood the basic factwoman grows old, woman grows feeble, woman diesand then you discovered there was quite a lot more to it. You found that out when you found the woman who had written some of the greatest poetry of her generation lying in a puddle of her own piss, shrieking at her granddaughter to make the pain stop, make it stop, oh madre de Cristo, make it stop. When you saw the formerly smooth forearm twisted like a washrag and heard the poet call it a cunting thing and then wish herself dead so the hurting would stop. Could you tell your husband how you were still half asleep, and frozen with the fear that anything you did would be the wrong thing? Could you tell him that she scratched your face when you tried to move her and howled like a dog that had been run over in the street? Could you explain what it was like to leave your beloved grandmother sprawled on the floor while you dialed 911, and then sat beside her waiting for the ambulance, making her drink Oxycodone dissolved in water through a bendystraw? How the ambulance didnt come and didnt come and you thought of that Gordon Lightfoot song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the one that asks if anyone knows where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours? The waves rolling over Momo were waves of pain, and she was foundering, and they just kept coming. When she began to scream again, Lucy had gotten both arms under her and lifted her onto her bed in a clumsy cleanandjerk that she knew shed feel in her shoulders and lower back for days, if not weeks. Stopping her ears to Momos cries of put me down, youre killing me. Then Lucy sat against the wall, gasping, her hair plastered to her cheeks in strings while Momo wept and cradled her hideously deformed arm and asked why Lucia would hurt her like that and why this was happening to her. At last the ambulance had come, and a manLucy didnt know his name but blessed him in her incoherent prayershad given Momes a shot that put her out. Could you tell your husband you wished the shot had killed her? It was pretty awful, was all she said. Im so glad Abra didnt want to come down this weekend. She did, but she had lots of homework, and said she had to go to the library yesterday. It must have been a big deal, because you know how she usually pesters me about going to the football game. Babbling. Stupid. But what else was there? Luce, Im so goddamned sorry you had to go through that alone. Its just . . . if you could have heard her screaming. Then you might understand. I never want to hear anyone scream like that again. Shes always been so great at staying calm . . . keeping her head when all about her are losing theirs . . . I know And then to be reduced to what she was last night. The only words she could remember were cunt and shit and piss and fuck and meretrice and Let it go, honey. Upstairs, the shower had quit. It would only take Abra a few minutes to dry off and jump into her Sunday grubs; shed be down soon enough, shirttail flying and sneaker laces flapping. But Lucy wasnt quite ready to let it go. I remember a poem she wrote once. I cant quote it word for word, but it started something like this Gods a connoisseur of fragile things, and decorates His cloudy outlook with ornaments of finest glass. I used to think that was a rather conventionally pretty idea for a Concetta Reynolds poem, almost twee. And here was his AbbaDootheir AbbaDoowith her skin flushed from the shower. Everything all right, Daddy? David held up a hand Wait a minute. Now I know what she really meant, and Ill never be able to read that poem again. Abbys here, hon, he said in a falsely jolly voice. Good. Ill need to talk to her. Im not going to bawl anymore, so dont worry, but we cant protect her from this. Maybe from the worst of it? he asked gently. Abra was standing by the table, her wet hair pulled into a couple of horsetails that made her look ten again. Her expression was grave. Maybe, she agreed, but I cant do this anymore, Davey. Not even with day help. I thought I could, but I cant. Theres a hospice in Frazier, just a little way down the road. The intake nurse told me about it. I think hospitals must keep a list for just this type of situation. Anyway, the place is called Helen Rivington House. I called them before I called you, and they have a vacancy as of today. I guess God pushed another of His ornaments off the mantelpiece last night. Is Chetta awake? Have you discussed this She came around a couple of hours ago, but she was muddy. Had the past and present all mixed together in a kind of salad. While I was still fast asleep, David thought guiltily. Dreaming about my book, no doubt. When she clears upIm assuming she willIll tell her, as gently as I can, that the decision isnt hers to make. Its time for hospice care. All right. When Lucy decided somethingreally decidedthe best thing was to stand clear and let her work her will. Dad? Is Mom okay? Is Momo? Abra knew her mother was and her greatgrandmother wasnt. Most of what Lucy had told her husband had come to her while she was still in the shower, standing there with shampoo and tears running down her cheeks. But she had gotten good at putting on happy faces until someone told her out loud that it was time to put on a sad one. She wondered if her new friend Dan had learned about the happyface thing as a kid. She bet he had. Chia, I think Abby wants to talk to you. Lucy sighed and said, Put her on. David held out the phone to his daughter. 2 At 2 p.m. on that Sunday, Rose the Hat hung a sign reading DO NOT DISTURB ME UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY on the door of her plussize RV. The coming hours had been carefully scheduled. She would eat no food today, and drink only water. Instead of midmorning coffee, she had taken an emetic. When the time came to go after the girls mind, she would be as clear as an empty glass. With no bodily functions to distract her, Rose would be able to find out everything she needed the girls name, her exact location, how much she knew, andthis was very importantwho she might have talked to. Rose would lie still on her double bed in the EarthCruiser from four in the afternoon until ten in the evening, looking up at the ceiling and meditating. When her mind was as clear as her body, she would take steam from one of the canisters in the hidden compartmentjust a whiff would be enoughand once again turn the world until she was in the girl and the girl was in her. At one in the morning Eastern Time, her quarry would be dead asleep and Rose could pick through the contents of her mind at will. It might even be possible to plant a suggestion Some men will come. They will help you. Go with them. But as that oldschool farmerpoet Bobbie Burns pointed out more than two hundred years before, the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley, and she had barely begun to recite the beginning phrases of her relaxation mantra when an agley came hammering at her door. Go away! she shouted.


Cant you read the sign? Rose, Ive got Nut with me, Crow called. I think hes got what you asked for, but he needs a goahead, and the timing on this thing is a bitch. She lay there for a moment, then blew out an angry breath and got up, snatching a Sidewinder tshirt (KISS ME AT THE ROOF O THE WORLD!) and pulling it over her head. It dropped to the tops of her thighs. She opened the door. This better be good. We can come back, Walnut said. He was a little man with a bald pate and Brillo pads of gray hair fluffing out above the tops of his ears. He held a sheet of paper in one hand. No, just make it quick. They sat at the table in the combined kitchenliving room. Rose snatched the paper from Nuts hand and gave it a cursory glance. It was some sort of complicated chemical diagram filled with hexagons. It meant nothing to her. What is it? A powerful sedative, Nut said. Its new, and its clean. Jimmy got this chem sheet from one of our assets in the NSA. Itll put her out with no chance of ODing her. It could be what we need, all right. Rose knew she sounded grudging. But couldnt it have waited until tomorrow? Sorry, sorry, Nut said meekly. Im not, Crow said. If you want to move fast on this girl and snatch her clean, Ill not only have to make sure we can get some of this, Ill have to arrange for it to be shipped to one of our mail drops. The True had hundreds of these across America, most of them at Mail Boxes Etc. and various UPS stores. Using them meant planning days ahead, because they always traveled in their RVs. Members of the True would no more get on public transport than they would slit their own throats. Private air travel was possible but unpleasant; they suffered extreme altitude sickness. Walnut believed it had something to do with their nervous systems, which differed radically from those of the rubes. Roses