by Stephen King
'Yes,'he said. 'One of these days, Alice . . . pow! Right to da moon!'
Two of the three doors were locked, but the one on the far left opened and they went in. Ralph squeezed Lois's hand and felt her answering squeeze. He sensed a strong focusing of his concentration at the same moment, a narrowing and brightening of will and awareness. All around him the eye of the world seemed to first blink and then open wide. All around them both.
The reception area was almost ostentatiously plain. The posters on the walls were mostly the sort foreign tourist agencies send out for the price of postage. The only exception was to the right of the receptionist's desk: a large black-and-white photo of a young woman in a maternity smock. She was sitting on a barstool with a martini glass in one hand. WHEN YOU'RE PREGNANT, YOU NEVER DRINK ALONE, the copy beneath the photo read. There was no indication that in a room or rooms behind this pleasant, unremarkable business space, abortions were done on demand.
Well, Ralph thought, what did you expect? An advertisement? A poster of aborted fetuses in a galvanized garbage pail between the one showing the Isle of Capri and the one of the Italian Alps? Get real, Ralph.
To their left, a heavyset woman in her late forties or early fifties was washing the top of a glass coffee-table; there was a little cart filled with various cleaning implements parked beside her. She was buried in a dark blue aura speckled with unhealthy-looking black dots which swarmed like queer insects over the places where her heart and lungs were, and she was looking at the newcomers with undisguised suspicion.
Straight ahead, another woman was watching them carefully, although without the janitor's suspicion. Ralph recognized her from the TV news report on the day of the doll-throwing incident. Simone Castonguay's niece was dark-haired, about thirty-five, and close to gorgeous even at this hour of the morning. She sat behind a severe gray metal desk that perfectly complemented her looks and within a forest-green aura which looked much healthier than the cleaning woman's. A cut-glass vase filled with fall flowers stood on one corner of her desk.
She smiled tentatively at them, showing no immediate recognition of Lois, then wiggled the tip of one finger at the clock on the wall. 'We don't open until eight,' she said, 'and I don't think we could help you today in any case. The doctors are all off - I mean, Dr Hamilton is technically covering, but I'm not even sure I could get to her. There's a lot going on - this is a big day for us.'
'I know,' Lois said, and gave Ralph's hand another squeeze before letting it go. He heard her voice in his mind for a moment, very faint - like a bad overseas telephone conversation - but audible: ['Stay where you are, Ralph. She's got--']
Lois sent him a picture which was even fainter than the thought, and gone almost as soon as Ralph glimpsed it. This sort of communication was a lot easier on the upper levels, but what he got was enough. The hand with which Barbara Richards had pointed at the clock was now resting easily on top of the desk, but the other was underneath it, where a small white button was mounted on one side of the kneehole. If either of them showed the slightest sign of odd behavior, she would push the button, summoning first their friend with the clipboard who was posted outside, and then most of the private security cops in Derry.
And I'm the one she's watching most carefully, because I'm the man, Ralph thought.
As Lois approached the reception desk, Ralph had an unsettling thought: given the current atmosphere in Derry, that sort of sex-discrimination - unconscious but very real - could get this pretty black-haired woman hurt . . . maybe even killed. He remembered Leydecker telling him that one of Ed's small cadre of co-crazies was a woman. Pasty complexion, he'd said, lots of acne, glasses so thick they make her eyes look like poached eggs. Sandra something, her name was. And if Sandra Something had approached Ms Richards's desk as Lois was approaching it now, first opening her purse and then reaching into it, would the woman dressed in the forest-green aura have pushed the hidden alarm button?
'You probably don't remember me, Barbara,' Lois was saying, 'because I haven't seen you much since you were in college, when you were going with the Sparkmeyer boy--'
'Oh my God, Lennie Sparkmeyer, I haven't thought of him in years,' Barbara Richards said, and gave an embarrassed little laugh. 'But I remember you. Lois Delancey. Aunt Simone's poker buddy. Do you guys still play?'
