Doctor Sleep (53 page)

As Abra had visualized a female warrior's lance and a stallion, Dan now visualized a bank of switches on a control room wall. Some worked her hands, some her legs, some the shrug of her shoulders. Others, though, were more important. He should be able to pull them; he had at least some of the same circuits.

The truck was moving, first reversing, then turning. A moment later they were back on the road.

“That's right,” Crow said grimly. “Go to sleep. What the hell did you think you were going to do back there? Jump in the toilet and flush yourself away to . . .”

His words faded, because here were the switches Dan was looking for. The special switches, the ones with the red handles. He didn't know if they were really there, and actually connected to Abra's powers, or if this was just some mental game of solitaire he was playing. He only knew that he had to try.

Shine on,
he thought, and pulled them all.

Billy Freeman's pickup was six or eight miles west of the gas station and rolling through rural Vermont darkness on 108 when Crow first felt the pain. It was like a small silver band circling his left eye. It was cold, pressing. He reached up to touch it, but before he could, it slithered right, freezing the bridge of his nose like a shot of novocaine. Then it circled his other eye as well. It was like wearing metal binoculars.

Or eyecuffs.

Now his left ear began to ring, and suddenly his left cheek was numb. He turned his head and saw the little girl looking at him. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. They didn't look doped in the slightest. For that matter, they didn't look like her eyes. They looked older. Wiser. And as cold as his face now felt.

(
stop the truck
)

Crow had capped the hypo and put it away, but he was still holding the gun he'd taken from beneath the seat when he decided she was spending way too much time in the crapper. He raised it, meaning to threaten the geezer and make her stop whatever it was she was doing, but all at once his hand felt as if it had been plunged into freezing water. The gun put on weight: five pounds, ten pounds, what felt like twenty-five. Twenty-five at least. And while he was struggling to raise it, his right foot came off the F-150's gas pedal and his left hand turned the wheel so that the truck veered off the road and rolled along the soft shoulder—gently, slowing—with the right-side wheels tilting toward the ditch.

“What are you doing to me?”

“What you deserve.
Daddy
.”

The truck bumped a downed birch tree, snapped it in two, and stopped. The girl and the geezer were seatbelted in, but Crow had forgotten his. He jolted forward into the steering wheel, honking the horn. When he looked down, he saw the geezer's automatic turning in his fist. Very slowly turning toward him. This shouldn't
be happening. The dope was supposed to stop it. Hell, the dope
had
stopped it. But something had changed in that bathroom. Whoever was behind those eyes now was cold fucking sober.

And horribly strong.

Rose! Rose, I need you!

“I don't think she can hear,” the voice that wasn't Abra's said. “You may have some talents, you son of a bitch, but I don't think you have much in the way of telepathy. I think when you want to talk to your girlfriend, you use the phone.”

Exerting all his strength, Crow began to turn the Glock back toward the girl. Now it seemed to weigh fifty pounds. The tendons of his neck stood out like cables. Drops of perspiration beaded on his forehead. One ran into his eye, stinging, and Crow blinked it away.

“I'll . . . shoot . . . your friend,” he said.

“No,” the person inside Abra said. “I won't let you.”

But Crow could see she was straining now, and that gave him hope. He put everything he had into pointing the muzzle at Rip Van Winkle's midsection, and had almost gotten there when the gun started to rotate back again. Now he could hear the little bitch panting. Hell, he was, too. They sounded like marathoners approaching the end of a race side by side.

A car went by, not slowing. Neither of them noticed. They were looking at each other.

Crow brought his left hand down to join his right on the gun. Now it turned a little more easily. He was beating her, by God. But his eyes! Jesus!

“Billy!” Abra shouted. “Billy, little help here!”

Billy snorted. His eyes opened. “Wha—”

For a moment Crow was distracted. The force he was exerting slackened, and the gun immediately began to turn back toward him. His hands were cold, cold. Those metal rings were pressing into his eyes, threatening to turn them to jelly.