concern was with a certain taxpayerfunded nervous system. Very nervous. Homeland Security had been monitoring even private flights very closely since 911, and the True Knots first rule of survival was never attract attention. Thanks to the interstate highway system, the RVs had always served their purposes, and would this time. A small raiding party, with new drivers taking the wheel every six hours, could get from Sidewinder to northern New England in less than thirty hours. All right, she said, mollified. What have we got along I90 in upstate New York or Massachusetts? Crow didnt hem and haw or tell her hed have to get back to her on that. EZ Mail Services, in Sturbridge, Massachusetts. She flapped her fingers at the edge of the sheet of incomprehensible chemistry Nut was holding in his hand. Have this stuff sent there. Use at least three cutouts so we have complete deniability if something goes wrong. Really bounce it around. Do we have that much time? Crow asked. I dont see why not, Rose saida remark that would come back to haunt her. Send it south, then into the Midwest, then into New England. Just get it to Sturbridge by Thursday. Use Express Mail, not FedEx or UPS. I can do that, Crow said. No hesitation. Rose turned her attention to the Trues doctor. You better be right, Walnut. If you do OD her instead of just putting her to sleep, Ill see youre the first True to be sent into exile since Little Big Horn. Walnut paled a little. Good. She had no intention of exiling anyone, but she still resented being interrupted. Well get the drug to Sturbridge, and Nut will know how to use it, Crow said. No problem. Theres nothing simpler? Something we can get around here? Nut said, Not if you want to be sure she doesnt go Michael Jackson on us. This stuff is safe, and it hits fast. If shes as powerful as you seem to think, fast is going to be impor Okay, okay, I get it. Are we done here? Theres one more thing, Walnut said. I suppose it could wait, but . . . She looked out the window and, ye gods and little fishes, here came Jimmy Numbers, bustling across the parking lot adjacent to the Overlook Lodge with his own sheet of paper. Why had she hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on her doorknob? Why not one that said YALL COME? Rose gathered all her bad temper, stuffed it in a sack, stored it at the back of her mind, and smiled gamely. What is it? Grampa Flick, Crow said, is no longer holding his fudge. He hasnt been able to hold it for the last twenty years, Rose said. He wont wear diapers, and I cant make him. No one can make him. This is different, Nut said. He can barely get out of bed. Baba and BlackEyed Susie are taking care of him as well as they can, but that camper of his smells like the wrath of God Hell get better. Well feed him some steam. But she didnt like the look on Nuts face. Tommy the Truck had passed two years ago, and by the way the True measured time, that might have been two weeks ago. Now Grampa Flick? His minds breaking down, Crow said bluntly. And . . . He looked at Walnut. Petty was taking care of him this morning, and she says she thinks she saw him cycle. Thinks, Rose said. She didnt want to believe it. Has anyone else seen it happen? Baba? Sue? No. She shrugged as if to say there you are. Jimmy knocked before they could discuss it farther, and this time she was glad for the interruption. Come in! Jimmy poked his head through. Sure its okay? Yes! Why dont you bring the Rockettes and the UCLA marching band while youre at it? Hell, I was only trying to get in a meditation groove after a few pleasant hours of spewing my guts. Crow was giving her a look of mild reproof, and maybe she deserved itprobably she deserved it, these people were only doing the Trues work as she had asked them to do itbut if Crow ever stepped up to the captains chair, hed understand. Never a moment to yourself, unless you threatened them with pain of death. And in many cases, not even then. I got something you may want to see, Jimmy said. And since Crow and Nut were already here, I figured I know what you figured. What is it? I went hunting around on the internet for news about those two towns you zeroed in onFryeburg and Anniston. Found this in the Union Leader. Its from last Thursdays paper. Maybe its nothing. She took the sheet. The main item was about some podunk school shutting down their football program because of budget cuts. Beneath it was a shorter item, which Jimmy had circled. POCKET EARTHQUAKE REPORTED IN ANNISTON How small can an earthquake be? Pretty small, if the people of Richland Court, a short Anniston street that deadends at the Saco River, are to be believed. Late Tuesday afternoon, several residents of the street reported a tremor that rattled windows, shook floors, and sent glassware tumbling from shelves. Dane Borland, a retiree who lives at the end of the street, pointed out a crack running the width of his newly asphalted driveway. If you want proof, there it is, he said. Although the Geological Survey Center in Wrentham, MA, reports there were no temblors in New England last Tuesday afternoon, Matt and Cassie Renfrew took the opportunity to throw an earthquake party, which most of the streets residents attended. Andrew Sittenfeld of the Geological Survey Center says the shaking felt by Richland Court residents might have been a surge of water through the sewer system, or possibly a military plane breaking the sound barrier. When these suggestions were made to Mr. Renfrew, he laughed cheerfully. We know what we felt, he said. It was an earthquake. And theres really no downside. The damage was minor, and hey, we got a terrific party out of it. (Andrew Gould) Rose read it twice, then looked up, eyes bright. Good catch, Jimmy. He grinned. Thanks. Ill leave you guys to it, then. Take Nut with you, he needs to check on Grampa. Crow, you stay a minute. When they were gone, he closed the door. You think the girl caused that shake in New Hampshire? I do. Not a hundred percent certain, but at least eighty. And having a place to focus onnot just a town but a streetwill make things a hell of a lot easier for me tonight, when I go looking for her. If you can stick a comealong worm in her head, Rosie, we may not even need to knock her out. She smiled, thinking again that Crow had no idea how special this one was. Later she would think, Neither did I. I only thought I did. Theres no law against hoping, I suppose. But once we have her, well need something a little more sophisticated than a Mickey Finn, even if its a hightech one. Well need some wonder drug thatll keep her nice and cooperative until she decides its in her best interest to cooperate on her own. Will you be coming with us when we go to grab her? Rose had assumed so, but now she hesitated, thinking of Grampa Flick. Im not sure. He didnt ask questionswhich she appreciatedand turned to the door. Ill see that youre not disturbed again. Good. And you make sure Walnut gives Grampa a complete examI mean from asshole to appetite. If he really is cycling, I want to know tomorrow, when I come out of purdah. She opened the compartment under the floor and brought out one of the canisters. And give him whats left in this. Crow was shocked. All of it? Rose, if hes cycling, theres no point. Give it to him. Weve had a good year, as several of you have pointed out to me lately. We can afford a little extravagance. Besides, the True Knot only has one grampa. He remembers when the people of Europe worshipped trees instead of timeshare condos. Were not going to lose him if we can help it. Were not savages. The rubes might beg to differ. Thats why theyre rubes. Now get out of here. 3 After Labor Day, Teenytown closed at 3 p.m. on Sundays. This afternoon, at quarter to six, three giants sat on benches near the end of the miniCranmore Avenue, dwarfing Teenytown Drug and the Teenytown Music Box Theater (where, during tourist season, you could peek in the window and see teeny film clips playing on a teeny screen). John Dalton had come to the meeting wearing a Red Sox hat, which he placed on the head of the teeny Helen Rivington statue in the teeny courthouse square. Im sure she was a fan, he said. Everybody up this way is a fan. Nobody spares a little admiration for the Yankees except exiles like me. What can I do for you, Dan? Im missing supper with the family for this. My wifes an understanding woman, but her patience only stretches so far. How would she feel about you spending a few days with me in Iowa? Dan asked. Strictly on my dime, you understand. I have to make a Twelfth Step call on an uncle whos killing himself with booze and cocaine. My familys begging me to step in, and I cant do it alone. AA had no rules but many traditions (that were, in fact, rules). One of the most ironclad was that you never made a Twelfth Step call on an active alcoholic