Doctor Sleep (The Shining #2)(104)

Abra told the rest.

When she was done, Dave said: “So you flew to Iowa on a thirteen-year-old girl’s sayso.”

“A very special thirteen-year-old girl,” John said. “With some very special talents.”

“We thought all that was over.” Dave shot Abra an accusing look. “Except for a few little premonitions, we thought she outgrew it.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“Maybe she shouldn’t have to be sorry,” Dan said, hoping he didn’t sound as angry as he felt. “She hid her ability because she knew you and your wife wanted it to be gone. She hid it because she loves you and wanted to be a good daughter.”

“She told you that, I suppose?”

“We never even discussed it,” Dan said. “But I had a mother I loved dearly, and because I did, I did the same thing.”

Abra shot him a look of na**d gratitude. As she lowered her eyes again, she sent him a thought. Something she was embarrassed to say out loud.

“She also didn’t want her friends to know. She thought they wouldn’t like her anymore. That they’d be scared of her. She was probably right about that, too.”

“Let’s not lose sight of the major issue,” John said. “We flew to Iowa, yes. We found the ethanol plant in the town of Freeman, just where Abra said it would be. We found the boy’s body. And his glove. He wrote the name of his favorite baseball player in the pocket, but his name—Brad Trevor—is written on the strap.”

“He was murdered. That’s what you’re saying. By a bunch of wandering lunatics.”

“They ride in campers and Winnebagos,” Abra said. Her voice was low and dreamy. She was looking at the towel-wrapped baseball glove as she spoke. She was afraid of it, and she wanted to put her hands on it. These conflicting emotions came through to Dan so clearly that they made him feel sick to his stomach. “They have funny names, like pirate names.”

Almost plaintively, Dave asked, “Are you sure the kid was murdered?”

“The woman in the hat licked his blood off her hands,” Abra said. She had been sitting on the stairs. Now she went to her father and put her face against his chest. “When she wants it, she has a special tooth. All of them do.”

“This kid was really like you?”

“Yes.” Abra’s voice was muffled but understandable. “He could see through his hand.”

“What does that mean?”

“Like when certain pitches would come, he could hit them because his hand saw them first. And when his mother lost something, he’d put his hand over his eyes and look through it to see where the thing was. I think. I don’t know that part for sure, but sometimes I use my hand that way.”

“And that’s why they killed him?”

“I’m sure of it,” Dan said.

“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.”