At last Danny was quiet, only faintly trembling in her arms. Yet it was Jack he spoke to first, Jack who was now sitting beside them on the bed, and she felt the old faint pang
(It's him first and it's always been him first)
of jealousy. Jack had shouted at him, she had comforted him, yet it was to his father that Danny said,
"I'm sorry if I was bad."
"Nothing to be sorry for, doc." Jack ruffled his hair. "What the hell happened in there?"
Danny shook his head slowly, dazedly. "I... I don't know. Why did you tell me to stop stuttering, Daddy? I don't stutter."
"Of course not," Jack said heartily, but Wendy felt a cold finger touch her heart. Jack suddenly looked scared, as if he'd seen something that might just have been a ghost.
"Something about the timer..." Danny muttered.
"What?" Jack was leaning forward, and Danny flinched in her arms.
"Jack, you're scaring him!" she said, and her voice was high, accusatory. It suddenly came to her that they were all scared. But of what?
"I don't know, I don't know," Danny was saying to his father. "What... what did I say, Daddy?"
"Nothing," Jack muttered. He took his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his mouth with it. Wendy had a moment of that sickening time-is-runningbackward feeling again. It was a gesture she remembered well from his drinking days.
"Why did you lock the door, Danny?" she asked gently. "Why did you do that?"
"Tony," he said. "Tony told me to."
They exchanged a glance over the top of his head.
"Did Tony say why, son?" Jack asked quietly.
"I was brushing my teeth and I was thinking about my reading," Danny said. "Thinking real bard. And... and I saw Tony way down in the mirror. He said he had to show me again."
"You mean he was behind you?" Wendy asked.
"No, he was in the mirror." Danny was very emphatic on this point. "Way down deep. And then I went through the mirror. The next thing I remember Daddy was shaking me and I thought I was being bad again."
Jack winced as if struck.
"No, doc," he said quietly.
"Tony told you to lock the door?" Wendy asked, brushing his hair.
"Yes."
"And what did he want to show you?"
Danny tensed in her arms; it was as if the muscles in his body had turned into something like piano wire. "I don't remember," he said, distraught. "I don't remember. Don't ask me. I... I don't remember nothing!"
"Shh," Wendy said, alarmed. She began to rock him again. "It's all right if you don't remember, bon. Sure it is."
At last Danny began to relax again.
"Do you want me to stay a little while? Read you a story?"
"No. Just the night light." He looked shyly at his father. "Would you stay, Daddy? For a minute?"
"Sure, doc."
Wendy sighed. "I'll be in the living room, Jack."
"Okay."
She got up and watched as Danny slid under the covers. He seemed very small.
"Are you sure you're okay, Danny?"
"I'm okay. Just plug in Snoopy, Mom."
"Sure."
She plugged in the night light, which showed Snoopy lying fast asleep on top of his doghouse. He had never wanted a night light until they moved into the Overlook, and then he had specifically requested one. She turned off the lamp and the overhead and looked back at them, the small white circle of Danny's face, and Jack's above it. She hesitated a moment
(and then I went through the mirror)
and then left them quietly.
"You sleepy?" Jack asked, brushing Danny's hair off his forehead.
"Yeah."
"Want a drink of water?"
"No..."
There was silence for five minutes. Danny was still beneath his hand. Thinking the boy had dropped off, he was about to get up and leave quietly when Danny said from the brink of sleep:
"Roque.,'
Jack turned back, all zero at the bone.
"Danny-?"
"You'd never hurt Mommy, would you, Daddy?"
"No."
"Or me?"
"No."
Silence again, spinning out.
"Daddy?"
"What?"
"Tony came and told me about roque."
"Did he, doc? What did he say?"
"I don't remember much. Except he said it was in innings. Like baseball. Isn't that funny?"
"Yes." Jack's heart was thudding dully in his chest. How could the boy possibly know a thing like that? Roque was played by innings, not like baseball but like cricket.
"Daddy...?" He was almost asleep now.
"What?"
"What's redrum?"
"Red drum? Sounds like something an Indian might take on the warpath."
Silence.
"Hey, doc?"
But Danny was alseep, breathing in long, slow strokes. Jack sat looking down at him for a moment, and a rush of love pushed through him like tidal water. Why had he yelled at the boy like that? It was perfectly normal for him to stutter a little. He had been coming out of a daze or some weird kind of trance, and stuttering was perfectly normal under those circumstances. Perfectly. And he hadn't said timer at all. It had been something else, nonsense, gibberish.
How had he known roque was played in innings? Had someone told him? Ullman? Hallorann?
He looked down at his hands. They were made into tight, clenched fists of tension
(god how i need a drink)
and the nails were digging into his palms like tiny brands. Slowly he forced them to open.