by yourself, unless the alkie in question was safely incarcerated in a hospital, detox, or the local bughouse. If you did, you were apt to end up matching him drink for drink and line for line. Addiction, Casey Kingsley liked to say, was the gift that kept on giving. Dan looked at Billy Freeman and smiled. Got something to say? Go ahead, feel free. I dont think you got an uncle. Im not sure youve got any family left at all. Is that it? Youre just not sure? Well . . . you never talk about em. Plenty of people have family and dont talk about them. But you know I dont have anyone, dont you, Billy? Billy said nothing, but looked uneasy. Danny, I cant go to Iowa, John said. Im booked right into the weekend. Dan was still focused on Billy. Now he reached into his pocket, grabbed something, and held out his closed fist. What have I got? Billy looked more uneasy than ever. He glanced at John, saw no help there, then back to Dan. John knows what I am, Dan said. I helped him once, and he knows Ive helped a few others in the Program. Youre among friends here. Billy thought about it, then said Might be a coin, but I think its one of your AA medals. The kind they give you every time you get in another year sober. What years this one? Billy hesitated, looking at Dans fisted hand. Let me help you out, John said. Hes been sober since the spring of 2001, so if hes carrying a medallion around, its probably a Year Twelve. Makes sense, but it aint. Billy was concentrating now, two deep vertical lines grooving his forehead just about his eyes. I think it might be . . . a seven? Dan opened his palm. The medallion had a big VI on it. Fuckaroo, Billy said. Im usually good at guessing. You were close enough, Dan said. And its not guessing, its shining. Billy took out his cigarettes, looked at the doctor sitting on the bench next to him, and put them back. If you say so. Let me tell you a little about yourself, Billy. When you were small, you were great at guessing things. You knew when your mother was in a good mood and you could hit her for an extra buck or two. You knew when your dad was in a bad one, and you steered clear of him. I sure knew there were nights when bitchin about having to eat leftover pot roast would be a goddam bad idea, Billy said. Did you gamble? Hossraces down Salem. Made a bundle. Then, when I was twentyfive or so, I kinda lost the knack of picking winners. I had a month when I had to beg an extension on the rent, and that cured me of railbirding. Yes, the talent fades as people grow older, but you still have some. You got more, Billy said. No hesitation now. This is real, isnt it? John said. It really wasnt a question; it was an observation. Youve only got one appointment this coming week you really feel you cant miss or hand off, Dan said. Its a little girl with stomach cancer. Her name is Felicity Frederika, John said. Frederika Bimmel. Shes at Merrimack Valley Hospital. Im supposed to have a consult with her oncologist and her parents. Saturday morning. Yeah. Saturday morning. He gave Dan an amazed look. Jesus. Jesus Christ. What you have . . . I had no idea there was so much of it. Ill have you back from Iowa by Thursday. Friday at the latest. Unless we get arrested, he thought. Then we might be there awhile longer. He looked to see if Billy had picked up that lessthanencouraging thought. There was no sign that he had. Whats this about? Another patient of yours. Abra Stone. Shes like Billy and me, John, but I think you already know that. Only shes much, much more powerful. Ive got quite a lot more than Billy, and she makes me look like a fortuneteller at a county fair. Oh my God, the spoons. It took Dan a second, then he remembered. She hung them on the ceiling. John stared at him, wideeyed. You read that in my mind? A little more mundane than that, Im afraid. She told me. When? When? Well get there, but not yet. First, lets try for some authentic mindreading. Dan took Johns hand. That helped; contact almost always did. Her parents came to see you when she was just a toddler. Or maybe it was an aunt or her greatgram. They were concerned about her even before she decorated the kitchen with silverware, because there was all sorts of psychic phenomena going on in that house. There was something about the piano . . . Billy, help me out here. Billy grabbed Johns free hand. Dan took Billys, making a connected circle. A teeny sance in Teenytown. Beatles music, Billy said. On the piano instead of the guitar. It was . . . I dunno. It made em crazy for awhile. John stared at him. Listen, Dan said, you have her permission to talk. She wants you to. Trust me on this, John. John Dalton considered for almost a full minute. Then he told them everything, with one exception. That stuff about The Simpsons being on all the TV channels was just too weird. 4 When he was finished, John asked the obvious question How did Dan know Abra Stone? From his back pocket Dan produced a small, battered notebook. On the cover was a photo of waves crashing against a headland and the motto NO GREAT THING IS CREATED SUDDENLY. You used to carry this, didnt you? John asked. Yes. You know Casey K.s my sponsor, right? John rolled his eyes. Who could forget, when every time you open your mouth in a meeting, you start with My sponsor, Casey K., always says.  John, nobody loves a smartass. My wife does, he said. Because Im a studly smartass. Dan sighed. Look in the book. John paged through it. These are meetings. From 2001. Casey told me I had to do ninetyinninety, and keep track. Look at the eighth one. John found it. Frazier Methodist Church. A meeting he didnt often go to, but one he knew. Printed below the notation, in elaborate capital letters, was the word ABRA. John looked up at Dan not quite unbelievingly. She got in touch with you when she was two months old? You see my next meeting just below it, Dan said, so I couldnt have added her name later just to impress you. Unless I faked the whole book, that is, and there are plenty of people in the Program wholl remember seeing me with it. Including me, John said. Yeah, including you. In those days, I always had my meeting book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. They were my security blankets. I didnt know who she was then, and I didnt much care. It was just one of those random touchings. The way a baby in a crib might reach out and brush your nose. Then, two or three years later, she wrote a word on a scheduling blackboard I keep in my room. The word was hello. She kept in contact after that, every once in awhile. Kind of touching base. Im not even sure she was aware she was doing it. But I was there. When she needed help, I was the one she knew, and the one she reached out to. What kind of help does she need? What kind of trouble is she in? John turned to Billy. Do you know? Billy shook his head. I never heard of her, and I hardly ever go to Anniston. Who said Abra lives in Anniston? Billy cocked a thumb at Dan. He did. Didnt he? John turned back to Dan. All right. Say Im convinced. Lets have the whole thing. Dan told them about Abras nightmare of the baseball boy. The shapes holding flashlights on him. The woman with the knife, the one who had licked the boys blood off her palms. About how, much later, Abra had come across the boys picture in the Shopper. And she could do this why? Because the kid they killed was another one of these shiners? Im pretty sure thats how the initial contact happened. He must have reached out while these people were torturing himAbra has no doubt thats what they didand that created a link. One that continued even after the boy, this Brad Trevor, was dead? I think her later point of contact may have been something the Trevor kid ownedhis baseball glove. And she was able to link to his killers because one of them put it on. She doesnt know how she does it, and neither do I. All I know for sure is that shes immensely powerful. The way you are. Heres the thing, Dan said. These peopleif they are peopleare led by the woman who did the actual killing. On the day Abra came across the picture of Brad Trevor on a missingchildren page in the local rag, she got in this womans head. And the woman got in Abras. For a few seconds they looked through each others eyes. He held up his hands, made fists, and rotated them. Turn and turn about. Abra thinks they may come for her, and so do I. Because she could be a danger to them. Theres more to it than that, isnt there? Billy asked. Dan looked at him, waiting. People who can do this shining thing have something, right? Something these people want. Something they can only get by killing. Yes. John said, Does this woman know where Abra is? Abra doesnt think so, but you have to remember shes only thirteen. She could be wrong. Does Abra know where the woman is? All she knows is that when this contactthis mutual