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CHAPTER TWENTY
HUB OF THE WHEEL, ROOF O’ THE WORLD
1
Dan Torrance opened his eyes. Sunlight shot through them and into his aching head, threatening to
set his brains on fire. It was the hangover to end all hangovers. Loud snoring from beside him: a nasty,
annoying sound that could only be some drunk chick sleeping it off at the wrong end of the rainbow.
Dan turned his head that way and saw the woman sprawled on her back beside him. Vaguely familiar.
Dark hair spread around her in a halo. Wearing an oversize Atlanta Braves t-shirt.
This isn’t real. I’m not here. I’m in Colorado, I’m at Roof O’ the World, and I have to end it.
The woman rolled over, opened her eyes, and stared at him. “God, my head,” she said. “Get me
some of that coke, daddy. It’s in the living room.”
He stared at her in amazement and growing fury. The fury seemed to come from nowhere, but
hadn’t it always been that way? It was its own thing, a riddle wrapped in an enigma. “Coke? Who
bought coke?”
She grinned, revealing a mouth that contained only a single discolored tooth. Then he knew who
she was. “You did, daddy. Now go get it. Once my head’s clear, I’ll throw you a nice fuck.”
Somehow he was back in this sleazy Wilmington apartment, naked, next to Rose the Hat.
“What have you done? How did I get here?”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t you like this place? You should; I furnished it from
your own head. Now do what I told you, asshole. Get the fucking blow.”
“Where’s Abra? What did you do with Abra?”
“Killed her,” Rose said indifferently. “She was so worried about you she dropped her guard and I
tore her open from throat to belly. I wasn’t able to suck up as much of her steam as I wanted, but I got
quite a lo—”
The world went red. Dan clamped his hands around her throat and began to choke. One thought
beat through his mind: worthless bitch, now you’ll take your medicine, worthless bitch, now you’ll take your
medicine, worthless bitch, now you’ll take it all.
2
The steamhead man was powerful but had nothing like the girl’s juice. He stood with his legs apart,
his head lowered, his shoulders hunched, and his fisted hands raised—the posture of every man who
had ever lost his mind in a killing rage. Anger made men easy.
It was impossible to follow his thoughts, because they had turned red. That was all right, that was
fine, the girl was right where Rose wanted her. In Abra’s state of shocked dismay, she had followed
him to the hub of the wheel. She wouldn’t be shocked or dismayed for much longer, though; Bitchgirl
had become Choked Girl. Soon she would be Dead Girl, hoisted on her own petard.
(Uncle Dan no no stop it’s not her)