Doctor Sleep (The Shining #2)(124)

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?”

She stopped trying to pull away. It was easier just to let it happen. There was a brief sting on the back of her hand, then he released her. “Go on, now. Make wee-wee and make it quick. As the old song says, sand is a-runnin through the hourglass back home.”

“I don’t know any song like that.”

“Not surprised. You don’t even know The Merchant of Venice from Romeo and Juliet.”

“You’re mean.”

“I don’t have to be,” he said.

She got out and just stood beside the truck for a moment, taking deep breaths.

“Abra?”

She looked at him.

“Don’t try locking yourself in. You know who’d pay for that, don’t you?” He patted Billy Freeman’s leg.

She knew.

Her head, which had begun to clear, was fogging in again. Horrible man—horrible thing—behind that charming grin. And smart. He thought of everything. She tried the bathroom door and it opened. At least she wouldn’t have to whizz out back in the weeds, and that was something. She went inside, shut the door, and took care of her business. Then she simply sat there on the toilet with her swimming head hung down. She thought of being in the bathroom at Emma’s house, when she had foolishly believed everything was going to turn out all right. How long ago that seemed.

I have to do something.

But she was doped up, woozy.

(Dan)

She sent this with all the force she could muster . . . which wasn’t much. And how much time would the Crow give her? She felt despair wash over her, undermining what little will to resist was left. All she wanted to do was button her pants, get into the truck again, and go back to sleep. Yet she tried one more time.

(Dan! Dan, please!)

And waited for a miracle.

What she got instead was a single brief tap of the pickup truck’s horn. The message was clear: time’s up.