seeingoccurred, the woman was in a Sams Supermarket. That puts it somewhere out West, but there are Sams in at least nine states. Including Iowa? Dan shook his head. Then I dont see what we can accomplish by going there. We can get the glove, Dan said. Abra thinks if she has the glove, she can link to the man who had it on his hand for a little while. She calls him Barry the Chunk. John sat with his head lowered, thinking. Dan let him do it. All right, John said at last. This is crazy, but Ill buy it. Given what I know of Abras history and given my own history with you, its actually kind of hard not to. But if this woman doesnt know where Abra is, might it not be wiser to leave things alone? Dont kick a sleeping dog and all that? I dont think this dogs asleep, Dan said. These (empty devils) freaks want her for the same reason they wanted the Trevor boyIm sure Billys right about that. Also, they know shes a danger to them. To put it in AA terms, she has the power to break their anonymity. And they may have resources we can only guess at. Would you want a patient of yours to live in fear, month after month and maybe year after year, always expecting some sort of paranormal Manson Family to show up and snatch her off the street? Of course not. These assholes live on children like her. Children like I was. Kids with the shining. He stared grimly into John Daltons face. If its true, they need to be stopped. Billy said, If Im not going to Iowa, what am I supposed to do? Lets put it this way, Dan said. Youre going to get very familiar with Anniston in the week ahead. In fact, if Casey will give you time off, youre going to stay at a motel there. 5 Rose finally entered the meditative state she had been seeking. The hardest thing to let go of had been her worries about Grampa Flick, but she finally got past them. Got above them. Now she cruised within herself, repeating the old phrasessabbatha hanti and lodsam hanti and cahanna risone hantiover and over again, her lips barely moving. It was too early to seek the troublesome girl, but now that shed been left alone and the world was quiet, both inside and out, she was in no hurry. Meditation for its own sake was a fine thing. Rose went about gathering her tools and focusing her concentration, working slowly and meticulously. Sabbatha hanti, lodsam hanti, cahanna risone hanti words that had been old when the True Knot moved across Europe in wagons, selling peat turves and trinkets. They had probably been old when Babylon was young. The girl was powerful, but the True was allpowerful, and Rose anticipated no real problem. The girl would be asleep, and Rose would move with quiet stealth, picking up information and planting suggestions like small explosives. Not just one worm, but a whole nest of them. Some the girl might detect, and disable. Others, not. 6 Abra spoke with her mother on the phone for almost fortyfive minutes that night after shed finished her homework. The conversation had two levels. On the top one, they talked about Abras day, the school week ahead, and her costume for the upcoming Halloween Dance; they discussed the ongoing plans to have Momo moved north to the Frazier hospice (which Abra still thought of as the hot spice); Lucy brought Abra uptodate on Momos condition, which she said was actually pretty good, all things considered. On another level, Abra listened to Lucys nagging worry that she had somehow failed her grandmother, and to the truth of Momos condition frightened, addled, racked with pain. Abra tried to send her mother soothing thoughts its all right, Mom and we love you, Mom and you did the best you could, for as long as you were able. She liked to believe that some of these thoughts got through, but didnt really believe it. She had many talentsthe kind that were wonderful and scary at the same timebut changing another persons emotional temperature had never been one of them. Could Dan do that? She thought maybe he could. She thought he used that part of his shining to help people in the hot spice. If he could really do that, maybe he would help Momo when she got there. That would be good. She came downstairs wearing the pink flannel pajamas Momo had given her last Christmas. Her father was watching the Red Sox and drinking a glass of beer. She put a big smackeroo on his nose (he always said he hated that, but she knew he sort of liked it) and told him she was off to bed. La homework est complte, mademoiselle? Yes, Daddy, but the French word for homework is devoirs. Good to know, good to know. How was your mother? I ask because I only had about ninety seconds with her before you snatched the phone. Shes doing okay. Abra knew this was the truth, but she also knew okay was a relative term. She started for the hall, then turned back. She said Momo was like a glass ornament. She hadnt, not out loud, but shed been thinking it. She says we all are. Dave muted the TV. Well, I guess thats true, but some of us are made of surprisingly tough glass. Remember, your momos been up on the shelf, safe and sound, for many, many years. Now come over here, AbbaDoo, and give your Dad a hug. I dont know if you need it, but I could use one. 7 Twenty minutes later she was in bed with Mr. Pooh Bear Nightlight, a holdover from earliest childhood, glowing on the dresser. She reached for Dan and found him in an activities room where there were jigsaw puzzles, magazines, a PingPong table, and a big TV on the wall. He was playing cards with a couple of hot spice residents. (did you talk to Doctor John?) ( yes were going to Iowa day after tomorrow) This thought was accompanied by a brief picture of an old biplane. Inside were two men wearing oldfashioned flying helmets, scarves, and goggles. It made Abra smile. (if we bring you) Picture of a catchers mitt. That wasnt what the baseball boys glove really looked like, but Abra knew what Dan was trying to say. (will you freak out) (no) She better not. Holding the dead boys glove would be terrible, but she would have to do it. 8 In the common room of Rivington One, Mr. Braddock was staring at Dan with that look of monumental but slightly puzzled irritation which only the very old and borderline senile can bring off successfully. Are you gonna discard something, Danny, or just sit there starin into the corner until the icecaps melt? ( goodnight Abra) ( goodnight Dan say goodnight to Tony for me) Danny? Mr. Braddock knocked his swollen knuckles on the table. Danny Torrance, come in, Danny Torrance, over? (dont forget to set your alarm) Hoohoo, Danny, Cora Willingham said. Dan looked at them. Did I discard, or is it still my turn? Mr. Braddock rolled his eyes at Cora; Cora rolled hers right back. And my daughters think Im the one losing my marbles, she said. 9 Abra had set the alarm on her iPad because tomorrow was not only a schoolday but one of her days to make breakfastscrambled eggs with mushrooms, peppers, and Jack cheese was the plan. But that wasnt the alarm Dan had been talking about. She closed her eyes and concentrated, her brow furrowing. One hand crept out from under the covers and began wiping at her lips. What she was doing was tricky, but maybe it would be worth it. Alarms were all well and good, but if the woman in the hat came looking for her, a trap might be even better. After five minutes or so, the lines on her forehead smoothed out and her hand fell away from her mouth. She rolled over on her side and pulled the duvet up to her chin. She was visualizing herself riding a white stallion in full warrior garb when she fell asleep. Mr. Pooh Bear Nightlight watched from his place on the dresser as he had since Abra was four, casting a dim radiance on her left cheek. That and her hair were the only parts of her that still showed. In her dreams, she galloped over long fields under four billion stars. 