by Stephen King
['These people may have longer to wait than they think.']
Lois nodded, then pointed down at the greeny-gold footprints - the white-man tracks. They bypassed 313, Ralph saw, but turned in at the next doorway - 315, Jimmy V's room.
He and Lois walked up together and stood looking in. Jimmy V had three visitors, and the one sitting beside the bed thought he was all alone. That one was Faye Chapin, idly looking through the double stack of get-well cards on Jimmy's bedside table. The other two were the little bald doctors Ralph had seen for the first time on May Locher's stoop. They stood at the foot of Jimmy V's bed, solemn in their clean white tunics, and now that he stood close to them, Ralph could see that there were worlds of character in those unlined, almost identical faces; it just wasn't the sort of thing one could see through a pair of binoculars - or maybe not until you slid up the ladder of perception a little way. Most of it was in the eyes, which were dark, pupil-less, and flecked with deep golden glints. Those eyes shone with intelligence and lively awareness. Their auras gleamed and flashed around them like the robes of emperors . . .
. . . or perhaps of Centurions on a visit of state.
They looked over at Ralph and Lois, who stood holding hands in the doorway like children who have lost their way in a fairy-tale wood, and smiled at them.
[Hello, woman.]
That was Doc #1. He was holding the scissors in his right hand. The blades were very long, and the points looked very sharp. Doc #2 took a step toward them and made a funny little half-bow.
[Hello, man. We've been waiting for you.]
3
Ralph felt Lois's hand tighten on his own, then loosen as she decided they were in no immediate danger. She took a small step forward, looking from Doc #1 to Doc #2 and then back to #1 again.
['Who are you?']
Doc #1 crossed his arms over his small chest. The long blades of his scissors lay the entire length of his white-clad left forearm.
[We don't have names, not the way Short-Timers do - but you may call us after the fates in the story this man has already told you. That these names originally belonged to women means little to us, since we are creatures with no sexual dimension. I will be Clotho, although I spin no thread, and my colleague and old friend will be Lachesis, although he shakes no rods and has never thrown the coins. Come in, both of you - please!]
They came in and stood warily between the visitor's chair and the bed. Ralph didn't think the docs meant them any harm - for now, at least - but he still didn't want to get too close. Their auras, so bright and fabulous compared to those of ordinary people, intimidated him, and he could see from Lois's wide eyes and half-open mouth that she felt the same. She sensed him looking at her, turned toward him, and tried to smile. My Lois, Ralph thought. He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her briefly.
Lachesis: [We've given you our names - names you may use, at any rate; won't you give us yours?]
Lois: ['You mean you don't already know? Pardon me, but I find that hard to believe.']
Lachesis: [We could know, but choose not to. We like to observe the rules of common Short-Time politeness wherever we can. We find them lovely, for they are passed on by your kind from large hand to small and create the illusion of long lives.]
['I don't understand.']
Ralph didn't, either, and wasn't sure he wanted to. He found something faintly patronizing in the tone of the one who called himself Lachesis, something that reminded him of McGovern when he was in a mood to lecture or pontificate.
Lachesis: [It doesn't matter. We felt sure you would come. We know that you were watching us on Monday morning, man, at the home of ]
At this point there was a queer overlapping in Lachesis's speech. He seemed to say two things at exactly the same time, the terms rolling together like a snake with its own tail in its mouth: [May Locher.] [the finished woman.]
Lois took a hesitant step forward.
['My name is Lois Chasse. My friend is Ralph Roberts. And now that we've all been properly introduced, maybe you two fellows will tell us what's going on around here.']
Lachesis: [There is another to be named.]
Clotho: [Ralph Roberts has already named him.]
Lois looked at Ralph, who was nodding his head.
['They're talking about Doc #3. Right, guys?']
Clotho and Lachesis nodded. They were wearing identical approving smiles. Ralph supposed he should have been flattered, but he wasn't. Instead he was afraid, and very angry - they had been neatly manipulated, every step down the line. This was no chance meeting; it had been a setup from the word go. Clotho and Lachesis, just a couple of little bald doctors with time on their hands, standing around in Jimmy V's room waiting for the Short-Timers to arrive, ho-hum.
