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The other (this was stronger) was knowing he might sense her in his head. If so, he would be
disappointed in her.
It’s probably locked up, anyway, she thought. He can do that. He’s pretty strong.
Not as strong as she was, though . . . or, if you put it in terms of the shining, as bright. She could
open his mental lockboxes and peer at the things inside, but she thought doing so might be dangerous
for both of them. There was no concrete reason for this, it was just a feeling—like the one she’d had
about how it would be a good idea for Mr. Freeman to go with Dan—but she trusted it. Besides,
maybe it was something that could help them. She could hope for that. True hope is swift, and flies on
swallow’s wings—that was another line from Shakespeare.
Don’t you look at that window, either. Don’t you dare.
No. Absolutely not. Never. So she did, and there was Rose, grinning in at her from below her
rakishly tilted hat. All billowing hair and pale porcelain skin and dark mad eyes and rich red lips
masking that one snaggle tooth. That tusk.
You’re going to die screaming, bitchgirl.
Abra closed her eyes and thought hard
(not there not there not there)
and opened them again. The grinning face at the window was gone. But not really. Somewhere high
in the mountains—at the roof of the world—Rose was thinking about her. And waiting.
6
The motel had a breakfast buffet. Because his traveling companion was watching him, Dan made a
point of eating some cereal and yogurt. Billy looked relieved. While he checked them out, Dan
strolled to the lobby men’s room. Once inside, he turned the lock, fell to his knees, and vomited up
everything he’d eaten. The undigested cereal and yogurt floated in a red foam.
“All right?” Billy asked when Dan rejoined him at the desk.
“Fine,” Dan said. “Let’s roll.”
7
According to Billy’s road atlas, it was about twelve hundred miles from Cincinnati to Denver.
Sidewinder lay roughly seventy-five miles further west, along roads full of switchbacks and lined with
steep drops. Dan tried driving for awhile on that Sunday afternoon, but tired quickly and turned the
wheel over to Billy again. He fell asleep, and when he woke up, the sun was going down. They were in
Iowa—home of the late Brad Trevor.
(Abra?)
He had been afraid distance would make mental communication difficult or even impossible, but
she came back promptly, and as strong as ever; if she’d been a radio station, she would have been
broadcasting at 100,000 watts. She was in her room, pecking away on her computer at some
homework assignment or other. He was both amused and saddened to realize she had Hoppy, her
stuffed rabbit, on her lap. The strain of what they were doing had regressed her to a younger Abra, at
least on the emotional side.
With the line between them wide open, she caught this.
(don’t worry about me I’m all right)
(good because you have a call to make)
(yes okay are you all right)