10 Rose continued her meditations until one thirty that Monday morning. The rest of the True (with the exception of Apron Annie and Big Mo, currently watching over Grampa Flick) were sleeping deeply when she decided she was ready. In one hand she held a picture, printed off her computer, of Anniston, New Hampshires notveryimpressive downtown. In the other she held one of the canisters. Although there was nothing left inside but the faintest whiff of steam, she had no doubt it would be enough. She put her fingers on the valve, preparing to loosen it. We are the True Knot, and we endure Sabbatha hanti. We are the chosen ones Lodsam hanti. We are the fortunate ones Cahanna risone hanti. Take this and use it well, Rosiegirl, she said. When she turned the valve, a short sigh of silver mist escaped. She inhaled, fell back on her pillow, and let the canister drop to the carpet with a soft thud. She lifted the picture of Annistons Main Street in front of her eyes. Her arm and hand were no longer precisely there, and so the picture seemed to float. Not far from that Main Street, a little girl lived down a lane that was probably called Richland Court. She would be fast asleep, but somewhere in her mind was Rose the Hat. She assumed the little girl didnt know what Rose the Hat looked like (any more than Rose knew what the girl looked like . . . at least not yet), but she knew what Rose the Hat felt like. Also, she knew what Rose had been looking at in Sams yesterday. That was her marker, her way in. Rose stared at the picture of Anniston with fixed and dreaming eyes, but what she was really looking for was Sams meat counter, where EVERY CUT IS A BLUE RIBBON COWBOY CUT. She was looking for herself. And, after a gratifyingly short search, found her. At first just an auditory trace the sound of supermarket Muzak. Then a shopping cart. Beyond it, all was still dark. That was all right; the rest would come. Rose followed the Muzak, now echoing and distant. It was dark, it was dark, it was dark, then a little light and a little more. Here was the supermarket aisle, then it became a hallway and she knew she was almost in. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Lying on her bed, she closed her eyes so if the kid realized what was happeningunlikely but not impossibleshe would see nothing. Rose took a few seconds to review her primary goals name, exact location, extent of knowledge, anyone she might have told. (turn, world ) She gathered her strength and pushed. This time the sensation of revolving wasnt a surprise but something she had planned for and over which she had complete control. For a moment she was still in that hallwaythe conduit between their two mindsand then she was in a large room where a little girl in pigtails was riding a bike and lilting a nonsense song. It was the little girls dream and Rose was watching it. But she had better things to do. The walls of the room werent real walls, but file drawers. She could open them at will now that she was inside. The little girl was safely dreaming in Roses head, dreaming she was five and riding her first bicycle. That was very fine. Dream on, little princess. The child rode past her, singing lalala and seeing nothing. There were training wheels on her bike, but they flickered on and off. Rose guessed the princess was dreaming of the day when she had finally learned to ride without them. Always a very fine day in a childs life. Enjoy your bicycle, dear, while I find out all about you. Moving with confidence, Rose opened one of the drawers. The instant she reached inside, an earsplitting alarm began to bray and brilliant white spotlights blazed on all around the room, beating down on her with heat as well as light. For the first time in a great many years, Rose the Hat, once Rose OHara from County Antrim in Northern Ireland, was caught completely offguard. Before she could pull her hand out of the drawer, it slammed shut. The pain was enormous. She screamed and jerked backward, but she was held fast. Her shadow jumped high on the wall, but not just hers. She turned her head and saw the little girl bearing down on her. Only she wasnt little anymore. Now she was a young woman wearing a leather jerkin with a dragon on her blooming chest and a blue band to hold back her hair. The bike had become a white stallion. Its eyes, like those of the warriorwoman, were blazing. The warriorwoman had a lance. (You came back Dan said you would and you did ) And thenunbelievable in a rube, even one loaded with big steampleasure.


(GOOD) The child who was no longer a child had been lying in wait for her. She had laid a trap, she meant to kill Rose . . . and considering Roses state of mental vulnerability, she probably could. Summoning every bit of her strength, Rose fought back, not with some comicbook lance, but with a blunt battering ram that had all her years and will behind it. (GET AWAY FROM ME! GET THE FUCK BACK! NO MATTER WHAT YOU THINK YOU ARE YOURE JUST A LITTLE GIRL!) The girls grownup vision of herselfher avatarkept coming, but she flinched as Roses thought hit her, and the lance crashed into the wall of file drawers to Roses immediate left instead of into her side, which was where it had been aimed. The kid (thats all she is, Rose kept telling herself ) wheeled her horse away and Rose turned to the drawer that had caught her. She braced her free hand above it and pulled with all her might, ignoring the pain. At first the drawer held. Then it gave a little and she was able to pull out the heel of her hand. It was scraped and bleeding. Something else was happening. There was a fluttering sensation in her head, as if a bird were flying around up there. What new shit was this? Expecting that goddamned lance to drive into her back at any moment, Rose yanked with all her might. Her hand slipped all the way out and she curled her fingers into a fist just in time. If shed waited even an instant, the drawer would have cut them off when it slammed shut. Her nails throbbed, and she knew when she had a chance to look at them, they would be plumcolored with trapped blood. She turned. The girl was gone. The room was empty. But that fluttering sensation continued. If anything, it had intensified. Suddenly the pain in her hand and wrist was the last thing on Roses mind. She wasnt the only one who had ridden the turntable, and it didnt matter that her eyes were still shut back in the real world, where she lay on her double bed. The fucking brat was in another room filled with file drawers. Her room. Her head. Instead of the burglar, Rose had become the burgled. (GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT) The fluttering didnt stop; it sped up. Rose shoved away her panic, fought for clarity and focus, found some. Just enough to set the turntable in motion again, even though it had become weirdly heavy. (turn, world ) As it did, she felt the maddening flutter in her head first diminish and then cease as the little girl was rotated back to wherever she came from. Except thats not right, and this is far too serious for you to indulge in the luxury of lying to yourself. You came to her. And walked right into a trap. Why? Because in spite of all you knew, you underestimated. Rose opened her eyes, sat up, and swung her feet onto the carpet. One of them struck the empty canister and she kicked it away. The Sidewinder tshirt she had pulled on before lying down was damp; she reeked of sweat. It was a piggy smell, entirely unattractive. She looked unbelievingly at her hand, which was scraped and bruised and swelling. Her fingernails were going from purple to black, and she guessed she might lose at least two of them. But I didnt know, she said. There was no way I could. She hated the whine she heard in her voice. It was the voice of a querulous old woman. No way at all. She had to get out of this goddam camper. It might be the biggest, luxiest one in the world, but right now it felt the size of a coffin. She made her way to the door, holding onto things to keep her balance. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard before she went out. Ten to two. Everything had happened in just twenty minutes. Incredible. How much did she find out before I got free of her? How much does she know? No way of telling for sure, but even a little could be dangerous. The brat had to be taken care of, and soon. Rose stepped out into the pale early moonlight and took half a dozen long, steadying breaths of fresh air. She began to feel a little better, a little more herself, but she couldnt let go of that fluttering sensation. The feeling of having someone else inside hera rube, no lesslooking at her private things. The pain had been bad, and the surprise of being trapped that way was worse, but the worst thing of all was the humiliation and sense of violation. She had been stolen from. You are going to pay for that, princess. You just messed in with the wrong bitch. A shape was moving toward her. Rose had settled on the top step of her RV, but now she stood up, tense, ready for anything. Then the shape got closer and she saw it was Crow. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and slippers. Rose, I think you better He stopped. What the hell happened to your hand? Never mind my fucking hand, she snapped. What are you doing here at two in the morning? Especially when you knew I was apt to be busy? Its Grampa Flick, Crow said. Apron Annie says hes dying. CHAPTER ELEVEN THOME 25 1 Instead of pinescented air freshener and Alcazar cigars, Grampa Flicks Fleetwood this morning smelled of shit, disease, and death. It was also crowded. There were at least a dozen members of the True Knot present, some gathered around the old mans bed, many more sitting or standing in the living room, drinking coffee. The rest were outside. Everyone looked stunned and uneasy. The True wasnt used to death among their own. Clear out, Rose said. Crow and Nutyou stay. Look at him, Petty the Chink said in a trembling voice. Them spots! And es cycling like crazy, Rose! Oh, this is orrible! Go on, Rose said. She spoke gently and gave Petty a comforting squeeze on the shoulder when what she felt like doing was kicking her fat Cockney ass right out the door. She was a lazy gossip, good for nothing but warming Barrys bed, and probably not very good at that. Rose guessed that nagging was more Pettys specialty. When she wasnt scared out of her mind, that is. Come on, folks, Crow said. If he is going to die, he doesnt need to do it with an audience. Hell pull through, Harpman Sam said. Toughern a boiled owl, thats Grampa Flick. But he put his arm around Baba the Russian, who looked devastated, and hugged her tight against him for a moment. They got moving, some taking a last look back over their shoulders before going down the steps to join the others. When it was just the three of them, Rose approached the bed. Grampa Flick stared up at her without seeing her. His lips had pulled back from his gums. Great patches of his fine white hair had fallen out on the pillowcase, giving him the look of a distempered dog. His eyes were huge and wet and filled with pain. He was naked except for a pair of boxer shorts, and his scrawny body was stippled with red marks that looked like pimples or insect bites. She turned to Walnut and said, What in hell are those? Kopliks spots, he said. Thats what they look like to me, anyway. Although Kopliks are usually just inside the mouth. Talk English. Nut ran his hands through his thinning hair. I think hes got the measles. Rose gaped in shock, then barked laughter. She didnt want to stand here listening to this shit; she wanted some aspirin for her hand, which sent out a painpulse with every beat of her heart. She kept thinking about how the hands of cartoon characters looked when they got whopped with a mallet. We dont catch rube diseases! Well . . . we never used to. She stared at him furiously. She wanted her hat, she felt naked without it, but it was back in the EarthCruiser. Nut said, I can only tell you what I see, which is red measles, also known as rubeola. A rube disease called rubeola. How too fucking perfect. That is just . . . horseshit! He flinched, and why not? She sounded strident even to herself, but . . . ah, Jesus God, measles? The oldest member of the True Knot dying of a childhood disease even children didnt catch anymore? That baseballplaying kid from Iowa had a few spots on him, but I never thought . . . because yeah, its like you say. We dont catch their diseases. He was years ago! I know. All I can think is that it was in the steam, and it kind of hibernated. There are diseases that do that, you know. Lie passive, sometimes for years, then break out. Maybe with rubes! She kept coming back to that. Walnut only shook his head. If Gramps got it, why dont we all have it? Because those childhood diseaseschicken pox, measles, mumpsrun through rube kids like shit through a goose. It doesnt make sense. Then she turned to Crow Daddy and promptly contradicted herself. What the fuck were you thinking when you let a bunch of them in to stand around and breathe his air? Crow just shrugged, his eyes never leaving the shivering old man on the bed. Crows narrow, handsome face was pensive. Things change, Nut said. Just because we had immunity to rube diseases fifty or a hundred years ago doesnt mean we have it now. For all we know, this could be part of a natural process. Are you telling me theres anything natural about that? She pointed to Grampa Flick. A single case doesnt make an epidemic, Nut said, and it could be something else. But if this happens again, well have to put whoever it happens to in complete quarantine. Would it help? He hesitated a long time. I dont know. Maybe we do have it, all of us. Maybe its like an alarm clock set to go off or dynamite on a timer. According to the latest scientific thinking, thats sort of how rubes age. They go along and go along, pretty much the same, and then something turns off in their genes. The wrinkles start showing up and all at once they need canes to walk with. Crow had been watching Grampa. There he goes. Fuck. Grampa Flicks skin was turning milky. Then translucent. As it moved toward complete transparency, Rose could see his liver, the shriveled grayblack bags of his lungs, the pulsing red knot of his heart. She could see his veins and arteries like the highways and turnpikes on her indash GPS. She could see the optic nerves that connected his eyes to his brain. They looked like ghostly strings. Then he came back. His eyes moved, caught Rosies, held them. He reached out and took her unhurt hand. Her first impulse was to pull awayif he had what Nut said he had, he was contagiousbut what the hell. If Nut was right, they had all been exposed. Rose, he whispered. Dont leave me. I wont. She sat down beside him on the bed, her fingers entwined in his. Crow? Yes, Rose. The package you had sent to Sturbridgetheyll hold it, wont they? Sure. All right, well see this through. But we cant afford to wait too long. The little girl is a lot more dangerous than I thought. She sighed. Why do problems always come in bunches? Did she do that to your hand, somehow? That was a question she didnt want to answer directly. I wont be able to go with you, because she knows me now. Also, she thought but didnt say, because if this is what Walnut thinks it is, the rest will need me here to play Mother Courage. But we have to have her. Its more important than ever. Because? If shes had the measles, shell have the rube immunity to catching it again. That might make her steam useful in all sorts of ways. The kids get vaccinated against all that crap now, Crow said. Rose nodded. That could work, too. Grampa Flick once more began to cycle. It was hard to watch, but Rose made herself to do it. When she could no longer see the old fellows organs through his fragile skin, she looked at Crow and held up her bruised and scraped hand. Also . . . she needs to be taught a lesson. 2 When Dan woke up in his turret room on Monday, the schedule had once more been wiped from his blackboard and replaced with a message from Abra. At the top was a smileyface. All the teeth were showing, which gave it a gleeful look. She came! I was ready and I hurt her! I REALLY DID!! She deserves it, so HOORAY!!! I need to talk to you, not this way or Net. Same place as before 3PM Dan lay back on his bed, covered his eyes, and went looking for her. He found her walking to school with three of her friends, which struck him as dangerous in itself. For the friends as well as for Abra. He hoped Billy was there and on the job. He also hoped Billy would be discreet and not get tagged by some zealous Neighborhood Watch type as a suspicious character. (I can come John and I dont leave until tomorrow but it has to be fast and we have to be careful ) (yes okay good ) 3 Dan was once more seated on a bench outside the ivycovered Anniston Library when Abra emerged, dressed for school in a red jumper and snazzy red sneakers. She held a knapsack by one strap. To Dan she looked as if shed grown an inch since the last time hed seen her. She waved. Hi, Uncle Dan! Hello, Abra. How was school? Great! I got an A on my biology report! Sit down a minute and tell me about it. She crossed to the bench, so filled with grace and energy she almost seemed to dance. Eyes bright, color high a healthy afterschool teenager with all systems showing green. Everything about her said readysteadygo. There was no reason for this to make Dan feel uneasy, but it did. One very good thing a nondescript Ford pickup was parked half a block down, the old guy behind the wheel sipping a takeout coffee and reading a magazine. Appearing to read a magazine, at least. (Billy?) No answer, but he looked up from his magazine for a moment, and that was enough. Okay, Dan said in a lower voice. I want to hear exactly what happened. She told him about the trap she had set, and how well it had worked. Dan listened with amazement, admiration . . . and that growing sense of unease. Her confidence in her abilities worried him. It was a kids confidence, and the people they were dealing with werent kids. I just told you to set an alarm, he said when she had finished. This was better. I dont know if I could have gone at her that way if I wasnt pretending to be Daenerys in the Game of Thrones books, but I think so. Because she killed the baseball boy and lots of others. Also because . . . For the first time her smile faltered a little. As she was telling her story, Dan had seen what she would look like at eighteen. Now he saw what she had looked like at nine. Because what? Shes not human. None of them are. Maybe they were once, but not anymore. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair back. But Im stronger. She knew it, too. (I thought she pushed you away) She frowned at him, annoyed, wiped at her mouth, then caught her hand doing it and returned it to her lap. Once it was there, the other one clasped it to keep it still. There was something familiar about this gesture, but why wouldnt there be? Hed seen her do it before. Right now he had bigger things to worry about. (next time Ill be ready if there is a next time) That might be true. But if there was a next time, the woman in the hat would be ready, too. (I only want you to be careful ) I will. For sure. This, of course, was what all kids said in order to placate the adults in their lives, but it still made Dan feel better. A little, anyway. Besides, there was Billy in his F150 with the faded red paint. Her eyes were dancing again. I found lots of stuff out. Thats why I needed to see you. What stuff? Not where she is, I didnt get that far, but I did find . . . see, when she was in my head, I was in hers. Like swapsies, you know? It was full of drawers, like being in the worlds biggest library reference room, although maybe I only saw it that way because she did. If she had been looking at computer screens in my head, I might have seen computer screens. How many of her drawers did you get into? Three. Maybe four. They call themselves the True Knot. Most of them are old, and they really are like vampires. They look for kids like me. And like you were, I guess. Only they dont drink blood, they breathe in the stuff that comes out when the special kids die. She winced in disgust. The more they hurt them before, the stronger that stuff is. They call it steam. Its red, right? Red or reddishpink? He felt sure of this, but Abra frowned and shook her head. No, white. A bright white cloud. Nothing red about it. And listen they can store it! What they dont use they put it in these thermos bottle thingies. But they never have enough. I saw this show once, about sharks? It said theyre always on the move, because they never have enough to eat. I think the True Knot is like that. She grimaced. Theyre naughty, all right. White stuff. Not red but white. It still had to be what the old nurse had called the gasp, but a different kind. Because it came from healthy young people instead of old ones dying of almost every disease the flesh was heir to? Because they were what Abra called the special kids? Both? She was nodding. Both, probably. Okay. But the thing that matters most is that they know about you. She knows. Theyre a little scared I might tell someone about them, but not too scared. Because youre just a kid, and no one believes kids. Right. She blew her bangs off her forehead. Momo would believe me, but shes going to die. Shes going to your hot spice, Dan. Hospice, I mean. Youll help her, wont you? If youre not in Iowa? All I can. Abraare they coming for you? Maybe, but if they do it wont be because of what I know. It will be because of what I am. Her happiness was gone now that she was facing this headon. She rubbed at her mouth again, and when she dropped her hand, her lips were parted in an angry smile. This girl has a temper, Dan thought. He could relate to that. He had a temper himself. It had gotten him in trouble more than once. She wont come, though. That bitch. She knows I know her now, and Ill sense her if she gets close, because were sort of tied together. But there are others. If they come for me, theyll hurt anyone who gets in their way. Abra took his hands in hers, squeezing hard. This worried Dan, but he didnt make her let go. Right now she needed to touch someone she trusted. We have to stop them so they cant hurt my daddy, or my mom, or any of my friends. And so they wont kill any more kids. For a moment Dan caught a clear picture from her thoughtsnot sent, just there in the foreground. It was a collage of photos. Children, dozens of them, under the heading HAVE YOU SEEN ME? She was wondering how many of them had been taken by the True Knot, murdered for their final psychic gaspthe obscene delicacy this bunch lived onand left in unmarked graves. You have to get that baseball glove. If I have it, Ill be able to find out where Barry the Chunk is. I know I will. And the rest of them will be where he is. If you cant kill them, at least you can report them to the police. Get me that glove, Dan, please. If its where you say it is, well get it. But in the meantime, Abra, you have to watch yourself. I will, but I dont think shell try sneaking into my head again. Abras smile reemerged. In it, Dan saw the takenoprisoners warrior woman she sometimes pretended to beDaenerys, or whoever. If she does, shell be sorry. Dan decided to let this go. They had been together on this bench as long as he dared. Longer, really. Ive set up my own security system on your behalf. If you looked into me, I imagine you could find out what it is, but I dont want you to do that. If someone else from this Knot tries to go prospecting in your headnot the woman in the hat, but someone elsethey cant find out what you dont know. Oh. Okay. He could see her thinking that anyone else who tried that would be sorry, too, and this increased his sense of unease. Just . . . if you get in a tight place, yell Billy with all your might. Got that? ( yes the way you once called for your friend Dick) He jumped a little. Abra smiled. I wasnt peeking; I just I understand. Now tell me one thing before you go. What? Did you really get an A on your bio report? 4 At quarter to eight on that Monday evening, Rose got a double break on her walkie. It was Crow. Better get over here, he said. Its happening. The True was standing around Grampas RV in a silent circle. Rose (now wearing her hat at its accustomed gravitydefying angle) cut through them, pausing to give Andi a hug, then went up the steps, rapped once, and let herself in. Nut was standing with Big Mo and Apron Annie, Grampas two reluctant nurses. Crow was sitting on the end of the bed. He stood up when Rose came in. He was showing his age this evening. Lines bracketed his mouth, and there were a few threads of white silk in his black hair. We need to take steam, Rose thought. And when this is over, we will. Grampa Flick was cycling rapidly now first transparent, then solid again, then transparent. But each transparency was longer, and more of him disappeared. He knew what was happening, Rose saw. His eyes were wide and terrified; his body writhed with the pain of the changes it was going through. She had always allowed herself to believe, on some deep level of her mind, in the True Knots immortality. Yes, every fifty or a hundred years or so, someone diedlike that big dumb Dutchman, HandsOff Hans, who had been electrocuted by a falling powerline in an Arkansas windstorm not long after World War II ended, or Katie Patches, who had drowned, or Tommy the Truckbut those were exceptions. Usually the ones who fell were taken down by their own carelessness. So she had always believed. Now she saw she had been as foolish as rube children clinging to their belief in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. He cycled back to solidity, moaning and crying and shivering. Make it stop, Rosiegirl, make it stop. It hurts Before she could answerand really, what could she have said?he was fading again until there was nothing left of him but a sketch of bones and his staring, floating eyes. They were the worst. Rose tried to contact him with her mind and comfort him that way, but there was nothing to hold onto. Where Grampa Flick had always beenoften grumpy, sometimes sweetthere was now only a roaring windstorm of broken images. Rose withdrew from him, shaken. Again she thought, This cant be happening. Maybe we should put him out of his mizy, Big Mo said. She was digging her fingernails into Annies forearm, but Annie didnt seem to feel it. Give him a shot, or something. You got something in your bag, dont you, Nut? You must. What good would it do? Walnuts voice was hoarse. Maybe earlier, but its going too fast now. Hes got no system for any drug to circulate in. If I gave him a hypo in the arm, wed see it soaking into the bed five seconds later. Best to just let it happen. It wont be long. Nor was it. Rose counted four more full cycles. On the fifth, even his bones disappeared. For a moment the eyeballs remained, staring first at her and then rolling to look at Crow Daddy. They hung above the pillow, which was still indented by the weight of his head and stained with Wildroot CreamOil hair tonic, of which he seemed to have an endless supply. She thought she remembered Greedy G telling her once that he bought it on eBay. eBay, for fucks sweet sake! Then, slowly, the eyes disappeared, too. Except of course they werent really gone; Rose knew shed be seeing them in her dreams later tonight. So would the others in attendance at Grampa Flicks deathbed. If they got any sleep at all. They waited, none of them entirely convinced that the old man wouldnt appear before them again like the ghost of Hamlets father or Jacob Marley or some other, but there was only the shape of his disappeared head, the stains left by his hair tonic, and the deflated pee and shitstained boxers he had been wearing. Mo burst into wild sobs and buried her head in Apron Annies generous bosom. Those waiting outside heard, and one voice (Rose would never know whose) began to speak. Another joined in, then a third and a fourth. Soon they were all chanting under the stars, and Rose felt a wild chill go zigzagging up her back. She reached out, found Crows hand, and squeezed it. Annie joined in. Mo next, her words muffled. Nut. Then Crow. Rose the Hat took a deep breath and added her voice to theirs. Lodsam hanti, we are the chosen ones. Cahanna risone hanti, we are the fortunate ones. Sabbatha hanti, sabbatha hanti, sabbatha hanti. We are the True Knot, and we endure. 