'It's Chasse, not Delancey, and we still do.' Lois sounded delighted that Barbara had remembered her, and Ralph hoped she wouldn't lose track of what they were supposed to be doing here. He needn't have worried. 'Anyway, Simone sent me with a message for Gretchen Tillbury.' She brought a piece of paper out of her purse. 'I wonder if you could give it to her?'
'I doubt very much if I'll even talk to Gretchen on the phone today,' Richards said. 'She's as busy as the rest of us. Busier.'
'I'll bet.' Lois tinkled an amazingly genuine little laugh. 'I guess there's no real hurry about this, though. Gretchen has got a niece who's been granted a full scholarship at the University of New Hampshire. Have you ever noticed how much harder people try to get in touch when it's bad news they have to pass on? Strange, isn't it?'
'I suppose so,' Richards said, reaching for the folded slip of paper. 'Anyway, I'll be happy to put this in Gretchen's--'
Lois seized her wrist, and a flash of gray light - so bright Ralph had to squint his eyes against it to keep from being dazzled - leaped up the woman's arm, shoulder, and neck. It spun around her head in a brief halo, then disappeared.
No, it didn't, Ralph thought. It didn't disappear, it sank in.
'What was that?' the cleaning woman asked suspiciously. 'What was that bang?'
'A car backfired,' Ralph said. 'That's all.'
'Huh,' she said. 'Goshdarn men think they know everything. Did you hear that, Barbie?'
'Yes,' Richards said. She sounded entirely normal to Ralph, and he knew that the cleaning woman would not be able to see the pearl gray mist which had now filled her eyes. 'I think he's right, but would you check with Peter outside? We can't be too careful.'
'You goshdarn bet,' the cleaning woman said. She set her Windex bottle down, crossed to the doors (sparing Ralph a final dark look which said You're old but I just goshdarn bet you still have a penis down there somewhere), and went out.
As soon as she was gone, Lois leaned over the desk. 'Barbara, my friend and I have to talk to Gretchen this morning,' she said. 'Face to face.'
'She's not here. She's at High Ridge.'
'Tell us how to get there.'
Richards's gaze drifted to Ralph. He found her gray, pupil-less eye sockets profoundly unsettling. It was like looking at a piece of classic statuary which had somehow come to life. Her dark green aura had paled considerably as well.
No, he thought. It's been temporarily overlaid by Lois's gray, that's all.
Lois glanced briefly around, followed Barbara Richards's gaze to Ralph, then turned back to her again. 'Yes, he's a man, but this time it's okay. I promise you that. Neither one of us means any harm to Gretchen Tillbury or any of the women at High Ridge, but we have to talk to her, so tell us how to get there.' She touched Richards's hand again, and more gray flashed up Richards's arm.
'Don't hurt her,' Ralph said.
'I won't, but she's going to talk.' She bent closer to Richards. 'Where is it? Come on, Barbara.'
'You take Route 33 out of Derry,' she said. 'The old Newport Road. After you've gone about ten miles, there'll be a big red farmhouse on your left. There are two barns behind it. You take your first left after that--'
The cleaning woman came back in. 'Peter didn't hear -' She stopped abruptly, perhaps not liking the way Lois was bent over her friend's desk, perhaps not liking the blank look in her friend's eyes.
'Barbara? Are you all ri--'
'Be quiet,' Ralph said in a low, friendly voice. 'They're talking.' He took the cleaning woman's arm just above the elbow, feeling a brief but powerful pulse of energy as he did so. For a moment all the colors in the world brightened further. The cleaning woman's name was Rachel An
derson. She'd been married once, to a man who'd beaten her hard and often until he disappeared eight years ago. Now she had a dog and her friends at WomanCare, and that was enough.
'Oh sure,' Rachel Anderson said in a dreamy, thoughtful voice. 'They're talking, and Peter says everything's okay, so I guess I better just be quiet.'
'What a good idea,' Ralph said, still holding her upper arm lightly.