Ralph glanced over at Faye and saw he had taken a book called 50 Classic Chess Problems out of his back pocket. He was reading and picking his nose in ruminative fashion as he did so. After a few preliminary explorations, Faye dove deep and hooked a big one. He examined it, then parked it on the underside of the bedside table. Ralph looked away, embarrassed, and a saying of his grandmother's popped into his mind: Peek not through a keyhole, lest ye be vexed. He had lived to be seventy without fully understanding that; at last he thought he did. Meanwhile, another question had occurred to him.
['Why doesn't Faye see us? Why didn't Bill and his friend see us, for that matter? And how could that man walk right through me? Or did I just imagine that?']
Clotho smiled.
[You didn't imagine it. Try to think of life as a kind of building, Ralph - what you would call a skyscraper.]
Except that wasn't quite what Clotho was thinking of, Ralph discovered. For one flickering moment he seemed to catch an image from the mind of the other, one he found both exciting and disturbing: an enormous tower constructed of dark and sooty stone, standing in a field of red roses. Slit windows twisted up its sides in a brooding spiral.
Then it was gone.
[You and Lois and all the other Short-Time creatures live on the first two floors of this structure. Of course there are elevators--]
No, Ralph thought. Not in the tower I saw in your mind, my little friend. In that building - if such a building actually exists - there are no elevators, only a narrow staircase festooned with cobwebs and doorways leading to God knows what.
Lachesis was looking at him with a strange, almost suspicious curiosity, and Ralph decided he didn't much care for that look. He turned back to Clotho and motioned for him to go on.
Clotho: [As I was saying, there are elevators, but Short-Timers are not allowed to use them under ordinary circumstances. You are not [ready] [prepared] [- - - - - - - - -.]
The last explanation was clearly the best, but it danced away from Ralph just before he could grasp it. He looked at Lois, who shook her head, and then back at Clotho and Lachesis again. He was beginning to feel angrier than ever. All the long, endless nights sitting in the wing-chair and waiting for dawn; all the days he'd spent feeling like a ghost inside his own skin; the inability to remember a sentence unless he read it three times; the phone numbers, once carried in his head, which he now had to look up--
A memory came then, one which simultaneously summed up and justified the anger he felt as he looked at these bald creatures with their darkly golden eyes and almost blinding auras. He saw himself peering into the cupboard over his kitchen counter, looking for the powdered soup his tired, overstrained mind insisted must be in there someplace. He saw himself poking, pausing, then poking some more. He saw the expression on his face - a look of distant perplexity that could easily have been mistaken for mild mental retardation but which was really simple exhaustion. Then he saw himself drop his hands and simply stand there, as if he expected the packet to jump out on its own.
Not until now, at this moment and at this memory, did he realize how totally horrible the last few months had been. Looking back at them was like looking into a wasteland painted in desolate maroons and grays.
['So you
took us onto the elevator . . . or maybe that wasn't good enough for the likes of us and you just trotted us up the fire stairs. Got us acclimated a little at a time so we wouldn't strip our gears completely, I imagine. And it was easy. All you had to do was rob us of our sleep until we were half-crazy. Lois's son and daughter-in-law want to put her in a theme-park for geriatrics, did you know that? And my friend Bill McGovern thinks I'm ready for Juniper Hill. Meanwhile, you little angels--']
Clotho offered just a trace of his former wide smile.
[We're no angels, Ralph.]
['Ralph, please don't shout at them.']
Yes, he had been shouting, and at least some of it seemed to have gotten through to Faye; he had closed his chess book, stopped picking his nose, and was now sitting bolt upright in his chair, looking uneasily about the room.
Ralph looked from Clotho (who took a step backward, losing what was left of his smile) to Lachesis.
['Your friend says you're not angels. So where are they? Playing poker six or eight floors farther up? And I suppose God's in the penthouse and the devil's stoking coal in the boiler room.']
No reply. Clotho and Lachesis glanced doubtfully at each other. Lois plucked at Ralph's sleeve, but he ignored her.
['So what are we supposed to do, guys? Track down your little bald version of Hannibal Lecter and take his scalpel away? Well, fuck you.']