5 Later, Crow joined her in her EarthCruiser. You really wont be going east, will you? No. Youll be in charge. What do we do now? Mourn him, of course. Unfortunately, we can only give him two days. The traditional period was seven no fucking, no idle talk, no steam. Just meditation. Then a circle of farewell where everyone would step forward and say one memory of Grampa Jonas Flick and give up one object they had from him, or that they associated with him (Rose had already picked hers, a ring with a Celtic design Grampa had given her when this part of America had still been Indian country and she had been known as the Irish Rose). There was never a body when a member of the True died, so the objects of remembrance had to serve the purpose. Those things were wrapped in white linen and buried. So my group leaves when? Wednesday night or Thursday morning? Wednesday night. Rose wanted the girl as soon as possible. Drive straight through. And youre positive theyll hold the knockout stuff at the mail drop in Sturbridge? Yes. Set your mind at ease on that. My mind wont be at ease until I can look at that little bitch lying in the room right across from mine, drugged to the gills, handcuffed, and full of tasty, suckable steam. Who are you taking? Name them off. Me, Nut, Jimmy Numbers, if you can spare him I can spare him. Who else? Snakebite Andi. If we need to put someone to sleep, she can get it done. And the Chink. Him for sure. Hes the best locator weve got now that Grampas gone. Other than you, that is. By all means take him, but you wont need a locator to find this one, Rose said. Thats not going to be the problem. And just one vehicle will be enough. Take Steamhead Steves Winnebago. Already spoke to him about it. She nodded, pleased. One other thing. Theres a little holeinthewall store in Sidewinder called District X. Crow raised his eyebrows. The porno palace with the inflatable nurse doll in the window? You know it, I see. Roses tone was dry. Now listen to me, Daddy. Crow listened. 6 Dan and John Dalton flew out of Logan on Tuesday morning just as the sun was rising. They changed planes in Memphis and touched down in Des Moines at 1115 CDT on a day that felt more like midJuly than late September. Dan spent the first part of the BostontoMemphis leg pretending to sleep so he wouldnt have to deal with the doubts and second thoughts he felt sprouting like weeds in Johns mind. Somewhere over upstate New York, pretending ceased and he fell asleep for real. It was John who slept between Memphis and Des Moines, so that was all right. And once they were actually in Iowa, rolling toward the town of Freeman in a totally unobtrusive Ford Focus from Hertz, Dan sensed that John had put his doubts to bed. For the time being, at least. What had replaced them was curiosity and uneasy excitement. Boys on a treasure hunt, Dan said. Hed had the longer nap, and so he was behind the wheel. High corn, now more yellow than green, flowed past them on either side. John jumped a little. Huh? Dan smiled. Isnt that what you were thinking? That were like boys on a treasure hunt? Youre pretty goddam spooky, Daniel. I suppose. Ive gotten used to it. This was not precisely true. When did you find out you could read minds? It isnt just mindreading. The shinings a uniquely variable talent. If it is a talent. Sometimeslots of timesit feels more like a disfiguring birthmark. Im sure Abra would say the same. As for when I found out . . . I never did. I just always had it. It came with the original equipment. And you drank to blot it out. A fat woodchuck trundled with leisurely fearlessness across Route 150. Dan swerved to avoid it and the chuck disappeared into the corn, still not hurrying. It was nice out here, the sky looking a thousand miles deep and nary a mountain in sight. New Hampshire was fine, and hed come to think of it as home, but Dan thought he was always going to feel more comfortable in the flatlands. Safer. You know better than that, Johnny. Why does any alcoholic drink? Because hes an alcoholic? Bingo. Simple as can be. Cut through the psychobabble and youre left with the stark truth. We drank because were drunks. John laughed. Casey K. has truly indoctrinated you. Well, theres also the heredity thing, Dan said. Casey always kicks that part to the curb, but its there. Did your father drink? Him and mother dearest both. They could have kept the Nineteenth Hole at the country club in business all by themselves. I remember the day my mother took off her tennis dress and jumped into the pool with us kids. The men applauded. My dad thought it was a scream. Me, not so much. I was nine, and until I went to college I was the boy with the Striptease Mommy. Yours? My mother could take it or leave it alone. Sometimes she used to call herself Two Beers Wendy. My dad, however . . . one glass of wine or can of Bud and he was off to the races. Dan glanced at the odometer and saw they still had forty miles to go. You want to hear a story? One Ive never told anybody? I should warn you, its a weird one. If you think the shining begins and ends with paltry shit like telepathy, youre way short. He paused. There are other worlds than these. Youve . . . um . . . seen these other worlds? Dan had lost track of Johns mind, but DJ suddenly looked a little nervous. As if he thought the guy sitting next to him might suddenly stick his hand in his shirt and declare himself the reincarnation of Napoleon Bonaparte. No, just some of the people who live there. Abra calls them the ghostie people. Do you want to hear, or not? Im not sure I do, but maybe I better. Dan didnt know how much this New England pediatrician would believe about the winter the Torrance family had spent at the Overlook Hotel, but found he didnt particularly care. Telling it in this nondescript car, under this bright Midwestern sky, would be good enough. There was one person who would have believed it all, but Abra was too young, and the story was too scary. John Dalton would have to do. But how to begin? With Jack Torrance, he supposed. A deeply unhappy man who had failed at teaching, writing, and husbanding. What did the baseball players call three strikeouts in a row? The Golden Sombrero? Dans father had had only one notable success when the moment finally camethe one the Overlook had been pushing him toward from their first day in the hotelhe had refused to kill his little boy. If there was a fitting epitaph for him, it would be . . . Dan? My father tried, he said. Thats the best I can say for him. The most malevolent spirits in his life came in bottles. If hed tried AA, things might have been a lot different. But he didnt. I dont think my mother even knew there was such a thing, or she would have suggested he give it a shot. By the time we went up to the Overlook Hotel, where a friend of his got him a job as the winter caretaker, his picture could have been next to dry drunk in the dictionary. Thats where the ghosts were? Yes. I saw them. He didnt, but he felt them. Maybe he had his own shining. Probably he did. Lots of things are hereditary, after all, not just a tendency toward alcoholism. And they worked on him. He thought theythe ghostie peoplewanted him, but that was just another lie. What they wanted was the little boy with the great big shine. The same way this True Knot bunch wants Abra. He stopped, remembering how Dick, speaking through Eleanor Ouellettes dead mouth, had answered when Dan had asked where the empty devils were. In your childhood, where every devil comes from. Dan? Are you okay? Yes, Dan said. Anyway, I knew something was wrong in that goddam hotel even before I stepped through the door. I knew when the three of us were still living pretty much handtomouth down in Boulder, on the Eastern Slope. But my father needed a job so he could finish a play he was working on . . .