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〃How would the ranger take us out？〃
He raised his head slightly to answer and then settled his mouth against the
other nipple。
〃If the helicopter was spoken for I guess it would have to be by snowmobile。〃
（！！！）
〃But we have one of those！ Ullman said so！〃
His mouth froze against her breast for a moment； and then he sat up。 Her own
face was slightly flushed； her eyes overbright。 Jack's on the other hand； was
calm； as if he had been reading a rather dull book instead of engaging in
foreplay with his wife。
〃If there's a snowmobile there's no problem；〃 she said excitedly。 〃We can all
three go down together。〃
〃Wendy； I've never driven a snowmobile in my life。〃
〃It can't be that hard to learn。 Back in Vermont you see ten…year…olds driving
them in the fields 。。。 although what their parents can be thinking of I don't
know。 And you had a motorcycle when we met。〃 He had； a Honda 350cc。 He had
traded it in on a Saab shortly after he and Wendy took up residence together。
〃I suppose I could；〃 he said slowly。 〃But I wonder how well it's been
maintained。 Ullman and Watson 。。。 they run this place from May to October。
They have summertime minds。 I know it won't have gas in it。 There may not be
plugs or a battery； either。 I don't want you to get your hopes up over your
head； Wendy。〃
She was totally excited now； leaning over him； her breasts tumbling out of her
shirt。 He had a sudden impulse to seize one and twist it until she shrieked。
Maybe that would teach her to shut up。
〃The gas is no problem；〃 she said。 〃The VW and the hotel truck are both full。
There's gas for the emergency generator downstairs； too。 And there must be a
gascan out in that shed so you could carry extra。〃
〃Yes；〃 he said。 〃There is。〃 Actually there were three of them； two five…gallons
and a two…gallon。
〃I'll bet the sparkplugs and the battery are out there too。 Nobody would store
their snowmobile in one place and the plugs and battery someplace else； would
they？〃
〃Doesn't seem likely； does it？〃 He got up and walked over to where Danny lay
sleeping。 A spill of hair had fallen across his forehead and Jack brushed it
away gently。 Danny didn't stir。
〃And if you can get it running you'll take us out？〃 she asked from behind him。
〃On the first day the radio says good weather？〃
For a moment he didn't answer。 He stood looking down at his son； and his mixed
feelings dissolved in a wave of love。 He was the way she had said； vulnerable；
fragile。 The marks on his neck were very prominent。
〃Yes；〃 he said。 〃I'll get it running and we'll get out as quick as we can。〃
〃Thank God！〃
He turned around。 She had taken off her shirt and lay on the bed； her belly
flat； her breasts aimed perkily at the ceiling。 She was playing with them
lazily； flicking at the nipples。 〃Hurry up； gentlemen；〃 she said softly； 〃time。〃
* * *
After； with no light burning in the room but the night light that Danny had
brought with him from his room； she lay in the crook of his arm； feeling
deliciously at peace。 She found it hard to believe they could be sharing the
Overlook with a murderous stowaway。
〃Jack？〃
〃Hmmmm？〃
〃What got at him？〃
He didn't answer her directly。 〃He does have something。 Some talent the rest
of us are missing。 The most of us； beg pardon。 And maybe the Overlook has
something； too。〃
〃Ghosts？〃
〃I don't know。 Not in the Algernon Blackwood sense； that's for sure。 More like
the residues of the feelings of the people who have stayed here。 Good things and
bad things。 In that sense； I suppose that every big hotel has got its ghosts。
Especially the old ones。〃
〃But a dead woman in the tub 。。。 Jack； he's not losing his mind； is he？〃
He gave her a brief squeeze。 〃We know he goes into 。。。 well； trances； for
want of a better word 。。。 from time to time。 We know that when he's in them he
sometimes 。。。 sees？ 。。。 things he doesn't understand。 If precognitive
trances are possible； they're probably functions of the subconscious mind。 Freud
said that the subconscious never speaks to us in literal language。 Only in
symbols。 If you dream about being in a bakery where no one speaks English； you
may be worried about your ability to support your family。 Or maybe just that no
one understands you。 I've read that the falling dream is a standard outlet for
