Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2)(150)

No, it won’t. You’re lying.

But so was Abra, which kind of made them even.

“I have one really important question, dear,” Rose said pleasantly.

Abra almost asked what it was, then remembered her uncle’s advice. Her real uncle. One question, right. Which would lead to another . . . and another . . . and another.

“Choke on it,” she said, and hung up. Her hands began to tremble. Then her legs and arms and shoulders.

“Abra?” Mom. Calling from the foot of the stairs. She feels it. Just a little, but she does feel it. Is that a mom thing or a shining thing? “Honey, are you okay?”

“Fine, Mom! Getting ready for bed!”

“Ten minutes, then we’re coming up for kisses. Be in your PJs.”

“I will.”

If they knew who I was just talking to, Abra thought. But they didn’t. They only thought they knew what was going on. She was here in her bedroom, every door and window in the house was locked, and they believed that made her safe. Even her father, who had seen the True Knot in action.

But Dan knew. She closed her eyes and reached out to him.


9

Dan and Billy were under another motel canopy. And still nothing from Abra. That was bad.

“Come on, chief,” Billy said. “Let’s get you inside and—”

Then she was there. Thank God.

“Hush a minute,” Dan said, and listened. Two minutes later he turned to Billy, who thought the smile on his face finally made him look like Dan Torrance again.

“Was it her?”

“Yes.”

“How’d it go?”

“Abra says it went fine. We’re in business.”

“No questions about me?”

“Just which side of the family you were on. Listen, Billy, the uncle thing was a bit of a mistake. You’re way too old to be Lucy’s or David’s brother. When we stop tomorrow to do our errand, you need to buy sunglasses. Big ones. And keep that ball cap of yours jammed down all the way to your ears, so your hair doesn’t show.”

“Maybe I should get some Just For Men, while I’m at it.”

“Don’t sass me, you old fart.”

That made Billy grin. “Let’s get registered and get some food. You look better. Like you could actually eat.”

“Soup,” Dan said. “No sense pressing my luck.”

“Soup. Right.”

He ate it all. Slowly. And—reminding himself that this would be over one way or the other in less than twenty-four hours—he managed to keep it down. They dined in Billy’s room and when he was finally finished, Dan stretched out on the carpet. It eased the pain in his gut a little.

“What’s that?” Billy asked. “Some kind of yogi shit?”

“Exactly. I learned it watching Yogi Bear cartoons. Run it down for me again.”

“I got it, chief, don’t worry. Now you’re starting to sound like Casey Kingsley.”

“A scary thought. Now run it down again.”

“Abra starts pinging around Denver. If they have someone who can listen, they’ll know she’s coming. And that she’s in the neighborhood. We get to Sidewinder early—say four instead of five—and drive right past the road to the campground. They won’t see the truck. Unless they post a sentry down by the highway, that is.”

“I don’t think they will.” Dan thought of another AA aphorism: We’re powerless over people, places, and things. Like most alkie nuggets, it was seventy percent true and thirty percent rah-rah bullshit. “In any case, we can’t control everything. Carry on.”

“There’s a picnic area about a mile further up the road. You went there a couple of times with your mom, before you guys got snowed in for the winter.” Billy paused. “Just her and you? Never your dad?”

“He was writing. Working on a play. Go on.”

Billy did. Dan listened closely, then nodded. “Okay. You’ve got it.”

“Didn’t I say? Now can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“By tomorrow afternoon, will you still be able to walk a mile?”

“I’ll be able to.”

I better be.


10

Thanks to an early start—4 a.m., long before first light—Dan Torrance and Billy Freeman began to see a horizon-spanning cloud shortly after 9 a.m. An hour later, by which time the blue-gray cloud had resolved itself into a mountain range, they stopped in the town of Martenville, Colorado. There, on the short (and mostly deserted) main street, Dan saw not what he was hoping for, but something even better: a children’s clothing store called Kids’ Stuff. Half a block down was a drugstore flanked by a dusty-looking hockshop and a Video Express with CLOSING MUST SELL ALL STOCK AT BARGAIN PRICES soaped in the window. He sent Billy to Martenville Drugs & Sundries to get sunglasses and stepped through the door of Kids’ Stuff.

The place had an unhappy, losing-hope vibe. He was the only customer. Here was somebody’s good idea going bad, probably thanks to the big-box mall stores in Sterling or Fort Morgan. Why buy local when you could drive a little and get cheaper pants and dresses for back-to-school? So what if they were made in Mexico or Costa Rica? A tired-looking woman with a tired-looking hairdo came out from behind the counter and gave Dan a tired-looking smile. She asked if she could help him. Dan said she could. When he told her what he wanted, her eyes went round.