back in the weeds, and that was something. She went inside, shut the door, and took care of her business. Then she simply sat there on the toilet with her swimming head hung down. She thought of being in the bathroom at Emma’s house, when she had foolishly believed everything was going to turn out all right. How long ago that seemed.
I have to do something.
But she was doped up, woozy.
(Dan)
She sent this with all the force she could muster . . . which wasn’t much. And how much time would the Crow give her? She felt despair wash over her, undermining what little will to resist was left. All she wanted to do was button her pants, get into the truck again, and go back to sleep. Yet she tried one more time.
(Dan! Dan, please!)
And waited for a miracle.
What she got instead was a single brief tap of the pickup truck’s horn. The message was clear: time’s up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SWAPSIES
1
You will remember what was forgotten.
In the aftermath of the Pyrrhic victory at Cloud Gap, the phrase haunted Dan, like a snatch of irritating and nonsensical music that gets in your head and won’t let go, the kind you find yourself humming even as you stumble to the bathroom in the middle of the night. This one was plenty irritating, but not quite nonsensical. For some reason he associated it with Tony.
You will remember what was forgotten.
There was no question of taking the True Knot’s Winnebago back to their cars, which were parked at Teenytown Station on the Frazier town common. Even if they hadn’t been afraid of being observed getting out of it or leaving forensic evidence inside it, they would have refused without needing to take a vote on the matter. It smelled of more than sickness and death; it smelled of evil. Dan had another reason. He didn’t know if members of the True Knot came back as ghostie people or not, but he didn’t want to find out.
So they threw the abandoned clothes and the drug paraphernalia into the Saco, where the stuff that didn’t sink would float downstream to Maine, and went back as they had come, in The Helen Rivington.
David Stone dropped into the conductor’s seat, saw that Dan was still holding Abra’s stuffed rabbit, and held out his hand for it. Dan passed it over willingly enough, taking note of what Abra’s father held in his other hand: his BlackBerry.
“What are you going to do with that?”
Dave looked at the woods flowing by on both sides of the narrow-gauge tracks, then back at Dan. “As soon as we get to where there’s cell coverage, I’m going to call the Deanes’ house. If there’s no answer, I’m going to call the police. If there is an answer, and either Emma or her mother tells me that Abra’s gone, I’m going to call the police. Assuming they haven’t already.” His gaze was cool and measuring and far from friendly, but at least he was keeping his fear for his daughter—his terror, more likely—at bay, and Dan respected him for that. Also, it would make him easier to reason with.
“I hold you responsible for this, Mr. Torrance. It was your plan. Your crazy plan.”
No use pointing out that they had all signed on to the crazy plan. Or that he and John were almost as sick about Abra’s continued silence as her father. Basically, the man was right.
You will remember what was forgotten.
Was that another Overlook memory? Dan thought it was. But why now? Why here?
“Dave, she’s almost certainly been taken.” That was John Dalton. He had moved up to the car just behind them. The last of the lowering sun came through the trees and flickered on his face. “If that’s the case and you tell the police, what do you think will happen to Abra?”
God bless you, Dan thought. If I’d been the one to say it, I doubt if he would have listened. Because, at bottom, I’m the stranger who was conspiring with his daughter. He’ll never be completely convinced that I’m not the one who got her into this mess.
“What else can we do?” Dave asked, and then his fragile calm broke. He began to weep, and held Abra’s stuffed rabbit to his face. “What am I going to tell my wife? That I was shooting people in Cloud Gap while some bogeyman was stealing our daughter?”
“First things first,” Dan said. He didn’t think AA slogans like Let go and let God or