feelings of insecurity。 Games； little games。 Conscious on one side of the net；
subconscious on the other； serving some cockamamie image back and forth。 Same
with mental illness； with hunches； all of that。 Why should precognition be any
different？ Maybe Danny really did see blood all over the walls of the
Presidential Suite。 To a kid his age； the image of blood and the concept of
death are nearly interchangeable。 To kids； the image is always more accessible
than the concept； anyway。 William Carlos Williams knew that； he was a
pediatrician。 When we grow up； concepts gradually get easier and we leave the
images to the poets 。。。 and I'm just rambling on。〃
〃I like to hear you ramble。〃
〃She said it； folks。 She said it。 You all heard it。〃
〃The marks on his neck； Jack。 Those are real。〃
〃Yes。〃
There was nothing else for a long time。 She had begun to think he must have
gone to sleep and she was slipping into a drowse herself when he said：
〃I can think of two explanations for those。 And neither of them involves a
fourth party in the hotel。〃
〃What？〃 She came up on one elbow。
〃Stigmata； maybe；〃 he said。
〃Stigmata？ Isn't that when people bleed on Good Friday or something？〃
〃Yes。 Sometimes people who believe deeply in Christ's divinity exhibit
bleeding marks on their hands and feet during the Holy Week。 It was more mon
in the Middle Ages than now。 In those days such people were considered blessed
by God。 I don't think the Catholic Church proclaimed any of it as out…and…out
miracles； which was pretty smart of them。 Stigmata isn't much different from
some of the things the yogis can do。 It's better understood now； that's all。 The
people who understand the interaction between the mind and the body study it； I
mean； no one understands it — believe we have a lot more control over our
involuntary functions than they used to think。 You can slow your heartbeat if
you think about it enough。 Speed up your own metabolism。 Make yourself sweat
more。 Or make yourself bleed。〃
〃You think Danny thought those bruises onto his neck？ Jack； I just can't
believe that。〃
〃I can believe it's possible； although it seems unlikely to me； too。 What's
more likely is that he did it to himself。〃
〃To himself？〃
〃He's gone into these 'trances' and hurt himself in the past。 Do you remember
the time at the supper table？ About two years ago； I think。 We were super…pissed
at each other。 Nobody talking very much。 Then； all at once； his eyes rolled up
in his head and he went face…first into his dinner。 Then onto the floor。
Remember？〃
〃Yes；〃 she said。 〃I sure do。 I thought he was having a convulsion。〃
〃Another time we were in the park；〃 he said。 〃Just Danny and I。 Saturday
afternoon。 He was sitting on a swing； coasting back and forth。 He collapsed onto
the ground。 It was like he'd been shot。 I ran over and picked him up and all of
a sudden he just came around。 He sort of blinked at me and said； ‘I hurt my
tummy。 Tell Mommy to close the bedroom windows if it rains。' And that night it
rained like hell。〃
〃Yes； but — 〃
〃And he's always ing in with cuts and scraped elbows。 His shins look like a
battlefield in distress。 And when you ask him how he got this one or that one；
he just says ‘Oh； I was playing；' and that's the end of it。〃
〃Jack； all kids get bumped and bruised up。 With little boys it's almost
constant from the time they learn to walk until they're twelve or thirteen。〃
〃And I'm sure Danny gets his share；〃 Jack responded。 〃He's an active kid。 But
I remember that day in the park and that night at the supper table。 And I wonder
if some of our kid's bumps and bruises e from just keeling over。 That Dr。
Edmonds said Danny did it right in his office； for Christ's sake！〃
〃All right。 But those bruises were fingers。 I'd swear to it。 He didn't get
them falling down。〃
〃He goes into a trance；〃 Jack said。 〃Maybe he sees something that happened in
that room。 An argument。 Maybe a suicide。 Violent emotions。 It isn't like
watching a movie； he's in a highly suggestible state。 He's right in the damn
thing。 His subconscious is maybe visualizing whatever happened in a symbolic way
。。。 as a dead woman who's alive again； zombie； undead； ghoul； you pick your
term。〃
〃You're giving me goose…bumps；〃 she said thickly。
〃I'm giving myself a few。 I'm no psychiatrist； but it seems to fit so well。
