Doctor Sleep (The Shining #2)(142)

Halfway up the slope—where the Overlook’s hedge animals had once congregated—there was a row of clean white satellite dishes. At the crest of the hill, where the hotel itself had stood, was a wooden platform with a long flight of steps leading up to it. This site, now owned and administered by the State of Colorado, was identified as Roof O’ the World. Visitors to the Bluebell Campground were welcome to use it, or to hike the trails beyond, free of charge. The trails are recommended only for the more experienced hiker, the caption read, but Roof O’ the World is for everyone. The views are spectacular!

Dan was sure they were. Certainly they had been spectacular from the dining room and ballroom of the Overlook . . . at least until the steadily mounting snow blocked off the windows. To the west were the highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains, sawing at the sky like spears. To the east, you could see all the way to Boulder. Hell, all the way to Denver and Arvada on rare days when the pollution wasn’t too bad.

The state had taken that particular piece of land, and Dan wasn’t surprised. Who would have wanted to build there? The ground was rotten, and he doubted if you had to be telepathic to sense it. But the True had gotten as close as it could, and Dan had an idea that their wandering guests—the normal ones—rarely came back for a second visit, or recommended the Bluebell to their friends. An evil place would call evil creatures, John had said. If so, the converse would also be true: it would tend to repel good ones.

“Dan?” Dave called. “Bus is leaving.”

“I need another minute!”

He closed his eyes and propped the heel of his palm against his forehead.

(Abra)

His voice awoke her at once.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BITCHGIRL

1

It was dark outside the Crown Motel, dawn still an hour or more away, when the door of unit 24 opened and a girl stepped out. Heavy fog had moved in, and the world was hardly there at all. The girl was wearing black pants and a white shirt. She had put her hair up in pigtails, and the face they framed looked very young. She breathed deeply, the coolness and the hanging moisture in the air doing wonders for her lingering headache but not much for her unhappy heart. Momo was dead.

Yet, if Uncle Dan was right, not really dead; just somewhere else. Perhaps a ghostie person; perhaps not. In any case, it wasn’t a thing she could spend time thinking about. Later, perhaps, she would meditate on these matters.

Dan had asked if Billy was asleep. Yes, she had told him, still fast asleep. Through the open door she could see Mr. Freeman’s feet and legs under the blankets and hear his steady snoring. He sounded like an idling motorboat.

Dan had asked if Rose or any of the others had tried to touch her mind. No. She would have known. Her traps were set. Rose would guess that. She wasn’t stupid.

He had asked if there was a telephone in her room. Yes, there was a phone. Uncle Dan told her what he wanted her to do. It was pretty simple. The scary part was what she had to say to the strange woman in Colorado. And yet she wanted to. Part of her had wanted that ever since she’d heard the baseball boy’s dying screams.

(you understand the word you have to keep saying?)

Yes, of course.

(because you have to goad her do you know what that)

(yes I know what it means)

Make her mad. Infuriate her.

Abra stood breathing into the fog. The road they’d driven in on was nothing but a scratch, the trees on the other side completely gone. So was the motel office. Sometimes she wished she was like that, all white on the inside. But only sometimes. In her deepest heart, she had never regretted what she was.

When she felt ready—as ready as she could be—Abra went back into her room and closed the door on her side so she wouldn’t disturb Mr. Freeman if she had to talk loud. She examined the instructions on the phone, pushed 9 to get an outside line, then dialed directory assistance and asked for the number of the Overlook Lodge at the Bluebell Campground, in Sidewinder, Colorado. I could give you the main number, Dan had said, but you’d only get an answering machine.

In the place where the guests ate meals and played games, the telephone rang for a long time. Dan said it probably would, and that she should just wait it out. It was, after all, two hours earlier there.

At last a grumpy voice said, “Hello? If you want the office, you called the wrong num—”

“I don’t want the office,” Abra said. She hoped the rapid heavy beating of her heart wasn’t audible in her voice. “I want Rose. Rose the Hat.”

A pause. Then: “Who is this?”

“Abra Stone. You know my name, don’t you? I’m the girl she’s looking for. Tell her I’ll call back in five minutes. If she’s there, we’ll talk. If she’s not, tell her she can go f**k herself. I won’t call back again.”

Abra hung up, then lowered her head, cupped her burning face in her palms, and took long deep breaths.

2

Rose was drinking coffee behind the wheel of her EarthCruiser, her feet on the secret compartment with the stored canisters of steam inside, when the knock came at her door. A knock this early could only mean more trouble.

“Yes,” she said. “Come in.”

It was Long Paul, wearing a robe over childish pajamas with racing cars on them. “The pay phone in the Lodge started ringing. At first I let it go, thought it was a wrong number, and besides, I was making coffee in the kitchen. But it kept on, so I answered. It was that girl. She wanted to talk to you. She said she’d call back in five minutes.”