Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2)(124)

“Yes,” Abra said. A little more awake now. “Can I have a Coke and a water?”

His grin this time was high, wide, and handsome. In spite of her situation, in spite of the headache, even in spite of the slap he’d administered, Abra found it charming. She guessed lots of people found it charming, especially women. “A little greedy, but that’s not always a bad thing. Let’s see how you mind those Ps and Qs.”

She unbuckled her belt—it took three tries, but she finally managed—and grabbed the doorhandle. Before she got out, she said: “Stop calling me Goldilocks. You know my name, and I know yours.”

She slammed the door and headed for the gas island (weaving a little) before he could reply. She had spunk as well as steam. He could almost admire her. But, given what had happened to Snake, Nut, and Jimmy, almost was as far as it went.


13

At first Abra couldn’t read the instructions because the words kept doubling and sliding around. She squinted and they came into focus. The Crow was watching her. She could feel his eyes like tiny warm weights on the back of her neck.

(Dan?)

Nothing, and she wasn’t surprised. How could she hope to reach Dan when she could barely figure out how to run this stupid pump? She had never felt less shiny in her life.

Eventually she managed to start the gas, although the first time she tried his credit card, she put it in upside-down and had to begin all over again. The pumping seemed to go on forever, but there was a rubber sleeve over the nozzle to keep the stench of the fumes down, and the night air was clearing her head a little. There were billions of stars. Usually they awed her with their beauty and profusion, but tonight looking at them only made her feel scared. They were far away. They didn’t see Abra Stone.

When the tank was full, she squinted at the new message in the pump’s window and turned to Crow. “Do you want a receipt?”

“I think we can crutch along without that, don’t you?” Again came his dazzling grin, the kind that made you happy if you were the one who caused it to break out. Abra bet he had lots of girlfriends.

No. He just has one. The hat woman is his girlfriend. Rose. If he had another one, Rose would kill her. Probably with her teeth and fingernails.

She trudged back to the truck and got in.

“That was very good,” Crow said. “You win the grand prize—a Coke and a water. So . . . what do you say to your Daddy?”

“Thank you,” Abra said listlessly. “But you’re not my daddy.”

“I could be, though. I can be a very good daddy to little girls who are good to me. The ones who mind their Ps and Qs.” He drove to the machine and gave her a five-dollar bill. “Get me a Fanta if they have it. A Coke if they don’t.”

“You drink sodas, like anyone else?”

He made a comical wounded face. “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”

“Shakespeare, right?” She wiped her mouth again. “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Merchant of Venice, dummocks,” Crow said . . . but with a smile. “Don’t know the rest of it, I bet.”

She shook her head. A mistake. It refreshed the throbbing, which had begun to diminish.

“If you poison us, do we not die?” He tapped the needle against Mr. Freeman’s leg. “Meditate on that while you get our drinks.”


14

He watched closely as she operated the machine. This gas stop was on the wooded outskirts of some little town, and there was always a chance she might decide to hell with the geezer and run for the trees. He thought of the gun, but left it where it was. Chasing her down would be no great task, given her current soupy condition. But she didn’t even look in that direction. She slid the five-spot into the machine and got the drinks, one after the other, pausing only to drink deeply from the water. She came back and gave him his Fanta, but didn’t get in. Instead she pointed farther down the side of the building.

“I need to pee.”

Crow was flummoxed. This was something he hadn’t foreseen, although he should have. She had been drugged, and her body needed to purge itself of toxins. “Can’t you hold it awhile?” He was thinking that a few more miles down the road, he could find a turnout and pull in. Let her go behind a bush. As long as he could see the top of her head, they’d be fine.

But she shook her head. Of course she did.

He thought it over. “Okay, listen up. You can use the ladies’ toilet if the door’s unlocked. If it’s not, you’ll have to take your leak around back. There’s no way I’m letting you go inside and ask the counterboy for the key.”

“And if I have to go in back, you’ll watch me, I suppose. Pervo.”

“There’ll be a Dumpster or something you can squat behind. It would break my heart not to get a look at your precious little buns, but I’d try to survive. Now get in the truck.”

“But you said—”

“Get in, or I’ll start calling you Goldilocks again.”

She got in, and he pulled the truck up next to the bathroom doors, not quite blocking them. “Now hold out your hand.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Very reluctantly, she held out her hand. He took it. When she saw the needle, she tried to pull back.

“Don’t worry, just a drop. We can’t have you thinking bad thoughts, now can we? Or broadcasting them. This is going to happen one way or the other, so why make a production of it?”