by Stephen King
"Yes," Abra said. A little more awake now. "Can I have a Coke and a water?"
His grin this time was high, wide, and handsome. In spite of her situation, in spite of the headache, even in spite of the slap he'd administered, Abra found it charming. She guessed lots of people found it charming, especially women. "A little greedy, but that's not always a bad thing. Let's see how you mind those Ps and Qs."
She unbuckled her belt--it took three tries, but she finally managed--and grabbed the doorhandle. Before she got out, she said: "Stop calling me Goldilocks. You know my name, and I know yours."
She slammed the door and headed for the gas island (weaving a little) before he could reply. She had spunk as well as steam. He could almost admire her. But, given what had happened to Snake, Nut, and Jimmy, almost was as far as it went.
13
At first Abra couldn't read the instructions because the words kept doubling and sliding around. She squinted and they came into focus. The Crow was watching her. She could feel his eyes like tiny warm weights on the back of her neck.
(Dan?)
Nothing, and she wasn't surprised. How could she hope to reach Dan when she could barely figure out how to run this stupid pump? She had never felt less shiny in her life.
Eventually she managed to start the gas, although the first time she tried his credit card, she put it in upside-down and had to begin all over again. The pumping seemed to go on forever, but there was a rubber sleeve over the nozzle to keep the stench of the fumes down, and the night air was clearing her head a little. There were billions of stars. Usually they awed her with their beauty and profusion, but tonight looking at them only made her feel scared. They were far away. They didn't see Abra Stone.
When the tank was full, she squinted at the new message in the pump's window and turned to Crow. "Do you want a receipt?"
"I think we can crutch along without that, don't you?" Again came his dazzling grin, the kind that made you happy if you were the one who caused it to break out. Abra bet he had lots of girlfriends.
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.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SWAPSIES
1
You will remember what was forgotten.
In the aftermath of the Pyrrhic victory at Cloud Gap, the phrase haunted Dan, like a snatch of irritating and nonsensical music that gets in your head and won't let go, the kind you find yourself humming even as you stumble to the bathroom in the middle of the night. This one was plenty irritating, but not quite nonsensical. For some reason he associated it with Tony.
You will remember what was forgotten.
There was no question of taking the True Knot's Winnebago back to their cars, which were parked at Teenytown Station on the Frazier town common. Even if they hadn't been afraid of being observed getting out of it or leaving forensic evidence inside it, they would have refused without needing to take a vote on the matter. It smelled of more than sickness and death; it smelled of evil. D
an had another reason. He didn't know if members of the True Knot came back as ghostie people or not, but he didn't want to find out.
So they threw the abandoned clothes and the drug paraphernalia into the Saco, where the stuff that didn't sink would float downstream to Maine, and went back as they had come, in The Helen Rivington.
David Stone dropped into the conductor's seat, saw that Dan was still holding Abra's stuffed rabbit, and held out his hand for it. Dan passed it over willingly enough, taking note of what Abra's father held in his other hand: his BlackBerry.
"What are you going to do with that?"
Dave looked at the woods flowing by on both sides of the narrow-gauge tracks, then back at Dan. "As soon as we get to where there's cell coverage, I'm going to call the Deanes' house. If there's no answer, I'm going to call the police. If there is an answer, and either Emma or her mother tells me that Abra's gone, I'm going to call the police. Assuming they haven't already." His gaze was cool and measuring and far from friendly, but at least he was keeping his fear for his daughter--his terror, more likely--at bay, and Dan respected him for that. Also, it would make him easier to reason with.
"I hold you responsible for this, Mr. Torrance. It was your plan. Your crazy plan."
No use pointing out that they had all signed on to the crazy plan. Or that he and John were almost as sick about Abra's continued silence as her father. Basically, the man was right.
You will remember what was forgotten.
Was that another Overlook memory? Dan thought it was. But why now? Why here?
"Dave, she's almost certainly been taken." That was John Dalton. He had moved up to the car just behind them. The last of the lowering sun came through the trees and flickered on his face. "If that's the case and you tell the police, what do you think will happen to Abra?"
God bless you, Dan thought. If I'd been the one to say it, I doubt if he would have listened. Because, at bottom, I'm the stranger who was conspiring with his daughter. He'll never be completely convinced that I'm not the one who got her into this mess.
"What else can we do?" Dave asked, and then his fragile calm broke. He began to weep, and held Abra's stuffed rabbit to his face. "What am I going to tell my wife? That I was shooting people in Cloud Gap while some bogeyman was stealing our daughter?"
"First things first," Dan said. He didn't think AA slogans like Let go and let God or Take it easy would fly with Abra's dad right now. "You should call the Deanes when you get cell coverage. I think you'll reach them, and they'll be fine."
"You think this why?"
"In my last communication with Abra, I told her to have her friend's mom call the police."
Dave blinked. "You really did? Or are you just saying that now to cover your ass?"
"I really did. Abra started to answer. She said 'I'm not,' and then I lost her. I think she was going to tell me she wasn't at the Deanes' anymore."
"Is she alive?" Dave grasped Dan's elbow with a hand that was dead cold. "Is my daughter still alive?"
"I haven't heard from her, but I'm sure she is."
"Of course you'd say that," Dave whispered. "CYA, right?"
Dan bit back a retort. If they started squabbling, any thin chance of getting Abra back would become no chance.
"It makes sense," John said. Although he was still pale and his hands weren't quite steady, he was using his calm bedside manner voice. "Dead, she's no good to the one who's left. The one who grabbed her. Alive, she's a hostage. Also, they want her for . . . well . . ."
"They want her for her essence," Dan said. "The steam."
