(I’m here Dan)
Calm, by the sound. Calm was just the way he wanted it.
(are they hearing you)
That brought a vague ticklish sensation: her smile. The angry one.
(if they’re not they’re deaf)
That was good enough.
(you have to come to me now but remember if I tell you to go YOU GO)
She didn’t answer, and before he could tell her again, she was there.
6
The Stones and John Dalton watched helplessly as Abra slid sideways until she was lying with her head on the boards of the stoop and her legs splayed out on the steps below her. Hoppy spilled from one relaxing hand. She didn’t look as if she were sleeping, nor even in a faint. That was the ugly sprawl of deep unconsciousness or death. Lucy lunged forward. Dave and John held her back.
She fought them. “Let me go! I have to help her!”
“You can’t,” John said. “Only Dan can help her now. They have to help each other.”
She stared at him with wild eyes. “Is she even breathing? Can you tell?”
“She’s breathing,” Dave said, but he sounded unsure even to himself.
7
When Abra joined him, the pain eased for the first time since Boston. That didn’t comfort Dan much, because now Abra was suffering, too. He could see it in her face, but he could also see the wonder in her eyes as she looked around at the room in which she found herself. There were bunk beds, knotty-pine walls, and a rug embroidered with western sage and cactus. Both the rug and the lower bunk were littered with cheap toys. On a small desk in the corner was a scattering of books and a jigsaw puzzle with large pieces. In the room’s far corner, a radiator clanked and hissed.
Abra walked to the desk and picked up one of the books. On the cover, a small child on a trike was being chased by a little dog. The title was Reading Fun with Dick and Jane.
Dan joined her, wearing a bemused smile. “The little girl on the cover is Sally. Dick and Jane are her brother and sister. And the dog’s name is Jip. For a little while they were my best friends. My only friends, I guess. Except for Tony, of course.”
She put the book down and turned to him. “What is this place, Dan?”
“A memory. There used to be a hotel here, and this was my room. Now it’s a place where we can be together. You know the wheel that turns when you go into someone else?”
“Uh-huh . . .”
“This is the middle. The hub.”
“I wish we could stay here. It feels . . . safe. Except for those.” Abra pointed to the French doors with their long panes of glass. “They don’t feel the same as the rest.” She looked at him almost accusingly. “They weren’t here, were they? When you were a kid.”
“No. There weren’t any windows in my room, and the only door was the one that went into the rest of the caretaker’s apartment. I changed it. I had to. Do you know why?”
She studied him, her eyes grave. “Because that was then and this is now. Because the past is gone, even though it defines the present.”
He smiled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“You didn’t have to say it. You thought it.”
He drew her toward those French doors that had never existed. Through the glass they could see the lawn, the tennis courts, the Overlook Lodge, and Roof O’ the World.
“I see her,” Abra breathed. “She’s up there, and she’s not looking this way, is she?”
“She better not be,” Dan said. “How bad is the pain, honey?”
“Bad,” she said. “But I don’t care. Because—”
She didn’t have to finish. He knew, and she smiled. This togetherness was what they had, and in spite of the pain that came with it—pain of all kinds—it was good. It was very good.
“Dan?”
“Yes, honey.”
“There are ghostie people out there. I can’t see them, but I feel them. Do you?”
“Yes.” He had for years. Because the past defines the present. He put his arm around her shoulders, and her arm crept around his waist.
“What do we do now?”
“Wait for Billy. Hope he’s on time. And then all of this is going to happen very fast.”
“Uncle Dan?”
“What, Abra.”
“What’s inside you? That isn’t a ghost. It’s like—” He felt her shiver. “It’s like a monster.”
He said nothing.
She straightened and stepped away from him. “Look! Over there!”
An old Ford pickup was rolling into the visitor’s parking lot.
8
Rose stood with her hands on the lookout platform’s waist-high railing, peering at the truck pulling into the parking lot. The steam had sharpened her vision, but she still wished she had brought a pair of binoculars. Surely there were some in the supply room, for guests who wanted to go bird-watching, so why hadn’t she?