Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2)(156)

“Bad,” she said. “But I don’t care. Because—”

She didn’t have to finish. He knew, and she smiled. This togetherness was what they had, and in spite of the pain that came with it—pain of all kinds—it was good. It was very good.

“Dan?”

“Yes, honey.”

“There are ghostie people out there. I can’t see them, but I feel them. Do you?”

“Yes.” He had for years. Because the past defines the present. He put his arm around her shoulders, and her arm crept around his waist.

“What do we do now?”

“Wait for Billy. Hope he’s on time. And then all of this is going to happen very fast.”

“Uncle Dan?”

“What, Abra.”

“What’s inside you? That isn’t a ghost. It’s like—” He felt her shiver. “It’s like a monster.”

He said nothing.

She straightened and stepped away from him. “Look! Over there!”

An old Ford pickup was rolling into the visitor’s parking lot.


8

Rose stood with her hands on the lookout platform’s waist-high railing, peering at the truck pulling into the parking lot. The steam had sharpened her vision, but she still wished she had brought a pair of binoculars. Surely there were some in the supply room, for guests who wanted to go bird-watching, so why hadn’t she?

Because you had so many other things on your mind. The sickness . . . the rats jumping ship . . . losing Crow to the bitchgirl . . .

Yes to all of that—yes, yes, yes—but she still should have remembered. For a moment she wondered what else she might have forgotten, but pushed the idea away. She was still in charge of this, loaded with steam and at the top of her game. Everything was going exactly as planned. Soon the little girl would come up here, because she was full of foolish teenage confidence and pride in her own abilities.

But I have the high ground, dear, in all sorts of ways. If I can’t take care of you alone, I’ll draw from the rest of the True. They’re all together in the main room, because you thought that was such a good idea. But there’s something you didn’t take into consideration. When we’re together we’re linked, we’re a True Knot, and that makes us a giant battery. Power I can draw on if I need to.

If all else failed, there was Silent Sarey. She would now have the sickle in her hand. She might not be a genius, but she was merciless, murderous, and—once she understood the job—completely obedient. Also, she had her own reasons for wanting the bitchgirl laid out dead on the ground at the foot of the lookout platform.

(Charlie)

Token Charlie hit her back at once, and although he was ordinarily a feeble sender, now—boosted by the others in the main room of the Lodge—he came in loud and clear and nearly mad with excitement.

(I’m getting her steady and strong we all are she must be real close you must feel her)

Rose did, even though she was still working hard to keep her mind closed off so the bitchgirl couldn’t get in and mess with her.

(never mind that just tell the others to be ready if I need help)

Many voices came back, jumping all over each other. They were ready. Even those that were sick were ready to help all they could. She loved them for that.

Rose stared at the blond girl in the truck. She was looking down. Reading something? Nerving herself up? Praying to the God of Rubes, perhaps? It didn’t matter.

Come to me, bitchgirl. Come to Auntie Rose.

But it wasn’t the girl who got out, it was the uncle. Just as the bitch had said he would. Checking. He walked around the hood of the truck, moving slowly, looking everywhere. He leaned in the passenger window, said something to the girl, then moved away from the truck a little. He looked toward the Lodge, then turned to the platform rearing against the sky . . . and waved. The insolent bugger actually waved at her.

Rose didn’t wave back. She was frowning. An uncle. Why had her parents sent an uncle instead of bringing their bitch daughter themselves? For that matter, why had they allowed her to come at all?

She convinced them it was the only way. Told them that if she didn’t come to me, I’d come to her. That’s the reason, and it makes sense.

It did, but she felt a growing unease all the same. She had allowed the bitchgirl to set the ground rules. To that extent, at least, Rose had been manipulated. She had allowed it because this was her home ground and because she had taken precautions, but mostly because she had been angry. So angry.

She stared hard at the man in the parking lot. He was strolling around again, looking here and there, making sure she was alone. Perfectly reasonable, it was what she would have done, but she still had a gnawing intuition that what he was really doing was buying time, although why he would want to was beyond her.

Rose stared harder, now focusing on the man’s gait. She decided he wasn’t as young as she had first believed. He walked, in fact, like a man who was far from young. As if he had more than a touch of arthritis. And why was the little girl so still?

Rose felt the first pulse of real alarm.

Something was wrong here.


9

“She’s looking at Mr. Freeman,” Abra said. “We should go.”

He opened the French doors, but hesitated. Something in her voice. “What’s the trouble, Abra?”