"Another thing," John said. "What are you going to tell the cops about the men we killed? That they started cycling in and out of invisibility until they disappeared completely? And then we got rid of their . . . their leavings?"
"I can't believe I let you get me into this." Dave was twisting the rabbit from side to side. Soon the old toy would split open and spill its stuffing. Dan wasn't sure he could bear to see that.
John said, "Listen, Dave. For your daughter's sake, you have to clear your mind. She's been in this ever since she saw that boy's picture in the Shopper and tried to find out about him. As soon as the one Abra calls the hat woman was aware of her, she almost had to come after her. I don't know about steam, and I know very little about what Dan calls the shining, but I know people like the ones we're dealing with don't leave witnesses. And when it comes to the Iowa boy, that's what your daughter was."
"Call the Deanes but keep it light," Dan said.
"Light? Light?" He looked like a man trying out a word in Swedish.
"Say you want to ask Abra if there's anything you should pick up at the store--bread or milk or something like that. If they say she went home, just say fine, you'll reach her there."
"Then what?"
Dan didn't know. All he knew was that he needed to think. He needed to think about what was forgotten.
John did know. "Then you try to reach Billy Freeman."
It was dusk, with the Riv's headlight cutting a visible cone up the aisle of the tracks, before Dave got bars on his phone. He called the Deanes', and although he was clutching the now-deformed Hoppy in a mighty grip and large beads of sweat were trickling down his face, Dan thought he did a pretty good job. Could Abby come to the phone for a minute and tell him if they needed anything at the Stop & Shop? Oh? She did? Then he'd try her at home. He listened a moment longer, said he'd be sure to do that, and ended the call. He looked at Dan, his eyes white-rimmed holes in his face.
"Mrs. Deane wanted me to find out how Abra's feeling. Apparently she went home complaining of menstrual cramps." He hung his head. "I didn't even know she'd started having periods. Lucy never said."
"There are things dads don't need to know," John said. "Now try Billy."
"I don't have his number." He gave a single chop of a laugh--HA! "We're one fucked-up posse."
Dan recited it from memory. Up ahead the trees were thinning, and he could see the glow of the streetlights along Frazier's main drag.
Dave punched in the number and listened. Listened some more, then killed the call. "Voice mail."
The three men were silent as the Riv broke out of the trees and rolled the last two miles toward Teenytown. Dan tried again to reach Abra, throwing his mental voice with all the energy he could muster, and got nothing back. The one she called the Crow had probably knocked her out somehow. The tattoo woman had been carrying a needle. Probably the Crow had another one.
You will remember what was forgotten.
The origin of that thought arose from the very back of his mind, where he kept the lockboxes containing all the terrible memories of the Overlook Hotel and the ghosts who had infested it.
"It was the boiler."
In the conductor's seat, Dave glanced at him. "Huh?"
"Nothing."
The Overlook's heating system had been ancient. The steam pressure had to be dumped at regular intervals or it crept up and up to the point where the boiler could explode and send the whole hotel sky-high. In his steepening descent into dementia, Jack Torrance had forgotten this, but his young son had been warned. By Tony.
Was this another warning, or just a maddening mnemonic brought on by stress and guilt? Because he did feel guilty. John was right, Abra was going to be a True target no matter what, but feelings were invulnerable to rational thought. It had been his plan, the plan had gone wrong, and he was on the hook.
You will remember what was forgotten.
Was it the voice of his old friend, trying to tell him something about their current situation, or just the gramophone?
2
Dave and John went back to the Stone house together. Dan followed in his own car, delighted to be alone with his thoughts. Not that it seemed to help. He was almost positive there was something there, something real, but it wouldn't come. He even tried to summon Tony, a thing he hadn't attempted since his teenage years, and had no luck.
Billy's truck was no longer parked on Richland
Court. To Dan, that made sense. The True Knot raiding party had come in the Winnebago. If they dropped the Crow off in Anniston, he would have been on foot and in need of a vehicle.
The garage was open. Dave got out of John's car before it pulled completely to a stop and ran inside, calling Abra's name. Then, spotlighted in the headlights of John's Suburban like an actor on a stage, he lifted something up and uttered a sound somewhere between a groan and a scream. As Dan pulled up next to the Suburban, he saw what it was: Abra's backpack.
The urge to drink came on Dan then, even stronger than the night he'd called John from the parking lot of the cowboy-boogie bar, stronger than in all the years since he'd picked up a white chip at his first meeting. The urge to simply reverse down the driveway, ignoring their shouts, and drive back to Frazier. There was a bar there called the Bull Moose. He'd been past it many times, always with the recovered drunk's reflexive speculations--what was it like inside? What was on draft? What kind of music was on the juke? What whiskey was on the shelf and what kind in the well? Were there any good-looking ladies? And what would that first drink taste like? Would it taste like home? Like finally coming home? He could answer at least some of those questions before Dave Stone called the cops and the cops took him in for questioning in the matter of a certain little girl's disappearance.
A time will come, Casey had told him in those early white-knuckle days, when your mental defenses will fail and the only thing left standing between you and a drink will be your Higher Power.
Dan had no problem with the Higher Power thing, because he had a bit of inside information. God remained an unproven hypothesis, but he knew there really was another plane of existence. Like Abra, Dan had seen the ghostie people. So sure, God was possible. Given his glimpses of the world beyond the world, Dan thought it even likely . . . although what kind of God only sat by while shit like this played out?
As if you're the first one to ask that question, he thought.
Casey Kingsley had told him to get down on his knees twice a day, asking for help in the morning and saying thanks at night. It's the first three steps: I can't, God can, I think I'll let Him. Don't think too much about it.
