Thirteen
“And how long ago was it that you sawthis?” Roland asked.
Dinky calculated. “Had to’ve been fivehours, at least. Based on when the change-of-shifts horn blew and the sun wentout for the night.”
Which should make it two-thirty in themorning right now on the other side, Jake calculated, counting the hours onhis fingers. Thinking was hard now, even simple addition slowed by constantthoughts of Eddie, but he found he could do it if he really tried. Only youcan’t depend on its only being five hours, because time goes faster on America-side.That may change now that the Breakers have quit beating up on the Beam—itmay equalize—but probably not yet. Right now it’s probably still runningfast.
And it might slip.
One minute Stephen King could be sitting infront of his typewriter in his office on the morning of June 19th, fine aspaint, and the next… boom! Lying in a nearby funeral parlor that evening, eightor twelve hours gone by in a flash, his grieving family sitting in their owncircle of lamplight and trying to decide what kind of service King would’vewanted, always assuming that information wasn’t in his will; maybe even tryingto decide where he’d be buried. And the Dark Tower? Stephen King’s version ofthe Dark Tower? Or Gan’s version, or the Prim’s version? Lost forever,all of them. And that sound you hear? Why, that must be the Crimson King,laughing and laughing and laughing from somewhere deep in the Discordia. Andmaybe Mordred the Spider-Boy, laughing along with him.
For the first time since Eddie’s death,something besides grief came to the forefront of Jake’s mind. It was a faintticking sound, like the one the Sneetches had made when Roland and Eddieprogrammed them. Just before giving them to Haylis to plant, this had been. Itwas the sound of time, and time was not their friend.
“He’s right,” Jake said. “We have to gowhile we can still do something.”
Ted: “Will Susannah—”
“No,” Roland said. “Susannah will stayhere, and you’ll help her bury Eddie. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Ted said. “Of course, if that’s howyou’d have it.”
“If we’re not back in…” Roland calculated,one eye squinted shut, the other looking off into the darkness. “If we’re notback by this time on the night after next, assume that we’ve come back toEnd-World at Fedic.” Yes, assume Fedic, Jake thought. Of course.Because what good would it do to make the other, even more logical assumption,that we’re either dead or lost between the worlds, todash forever?
“Do’ee ken Fedic?” Roland was asking.
“South of here, isn’t it?” askedWorthington. He had wandered over with Dani, the pre-teen girl. “Or what wassouth? Trampas and a few of the other can-toi used to talk of it as though itwere haunted.”
“It’s haunted, all right,” Roland saidgrimly. “Can you put Susannah on a train to Fedic in the event that we’re notable to come back here? I know that at least some trains must still run,because of—”
“The Greencloaks?” Dinky said, nodding. “Orthe Wolves, as you think of them. All the D-line trains still run. They’reautomated.”
“Are they monos? Do they talk?” Jake asked.He was thinking of Blaine.
Dinky and Ted exchanged a doubtful look,then Dinky returned his attention to Jake and shrugged. “How would we know? Iprobably know more about D-cups than D-lines, and I think that’s true ofeveryone here. The Breakers, at least. I suppose some of the guards might knowsomething more. Or that guy.” He jerked a thumb at Tassa, who was still sittingon the stoop of Warden’s House, head in hands.
“In any case, we’ll tell Susannah to becareful,” Roland murmured to Jake. Jake nodded. He supposed that was the bestthey could do, but he had another question. He made a mental note to ask eitherTed or Dinky, if he got a chance to do so without being overheard by Roland. Hedidn’t like the idea of leaving Susannah behind—every instinct of hisheart cried out against it—but he knew she would refuse to leave Eddieunburied, and Roland knew it, too. They could make her come, but only bybinding and gagging her, and that would only make things worse than they werealready.
“It might be,” Ted said, “that a fewBreakers would be interested in taking the train-trip south with Susannah.”
Dani nodded. “We’re not exactly lovedaround here for helping you out,” she said. “Ted and Dinky are getting it theworst, but somebody spit at me half an hour ago, while I was in my room,getting this.” She held up a battered-looking and clearly much-loved Pooh Bear.“I don’t think they’ll do anything while you guys are around, but after yougo…” She shrugged.
“Man, I don’t get that,” Jake said.“They’re free.”
“Free to do what?” Dinky asked. “Thinkabout it. Most of them were misfits on America-side. Fifth wheels. Over here wewere VIPs, and we got the best of everything. Now all that’s gone. When youthink about it that way, is it so hard to understand?”
“Yes,” Jake said bluntly. He supposed hedidn’t want to understand.
“They lost something else, too,” Ted toldthem quietly. “There’s a novel by Ray Bradbury called Fahrenheit 451.‘It was a pleasure to burn’ is that novel’s first line. Well, it was a pleasureto Break, as well.”
Dinky was nodding. So were Worthington andDani Rostov.
Even Sheemie was nodding his head.
Fourteen
Eddie lay in that same circle of light, butnow his face was clean and the top sheet of the proctor’s bed had been foldedneatly down to his midsection. Susannah had dressed him in a clean white shirtshe’d found somewhere (in the proctor’s closet was Jake’s guess), and she musthave found a razor, too, because his cheeks were smooth. Jake tried to imagineher sitting here and shaving the face of her dead husband—singing“Commala-come-come, the rice has just begun” as she did it—and at firsthe couldn’t. Then, all at once, the image came to him, and it was so powerfulthat he had to struggle once again to keep from bursting into sobs.
She listened quietly as Roland spoke toher, sitting on the side of the bed, hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. Tothe gunslinger she looked like a shy virgin receiving a marriage proposal.
When he had finished, she said nothing.
“Do you understand what I’ve told you,Susannah?”
“Yes,” she said, still without looking up.“I’m to bury my man. Ted and Dinky will help me, if only to keep theirfriends—” she gave this word a bitterly sarcastic little twist thatactually encouraged Roland a bit; she was in there after all, it seemed“—from taking him away from me and lynching his body from a sour appletree.”
“And then?”
“Either you’ll find a way to come back hereand we’ll return to Fedic together, or Ted and Dinky will put me on the trainand I’ll go there alone.”
Jake didn’t just hate the colddisconnection in her voice; it terrified him, as well. “You know why we have togo back to the other side, don’t you?” he asked anxiously. “I mean, you know,don’t you?”
“To save the writer while there’s stilltime.” She had picked up one of Eddie’s hands, and Jake noted with fascinationthat his nails were perfectly clean. What had she used to get the dirt out frombeneath them, he wondered—had the proctor had one of those littlenail-care gadgets, like the one his father always kept on a keychain in hispocket? “Sheemie says we’ve saved the Beam of Bear and Turtle. We thinkwe’ve saved the rose. But there’s at least one more job to do. The writer. Thelazybones writer.” Now she did look up, and her eyes flashed. Jakesuddenly thought it might be good that Susannah wouldn’t be with themwhen—if—they met sai Stephen King.
“You bettah save him,” she said.Both Roland and Jake could hear old sneak-thief Detta creeping into her voice.“After what’s happened today, you just bettah. And this time, Roland,you tell him not to stop with his writin. Not come hell, high water, cancer, organgrene of the dick. Never mind worryin about the Pulitzer Prize, neither. Youtell him to go on and be done with his motherfuckin story.”