The gun went off for the first time when it was between them, blowing a hole in the dashboard just above the radio. Billy jerked
awake, arms flailing to either side like a man pulling himself out of a nightmare. One of them struck Abra's temple, the other Crow's chest. The cab of the truck was filled with blue haze and the smell of burnt gunpowder.

“What was that? What the hell was tha—”

Crow snarled,
“No, you bitch! No!”

He swung the gun back toward Abra, and as he did it, he felt her control slip. It was the blow to the head. Crow could see dismay and terror in her eyes, and was savagely glad.

Have to kill her. Can't give her another chance. But not a headshot. In the gut. Then I'll suck the stea—

Billy slammed his shoulder into Crow's side. The gun jerked up and went off again, this time putting a hole in the roof just above Abra's head. Before Crow could bring it down again, huge hands laid themselves over his. He had time to realize that his adversary had only been tapping a fraction of the force at its command. Panic had unlocked a great, perhaps even unknowable, reserve. This time when the gun turned toward him, Crow's wrists snapped like bundles of twigs. For a moment he saw a single black eye staring up at him, and there was time for half a thought:

(
Rose I love y
)

There was a brilliant flash of white, then darkness. Four seconds later, there was nothing left of Crow Daddy but his clothes.

Steamhead Steve, Baba the Red, Bent Dick, and Greedy G were playing a desultory game of canasta in the Bounder that Greedy and Dirty Phil shared when the shrieks began. All four of them had been on edge—the whole True was on edge—and they dropped their cards immediately and ran for the door.

Everyone was emerging from their campers and RVs to see what the matter was, but they stopped when they saw Rose the Hat standing in the brilliant yellow-white glare of the security lights
surrounding the Overlook Lodge. Her eyes were wild. She was pulling at her hair like an Old Testament prophet in the throes of a violent vision.

“That fucking little bitch killed my Crow!”
she shrieked.
“I'll kill her! I'LL KILL HER AND EAT HER HEART!”

At last she sank to her knees, sobbing into her hands.

The True Knot stood, stunned. No one knew what to say or do. At last Silent Sarey went to her. Rose shoved her violently away. Sarey landed on her back, got up, and returned to Rose without hesitation. This time Rose looked up and saw her would-be comforter, a woman who had also lost someone dear on this unbelievable night. She embraced Sarey, hugging so hard that the watching True heard bones crack. But Sarey didn't struggle, and after a few moments, the two women helped each other to their feet. Rose looked from Silent Sarey to Big Mo, then to Heavy Mary and Token Charlie. It was as if she had never seen any of them.

“Come on, Rosie,” Mo said. “You've had a shock. You need to lie d—”

“NO!”

She stepped away from Silent Sarey and clapped her hands to the sides of her face in a huge double slap that knocked off her hat. She bent down to pick it up, and when she looked around at the gathered True again, some sanity had come back into her eyes. She was thinking of Diesel Doug and the crew she had sent to meet Daddy and the girl.

“I need to get hold of Deez. Tell him and Phil and Annie to turn around. We need to be together. We need to take steam. A lot of it. Once we're loaded,
we're going to get that bitch
.”

They only looked at her, their faces worried and unsure. The sight of those frightened eyes and stupid gaping mouths infuriated her.

“Do you doubt me?” Silent Sarey had crept back to her side. Rose pushed her away from her so hard Sarey almost fell down again. “Whoever doubts me, let him step forward.”

“No one doubts you, Rose,” Steamhead Steve said, “but maybe
we ought to let her alone.” He spoke carefully, and couldn't quite meet Rose's eyes. “If Crow's really gone, that's five dead. We've never lost five in one day. We've never even lost t—”

Rose stepped forward and Steve immediately stepped back, hunching his shoulders up around his ears like a child expecting a blow. “You want to run away from one little steamhead girl? After all these years, you want to turn tail and run from a
rube
?”

No one answered her, least of all Steve, but Rose saw the truth in their eyes. They did. They actually did. They'd had a lot of good years. Fat years. Easy-hunting years. Now they had run across someone who not only had extraordinary steam but knew them for who they were and what they did. Instead of avenging Crow Daddy—who had, along with Rose, seen them through good times and bad—they wanted to put their tails between their legs and go yipping away. In that moment she wanted to kill them all. They felt it and shuffled further back, giving her room.