Ralph would have turned on his heel and walked out then (he had seen a lot of movies, and he knew a good exit-line when he heard one), but Lois burst into shocked, frightened tears, and that held him where he was. The look of bewildered reproach in her eyes made him regret his outburst at least a little. He slipped his arm back around Lois's shoulders, and looked at the two bald men defiantly.
They exchanged another glance and something - some communication just above his and Lois's ability to hear or understand - passed between them. When Lachesis turned to them again, he was smiling . . . but his eyes were grave.
[I hear your anger, Ralph, but it is not justified. You do not believe that now, but perhaps you may. For the time being, we must set your questions and our answers - such answers as we may give - aside.]
['Why?']
[Because the time of severing has come for this man. Watch closely, that you may learn and know.]
Clotho stepped to the left side of the bed. Lachesis approached from the right, walking through Faye Chapin as he went. Faye bent over, afflicted with a sudden coughing-fit, and then opened his book of chess problems again as it eased.
['Ralph, I can't watch this! I can't watch them do it!']
But Ralph thought she would. He thought they both would. He held her tighter as Clotho and Lachesis bent over Jimmy V. Their faces were lit with love and caring and gentleness; they made Ralph think of the faces he had once seen in a Rembrandt painting - The Night Watch, he thought it had been called. Their auras mingled and overlapped above Jimmy's chest, and suddenly the man in the bed opened his eyes. He looked through the two little bald doctors at the ceiling for a moment, his expression vague and puzzled, and then his gaze shifted toward the door and he smiled.
'Hey! Look who's here!' Jimmy V exclaimed. His voice was rusty and choked, but Ralph could still hear his South Boston wiseguy accent, where here came out heah. Faye jumped. The book of chess problems tumbled out of his lap and fell on the floor. He leaned over and took Jimmy's hand, but Jimmy ignored him and kept looking across the room at Ralph and Lois. 'It's Ralph Roberts! And Paul Chasse's wife widdim! Say, Ralphie, do you remember the day we tried to get into that tent revival so we could hear em sing "Amazing Grace"?'
['I remember, Jimmy.']
Jimmy appeared to smile, and then his eyes slipped closed again. Lachesis placed his hands against the dying man's cheeks and moved his head a bit, like a barber getting ready to shave a customer. At the same moment Clotho leaned even closer, opened his scissors, and slid them forward so that the long blades held Jimmy V's black balloon-string. As Clotho closed the scissors, Lachesis leaned forward and kissed Jimmy's forehead.
[Go in peace, friend.]
There was a small, unimportant snick! sound. The segment of the balloon-string above the scissors drifted up toward the ceiling and disappeared. The deathbag in which Jimmy V lay turned a momentary bright white, then winked out of existence just as Rosalie's had done earlier that evening. Jimmy opened his eyes again and looked at Faye. He started to smile, Ralph thought, and then his gaze turned fixed and distant. The dimples which had begun to form at the corners of his mouth smoothed out.
'Jimmy?' Faye shook Jimmy V's shoulder, running his hand through Lachesis's side to do it. 'You all right, Jimmy? . . . Oh shit.'
Faye got up and left the room, not quite running.
Clotho: [Do you see and understand that what we do we do with love and respect? That we are, in fact, the physicians of last resort? It is vital to our dealings with you, Ralph and Lois, that you understand that.]
['Yes.']
['Yes.']
Ralph hadn't intended to agree with anything either one of them said, but that phrase - the physicians of last resort - sliced cleanly and effortlessly through his anger. It felt true. They had freed Jimmy V from a world where there was nothing left for him but pain. Yes, they had undoubtedly stood in Room 317 with Ralph on a sleety afternoon some seven months ago and given Carolyn the same release. And yes, they went about their work with love and respect - any doubts he might have had on that score had been laid to rest when Lachesis kissed Jimmy V's forehead. But did love and respect give them the right to put him - and Lois, too - through hell and then send them after a supernatural being that had gone off the rails? Did it give them the right to even dream that two ordinary people, neither of them young anymore, could deal with such a creature?
Lachesis: [Let us move on from this place. It's going to fill up with people, and we need to talk.]
['Do we have any choice?']
Their answers
[Yes, of course!] [There is always a choice!]
came back quickly, colored with overtones of surprise.
