Joyland(56)

"I know we did," Mike said, as if I had spoken the thought aloud. "We had to."

"Mike . . . can you read minds? Are you reading mine?"

"I don't really know," he said. "Sometimes I see things and hear things, that's all. And sometimes I get ideas. It was my idea to come to Grampa's house. Mom said he'd never let us, but I knew he would. Whatever I have, the special thing, I think it came from him. He heals people, you know. I mean, sometimes he fakes it, but sometimes he really does."

"Why did you call, Mike?"

He grew animated. "About Joyland! Can we really ride the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel?"

"''m pretty sure."

"Shoot in the shooting gallery?"

"Maybe. If your mother says so. All this stuff is contingent on your mother's approval. That means-"

"I know what it means." Sounding impatient. Then the child's excitement broke through again. "That is so awesome!"

"None of the fast rides," I said. "Are we straight on that? For one thing, they're buttoned up for the winter." The Carolina Spin was, too, but with Lane Hardy's help, it wouldn't take forty minutes to get it running again. "For another-"

"Yeah, I know, my heart. The Ferris wheel would be enough for me. We can see it from the end of the boardwalk, you





Joyland

know. From the top, it must be like seeing the world from my kite."

I smiled. "It is like that, sort of. But remember, only if your mom says you can. She's the boss."

"We're going for her. She'll know when we get there." He sounded eerily sure of himself. "And it's for you, Dev. But mostly it's for the girl. She's been there too long. She wants to leave."

My mouth dropped open, but there was no danger of drooling; my mouth had gone entirely dry. "How-" Just a croak. I swallowed again. "How do you know about her?"

"I don't know, but I think she's why I came. Did I tell you it's not white?"

"You did, but you said you didn't know what that meant. Do you now?"

"Nope." He began to cough. I waited it out. When it cleared, he said, "I have to go. My mom's getting up from her nap. Now she'll be up half the night, reading."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I really hope she lets me go on the Ferris wheel."

"It's called the Carolina Spin, but people who work there just call it the hoister." Some of them-Eddie, for instanceactually called it the chump-hoister, but I didn't tell him that.

"Joyland folks have this kind of secret talk. That's part of it."

"The hoister. I'll remember. Bye, Dev."

The phone clicked in my ear .

?

This time it was Fred Dean who had the heart attack.

He lay on the ramp leading to the Carolina Spin, his face blue and contorted. I knelt beside him and started chest compressions.



188

STEPHEN K I N G

When there was no result from that, I leaned forward, pinched his nostrils shut, and jammed my lips over his. Something tickled across my teeth and onto my tongue. I pulled back and saw a black tide of baby spiders pouring from his mouth.

I woke up half out of bed, the covers pulled loose and wound around me in a kind of shroud, heart pumping, clawing at my own mouth. It took several seconds for me to realize there was nothing in there. Nonetheless, I got up, went to the bathroom, and drank two glasses of water. I may have had worse dreams than the one that woke me at three o'clock on that Tuesday morning, but if so, I can't remember them. I re-made my bed and laid back down, convinced there would be no more sleep for me that night. Yet I had almost dozed off again when it occurred to me that the big emotional scene the three of us had played out at the hospital yesterday might have been for nothing.

Sure, Joyland was happy to make special arrangements for the lame, the halt, and the blind-what are now called "special needs children" -during the season, but the season was over.

Would the park's undoubtedly expensive insurance policy still provide coverage if something happened to Mike Ross in October? I could see Fred Dean shaking his head when I made my request and saying he was very sorry, but-

?

It was chilly that morning, with a strong breeze, so I took my car, parking beside Lane's pickup. I was early, and ours were the only vehicles in Lot A, which was big enough to hold five hundred cars . Fallen leaves tumbled across the pavement, making an insectile sound that reminded me of the spiders in my dream.



Joy land

189

Lane was sitting in a lawn chair outside Madame Fortuna's shy (which would soon be disassembled and stored for the winter), eating a bagel generously smeared with cream cheese.

His derby was tilted at its usual insouciant angle, and there was a cigarette parked behind one ear. The only new thing was the denim jacket he was wearing. Another sign, had I needed one, that our Indian summer was over.

"Jonesy, Jonesy, lookin lonely. Want a bagel? I got extra."

"Sure," I said. "Can I talk to you about something while I eat it?"

"Come to confess your sins, have you? Take a seat, my son."

He pointed to the side of the fortune-telling booth, where another couple of folded lawn chairs were leaning.