All but Silent Sarey, who was staring at Rose as if hypnotized, her mouth hung on a hinge. Rose seized her by her scrawny shoulders.

“No, Rosie!” Mo squealed. “Don't hurt her!”

“What about you, Sarey? That little girl was responsible for murdering the woman you loved. Do you want to run away?”

“Nup,” Sarey said. Her eyes looked up into Rose's. Even now, with everyone looking at her, Sarey seemed little more than a shadow.

“Do you want payback?”

“Lup,” Sarey said. Then:
“Levenge.”

She had a low voice (almost a no-voice) and a speech impediment, but they all heard her, and they all knew what she was saying.

Rose looked around at the others. “For those of you who don't want what Sarey wants, who just want to get down on your bellies and squirm away . . .”

She turned to Big Mo and seized the woman's flabby arm. Mo screeched in fear and surprise and tried to draw away. Rose held her in place and lifted her arm so the others could see it. It was covered with red spots. “Can you squirm away from this?”

They muttered and took another step or two back.

Rose said, “It's in us.”

“Most of us are fine!” Sweet Terri Pickford shouted. “
I'm
fine! Not a mark on me!” She held her smooth arms out for inspection.

Rose turned her burning, tear-filled eyes on Terri. “
Now
. But for how long?” Sweet Terri made no reply, but turned her face away.

Rose put her arm around Silent Sarey and surveyed the others. “Nut said that girl may be our only chance of getting rid of the sickness before it infects us all. Does anyone here know better? If you do, speak up.”

No one did.

“We're going to wait until Deez, Annie, and Dirty Phil get back, then we'll take steam. Biggest steam ever. We're going to empty the canisters.”

Looks of surprise and more uneasy mutters greeted this. Did they think she was crazy? Let them. It wasn't just measles eating into the True Knot; it was terror, and that was far worse.

“When we're all together, we're going to circle. We're going to grow strong.
Lodsam hanti,
we are the chosen ones—have you forgotten that?
Sabbatha hanti,
we are the True Knot, and we endure. Say it with me.” Her eyes raked them.
“Say it.”

They said it, joining hands, making a ring.
We are the True Knot, and we endure
. A little resolution came into their eyes. A little belief. Only half a dozen of them were showing the spots, after all; there was still time.

Rose and Silent Sarey stepped to the circle. Terri and Baba let go of each other to make a place for them, but Rose escorted Sarey to the center. Under the security lights, the bodies of the two women radiated multiple shadows, like the spokes of a wheel. “When we're strong—when we're one again—we're going to find her and take her. I tell you that as your leader. And even if her steam doesn't cure the sickness that's eating us, it'll be the end of the rotten—”

That was when the girl spoke inside her head. Rose could not see Abra Stone's angry smile, but she could feel it.

(
don't bother coming to me, Rose
)

In the back of John Dalton's Suburban, Dan Torrance spoke four clear words in Abra's voice.

“I'll come to you.”

“Billy?
Billy!
”

Billy Freeman looked at the girl who didn't exactly
sound
like a girl. She doubled, came together, and doubled again. He passed a hand over his face. His eyelids felt heavy and his thoughts seemed somehow glued together. He couldn't make sense of this. It wasn't daylight anymore, and they sure as hell weren't on Abra's street anymore. “Who's shooting? And who took a shit in my mouth?
Christ
.”

“Billy, you have to wake up. You have to . . .”

You have to drive
was what Dan meant to say, but Billy Freeman wasn't going to be driving anywhere. Not for awhile. His eyes were drifting shut again, the lids out of sync. Dan threw one of Abra's elbows into the old guy's side and got his attention again. For the time being, at least.

Headlights flooded the cab of the truck as another car approached. Dan held Abra's breath, but this one also went by without slowing. Maybe a woman on her own, maybe a salesman in a hurry to get home. A bad Samaritan, whoever it was, and bad was good for them, but they might not be lucky a third time. Rural people tended to be neighborly. Not to mention nosy.