Clotho and Lachesis walked toward the door; Ralph and Lois shrank back to let them pass. The auras of the little bald doctors swept over them for a moment, however, and Ralph registered them in taste and texture: the taste of sweet apples, the texture of dry, light bark.
As they left, side by side, speaking gravely and respectfully to each other, Faye came back in, now accompanied by a pair of nurses. These newcomers passed through Lachesis and Clotho, then through Ralph and Lois, without slowing or seeming to notice anything untoward.
In the hall outside, life went on at its usual muted pace. No buzzers went off, no lights flashed, no orderlies came sprinting down the hallway, pushing the crash-wagon ahead of them. No one cried 'Stat!' over the loudspeaker. Death was too common a visitor here for such things. Ralph guessed that it was not welcome, even under such circumstances as these, but it was familiar and accepted. He also guessed that Jimmy V would have been happy enough with his exit from the third floor of Derry Home - he had done it with no fuss or bother, and he hadn't had to show anyone either his driver's license or his Blue Cross Major Medical card. He had died with the dignity that simple, expected things often hold. One or two moments of consciousness, accompanied by a slightly wider perception of what was going on around him, and then poof. Pack up all my care and woe, blackbird, bye-bye.
4
They joined the bald docs in the hallway outside Bob Polhurst's room. Through the open door, they could see the deathwatch continuing around the old teacher's bed.
Lois: ['The man closest to the bed is Bill McGovern, a friend of ours. There's something wrong with him. Something awful. If we do what you want, could you--?']
But Lachesis and Clotho were shaking their heads in unison.
Clotho: [Nothing can be changed.]
Yes, Ralph thought. Dorrance knew: done-bun-can't-be-undone.
Lois: ['When will it happen?']
Clotho: [Your friend belongs
to the other, to the third. To the one Ralph has already named Atropos. But Atropos could tell you the exact hour of the man's death no more than we could. He cannot even tell whom he will take next. Atropos is an agent of the Random.]
This phrase sent a chill through Ralph's heart.
Lachesis: [But this is no place for us to talk. Come.]
Lachesis took one of Clotho's hands, then held out his free hand to Ralph. At the same time, Clotho reached toward Lois. She hesitated, then looked at Ralph.
Ralph, in his turn, looked grimly at Lachesis.
['You better not hurt her.']
[Neither of you will be hurt, Ralph. Take my hand.]
I'm a stranger in paradise, Ralph's mind finished. Then he sighed through his teeth, nodded to Lois, and gripped Lachesis's outstretched hand. That shock of recognition, as deep and pleasant as an unexpected encounter with an old and valued friend, washed over him again. Apples and bark; memories of orchards he had walked through as a kid. He was somehow aware, without actually seeing it, that his aura had changed color and become - at least for a little while - the gold-flecked green of Clotho and Lachesis.
Lois took Clotho's hand, inhaled a sharp little gasp over her teeth, then smiled hesitantly.
Clotho: [Complete the circle, Ralph and Lois. Don't be afraid. All is well.]
Boy, do I ever disagree with that, Ralph thought, but when Lois reached for his hand, he grasped her fingers. The taste of apples and the texture of dry bark was joined by some dark and unknowable spice. Ralph inhaled its aroma deeply and then smiled at Lois. She smiled back - no hesitation in that smile - and Ralph felt a dim, far-off confusion. How could you be afraid? How could you even hesitate when what they brought felt this good and seemed this right?
I sympathize, Ralph, but hesitate anyway, a voice counseled.
['Ralph? Ralph!']
She sounded alarmed and giddy at the same time. Ralph looked around just in time to see the top of the door of Room 315 descending past her shoulders . . . except it wasn't the door going down; it was Lois going up. All of them going up, still holding hands in a circle.
Ralph had just gotten this through his head when momentary darkness, sharp as a knife-edge, crossed his vision like a shadow thrown by the slat of a venetian blind. He had a brief glimpse of narrow pipes that were probably part of the hospital's sprinkler system, surrounded by tufted pink pads of insulation. Then he was looking down a long tiled corridor. A gurney cart was rolling straight at his head . . . which, he suddenly realized, had surfaced like a periscope in one of the fourth-floor corridors.
