"You could stay at the apartment for a couple of days and rest up," she said. "I'd stay with you." And f**k thy brains out, do it please ya, she thought, and could not help a smile. "I mean, I know you won't, but you need to know the offer's open."
He nodded. "Thankee, but there's a woman who needs me to get back to her as soon as I can." It felt like a lie to him, and a grotesque one at that. Based on everything that had happened, part of him thought that Susannah Dean needed Roland of Gilead back in her life almost as much as nursery bah-bos needed rat poison added to their bedtime bottles.
Irene Tassenbaum accepted it, however. And part of her was actually anxious to get back to her husband. She had called him last night (using a pay phone a mile from the motel, just to be safe), and it seemed that she had finally gotten David Seymour Tassenbaum's attention again. Based on her encounter with Roland, David's attention was definitely second prize, but it was better than nothing, by God. Roland Deschain would vanish from her life soon, leaving her to find her way back to northern New England on her own and explain what had happened as best she could. Part of her mourned the impending loss, but she'd had enough adventure in the last forty hovxrs or so to last her for the rest of her life, hadn't she? And things to think about, that too. For one thing, it seemed that the world was thinner than she had ever imagined. And reality wider.
"All right," she said. "It's Second Avenue and Forty-sixth Street you want to go to first, correct?"
"Yes." Susannah hadn't had a chance to tell them much about her adventures after Mia had hijacked their shared body, but the gunslinger knew there was a tall building-what Eddie,
Jake, and Susannah called a skyscraper-now standing on the site of the former vacant lot, and the Tet Corporation must surely be inside. "Will we need a tack-see?"
"Can you and your furry friend walk seventeen short blocks and two or three long ones? It's your call, but I wouldn't mind stretching my legs."
Roland didn't know how long a long block or how short a short one might be, but he was more than willing to find out now that the deep pain in his right hip had departed. Stephen King had that pain now, along with the one in his smashed ribs and the right side of his split head. Roland did not envy him those pains, but at least they were back with their rightful owner.
"Let's go," he said.
THREE
Fifteen minutes later he stood across from the large dark structure thrusting itself at the summer sky, trying to keep his jaw from coming unhinged and perhaps dropping all the way to his chest. It wasn't the Dark Tower, not his Dark Tower, at least (although it wouldn't have surprised him to know there were people working in yon sky-tower-some of them readers of Roland's adventures-who called 2 Hammarskjold Plaza exactly that), but he had no doubt that it was the Tower's representative in this Keystone World, just as the rose represented a field filled with them; the field he had seen in so many dreams.
He could hear the singing voices from here, even over the jostle and hum of the traffic. The woman had to call his name three times and finally tug on one sleeve to get his attention.
When he turned to her-reluctantly-he saw it wasn't the tower across the street that she was looking at (she had grown up just an hour from Manhattan and tall buildings were an old story to her) but at the pocket park on their side of the street.
Her expression was delighted. "Isn't it a beautiful little place? I must have been by this corner a hundred times and I never noticed it until now. Do you see the fountain? And the turtle sculpture?"
He did. And although Susannah hadn't told them this part of her story, Roland knew she had been here-along with Mia, daughter of none-and sat on the bench closest to the turtle's wet shell. He could almost see her there.
"I'd like to go in," she said timidly. "May we? Is there time?"
"Yes," he said, and followed her through the little iron gate.
FOUR
The pocket park was peaceful, but not entirely quiet.
"Do you hear people singing?" Mrs. Tassenbaum asked in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper. "A chorus from somewhere?"
"Bet your bottom dollar," Roland answered, and was sorry immediately. He'd learned the phrase from Eddie, and saying it hurt. He walked to the turtle and dropped on one knee to examine it more closely. There was a tiny piece gone from the beak, leaving a break like a missing tooth. On the back was a scratch in the shape of a question mark, and fading pink letters.
"What does it say?" she asked. "Something about a turde, but that's all I can make out."
"'see the TURTLE of enormous girth.'" He knew this without reading it.
"What does it mean?"
Roland stood up. "It's too much to go into. Would you like to wait for me while I go in there?" He nodded in the direction of the tower with its black glass windows glittering in the sun.