Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2)(105)

“For what? Some kind of ESP vitamin? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

No one replied.

“And they know Abra’s on to them?”

“They know.” She raised her head. Her cheeks were flushed and wet with tears. “They don’t know my name or where I live, but they know there is a me.”

“Then we need to go to the police,” Dave said. “Or maybe . . . I guess we’d want the FBI in a case like this. They might have trouble believing it at first, but if the body’s there—”

Dan said, “I won’t tell you that’s a bad idea until we see what Abra can do with the baseball glove, but you need to think pretty carefully about the consequences. For me, for John, for you and your wife, and most of all for Abra.”

“I don’t see what kind of trouble you and John could possibly—”

John shifted impatiently in his chair. “Come on, David. Who found the body? Who dug it up and then buried it again, after taking a piece of evidence the forensics people would no doubt consider vital? Who brought that piece of evidence halfway across the country so an eighth-grader could use it like a Ouija board?”

Although he hadn’t meant to, Dan joined in. They were ganging up, and in other circumstances he might have felt bad about that, but not in these. “Your family’s already in crisis, Mr. Stone. Your grandmother-in-law is dying, your wife’s grieving and exhausted. This thing will hit the newspapers and the internet like a bomb. Wandering clan of murderers versus a supposedly psychic little girl. They’ll want her on TV, you’ll say no, and that will just make them hungrier. Your street will turn into an open-air studio, Nancy Grace will probably move in next door, and in a week or two the whole media mob will be yelling hoax at the top of its lungs. Remember Balloon Boy Dad? That’s apt to be you. Meanwhile, these folks will still be out there.”

“So who’s supposed to protect my little girl if they come after her? You two? A doctor and a hospice orderly? Or are you just a janitor?”

You don’t even know about the seventy-three-year-old groundskeeper standing watch down the street, Dan thought, and had to smile. “I’m a little of both. Look, Mr. Stone—”

“Seeing as how you and my daughter are great pals, I guess you better call me Dave.”

“Okay, Dave it is. I guess what you do next depends on whether or not you’re willing to gamble on law enforcement believing her. Especially when she tells them that the Winnebago People are life-sucking vampires.”

“Christ,” Dave said. “I can’t tell Lucy about this. She’ll blow a fuse. All her fuses.”

“That would seem to answer the question about whether or not to call the police,” John remarked.

There was silence for a moment. Somewhere in the house a clock was ticking. Somewhere outside, a dog was barking.

“The earthquake,” Dave said suddenly. “That little earthquake. Was that you, Abby?”

“I’m pretty sure,” she whispered.

Dave hugged her, then stood up and took the towel off the baseball glove. He held it, looking it over. “They buried him with it,” he said. “They abducted him, tortured him, murdered him, and then buried him with his baseball glove.”

“Yes,” Dan said.

Dave turned to his daughter. “Do you really want to touch this thing, Abra?”

She held out her hands and said, “No. But give it to me anyway.”


5

David Stone hesitated, then handed it over. Abra took it in her hands and looked into the pocket. “Jim Thome,” she said, and although Dan would have been willing to bet his savings (after twelve years of steady work and steady sobriety, he actually had some) that she had never encountered the name before, she said it correctly: Toe-me. “He’s in the Six Hundred Club.”

“That’s right,” Dave said. “He—”

“Hush,” Dan said.

They watched her. She raised the glove to her face and sniffed the pocket. (Dan, remembering the bugs, had to restrain a wince.) She said, “Not Barry the Chunk, Barry the Chink. Only he’s not Chinese. They call him that because his eyes slant up at the corners. He’s their . . . their . . . I don’t know . . . wait . . .”

She held the glove to her chest, like a baby. She began to breathe faster. Her mouth dropped open and she moaned. Dave, alarmed, put a hand on her shoulder. Abra shook him off. “No, Daddy, no!” She closed her eyes and hugged the glove. They waited.

At last her eyes opened and she said, “They’re coming for me.”

Dan got up, knelt beside her, and put one hand over both of hers.

(how many is it some or is it all of them)

“Just some. Barry’s with them. That’s why I can see. There are three others. Maybe four. One is a lady with a snake tattoo. They call us rubes. We’re rubes to them.”

(is the woman with the hat)

(no)

“When will they get here?” John asked. “Do you know?”

“Tomorrow. They have to stop first and get . . .” She paused. Her eyes searched the room, not seeing it. One hand slipped out from beneath Dan’s and began to rub her mouth. The other clasped the glove. “They have to . . . I don’t know . . .” Tears began to ooze from the corners of her eyes, not of sadness but of effort. “Is it medicine? Is it . . . wait, wait, let go of me, Dan, I have to . . . you have to let me . . .”