The walking dead woman as a symbol for dead emotions； dead lives； that just
won't give up and go away 。。。 but because she's a subconscious figure； she's
also him。 In the trance state； the conscious Danny is submerged。 The
subconscious figure is pulling the strings。 So Danny put his hands around his
own neck and — 〃
〃Stop；〃 she said。 〃I get the picture。 I think that's more frightening than
having a stranger creeping around the halls； Jack。 You can move away from a
stranger。 You can't move away from yourself。 You're talking about
schizophrenia。〃
〃Of a very limited type；〃 he said； but a trifle uneasily。 〃And of a very
special nature。 Because he does seem able to read thoughts； and he really does
seem to have precognitive flashes from time to time。 I can't think of that as
mental illness no matter how hard I try。 We all have schizo deposits in us
anyway。 I think as Danny gets older； he'll get this under control。〃
〃If you're right； then it's imperative that we get him out。 Whatever he has；
this hotel is making it worse。〃
〃I wouldn't say that；〃 he objected。 〃If he'd done as he was told； he never
would have gone up to that room in the first place。 It never would have
happened。〃
〃My God； Jack！ Are you implying that being half…strangled was a 。。。 a
fitting punishment for being off limits？〃
〃No 。。。 no。 Of course not。 But — 〃
〃No buts；〃 she said； shaking her head violently。 〃The truth is； we're
guessing。 We don't have any idea when he might turn a corner and run into one of
those 。。。 air pockets； one…reel horror movies； whatever they are。 We have to
get him away。〃 She laughed a little in the darkness。 〃Next thing we'll be seeing
things。〃
〃Don't talk nonsense；〃 he said； and in the darkness of the room he saw the
hedge lions bunching around the path； no longer flanking it but guarding it；
hungry November lions。 Cold sweat sprang out on his brow。
〃You didn't really see anything； did you？〃 she was asking。 〃I mean； when you
went up to that room。 You didn't see anything？〃
The lions were gone。 Now he saw a pink pastel shower curtain with a dark shape
lounging behind it。 The closed door。 That muffled； hurried thump； and sounds
after it that might have been running footsteps。 The horrible； lurching beat of
his own heart as he struggled with the passkey。
〃Nothing；〃 he said； and that was true。 He had been strung up； not sure of
what was happening。 He hadn't had a chance to sift through his thoughts for a
reasonable explanation concerning the bruises on his son's neck。 He had been
pretty damn suggestible himself。 Hallucinations could sometimes be catching。
〃And you haven't changed your mind？ About the snowmobile； I mean？〃
His hands clamped into sudden tight fists
（Stop nagging me！ ）
by his sides。 〃I said I would； didn't I？ I will。 Now go to sleep。 It's been a
long hard day。〃
〃And how；〃 she said。 There was a rustle of bedclothes as she turned toward him
and kissed his shoulder。 〃I love you； Jack。〃
〃I love you too；〃 he said； but he was only mouthing the words。 His hands were
still clenched into fists。 They felt like rocks on the ends of his arms。 The
pulse beat prominently in his forehead。 She hadn't said a word about what was
going to happen to them after they got down； when the party was over。 Not one
word。 It had been Danny this and Danny that and Jack I'm so scared。 Oh yes； she
was scared of a lot of closet boogeymen and jumping shadows； plenty scared。 But
there was no lack of real ones； either。 When they got down to Sidewinder they
would arrive with sixty dollars and the clothes they stood up in。 Not even a
car。 Even if Sidewinder bad a pawnshop； which it didn't； they had nothing to
hock but Wendy's ninety…dollar diamond engagement ring and the Sony AM/FM radio。
A pawnbroker might give them twenty bucks。 A kind pawnbroker。 There would be no
job； not even part…time or seasonal； except maybe shoveling out driveways for
three dollars a shot。 The picture of John Torrance； thirty years old； who had
once published in Esquire and who had harbored dreams — not at all unreasonable
dreams； he felt； of being a major American writer during the next decade； with
a shovel from the Sidewinder Western Auto on his shoulder； ringing doorbells。。。
that picture suddenly came to him much more clearly than the hedge lio