UR - By Stephen King Page 0,25

the one he always ended up in when the night was late, the leftover cheesecake tasty, the book interesting, and the light from the standing lamp just right. They both wore long mustard-colored coats, the kind that are called dusters, and Wesley understood, without knowing how he understood, that the coats were alive. He also understood that the men wearing them were not men at all. Their faces kept changing, and what lay just beneath the skin was reptilian. Or birdlike. Or both.

On their lapels, where lawmen in a Western movie would have worn badges, both wore buttons bearing a red eye. Wesley thought these too were alive. Those eyes were watching him.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Smelled you,” the older of the two replied, and the terrible thing was this: it didn’t sound like a joke.

“What do you want?”

“You know why we’re here,” the young one said. The older of the two never spoke again at all until the end of the visit. Listening to one of them was bad enough. It was like listening to a man whose voice-box was stuffed with crickets.

“I suppose I do,” Wesley said. His voice was steady, at least so far. “I broke the Paradox Laws.” He prayed they didn’t know about Robbie, and thought they might not; the Kindle had been registered to Wesley Smith, after all.

“You have no idea what you did,” the man in the yellow coat said in a meditative voice. “The Tower trembles; the worlds shudder in their courses. The rose feels a chill, as of winter.”

Very poetic, but not very illuminating. “What Tower? What rose?” Wesley could feel sweat breaking on his forehead even though he liked to keep the apartment cool. It’s because of them, he thought. These boys run hot.

“It doesn’t matter,” his younger visitor said. “Explain yourself, Wesley of Kentucky. And do it well, if you would ever see sunshine again.”

For a moment Wesley couldn’t. His mind was filled with a single thought: I’m on trial here. Then he swept it aside. The return of his anger—a pale imitation of what he had felt toward Candy Rymer, but real anger, just the same—helped in this regard.

“People were going to die. Almost a dozen. Maybe more. That might not mean much to fellows like you, but it does to me, especially since one of them happens to be a woman I’m in love with. All because of one self-indulgent drunk who won’t address her problems. And…” He almost said And we, but made the necessary course-correction just in time. “And I didn’t even hurt her. Slapped her a little, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“You boys can never help yourselves,” the buzzing voice of the thing in his favorite chair—which would never be his favorite chair again—replied. “Poor impulse control is ninety per cent of your problem. Did it ever cross your mind, Wesley of Kentucky, that the Paradox Laws exist for a reason?”

“I didn’t—”

The thing raised its voice. “Of course you didn’t. We know you didn’t. We’re here because you didn’t. It didn’t cross your mind that one of the people on that bus might become a serial killer, someone who might murder dozens, including a child who would otherwise grow up to cure cancer or Alzheimer’s Disease. It didn’t occur to you that one of those young women might give birth to the next Hitler or Stalin, a human monster who could go on to kill millions of your fellow humans on this level of the Tower. It didn’t occur to you that you were meddling in events far beyond your ability to understand!”

No, he had not considered those things at all. Ellen was what he had considered. As Josie Quinn was what Robbie had considered. And together they had considered the others. Kids screaming, their skin turning to tallow and dripping off their bones, maybe dying the worst deaths God visits on His suffering people.

“Does that happen?” he whispered.

“We don’t know what happens,” the thing in the yellow coat said. “That’s precisely the point. The experimental program you foolishly accessed can see clearly six months into the future…within a single narrow geographical area, that is. Beyond six months, predictive sight grows dim. Beyond a year, all is darkness. So you see, we don’t know what you and your young friend may have done. And since we don’t, there’s no chance to repair the damage, if there was damage.”

Your young friend. They knew about Robbie Henderson after all. Wesley’s heart sank.

“Is there some