Lois took a quick look around to confirm Ralph had the situation under control, then turned back to Barbara Richards once again. 'Take a left after the red farmhouse with the two barns. Okay, I've got that. What then?'
'You'll be on a dirt road. It goes up a long hill - about a mile and a half - and then ends at a white farmhouse. That's High Ridge. It's got the most lovely view--'
'I'll bet,' Lois said. 'Barbara, it was great to see you again. Now my friend and I--'
'Great to see you, too, Lois,' Richards said in a distant, uninterested voice.
'Now my friend and I are going to leave. Everything is all right.'
'Good.'
'You won't need to remember any of this,' Lois said.
'Absolutely not.'
Lois started to turn away, then turned back and plucked up the piece of paper she had taken from her purse. It had fallen to the desk when Lois grabbed the woman's wrist.
'Why don't you go back to work, Rachel?' Ralph asked the cleaning lady. He let go of her arm carefully, ready to grab it again at once if she showed signs of needing reinforcement.
'Yes, I better go back to work,' she said, sounding much more friendly. 'I want to be done here by noon, so I can go out to High Ridge and help make signs.'
Lois joined Ralph as Rachel Anderson drifted back to her cart of cleaning supplies. Lois looked both amazed and a little shaky. 'They'll be okay, won't they, Ralph?'
'Yes, I'm sure they will be. Are you all right? Not going to faint or anything like that?'
'I'm okay. Can you remember the directions?'
'Of course - she's talking about the place that used to be Barrett's Orchards. Carolyn and I used to go out there every fall to pick apples and buy cider until they sold out in the early eighties. To think that's High Ridge.'
'Be amazed later, Ralph - I really am starving to death.'
'All right. What was the note, by the way? The note about the niece with the full scholarship at UNH?'
She flashed him a little smile and handed it to him. It was her light-bill for the month of September.
6
'Were you able to leave your message?' the security guard asked as they came out and started down the walk.
'Yes, thanks,' Lois said, turning on the megawatt smile again. She kept moving, though, and her hand was gripping Ralph's very tightly. He knew how she felt; he hadn't the slightest idea how long the suggestions they had given the two women would hold.
'Good,' the guard said, following them to the end of the walk. 'This is gonna be a long, long day. I'll be glad when it's over. You know how many security people we're gonna have here from noon until midnight? A dozen. And that's just here. They're gonna have over forty at the Civic Center - that's in addition to the local cops.'
And it won't do a damned bit of good, Ralph thought.
'And what for? So one blonde with an attitude can run her mouth.' He looked at Lois as if he expected her to accuse him of being a male sexist oinker, but Lois only renewed her smile.
'I hope everything goes well for you, officer,' Ralph said, and then led Lois back across the street to the Oldsmobile. He started it up and turned laboriously around in the WomanCare driveway, expecting either Barbara Richards, Rachel Anderson, or maybe both of them to come rushing out through the front door, eyes wild and fingers pointing. He finally got the Olds headed in the right direction and let out a long sigh of relief. Lois looked over at him and nodded in sympathy.
'I thought I was the salesman,' Ralph said, 'but man, I've never seen a selling job like that.'
Lois smiled demurely and clasped her hands in her lap.
They were approaching the hospital parking garage when Trigger came rushing out of his little booth, waving his arms. Ralph's first thought was that they weren't going to make a clean getaway after all - the security guard with the clipboard had tipped to something suspicious and phoned or radioed Trigger to stop them. Then he saw the look - out of breath but happy - and what Trigger had in his right hand. It was a very old and very battered black wallet. It flapped open and closed like a toothless mouth with each wave of his right arm.
'Don't worry,' Ralph said, slowing the Olds down. 'I don't know what he wants, but I'm pretty sure it's not trouble. At least not yet.'
'I don't care what he wants. All I want is to get out of here and eat some food. If he starts to show you his fishing pictures, Ralph, I'll step on the gas pedal myself.'
'Amen,' Ralph said, knowing perfectly well that it wasn't fishing pictures Trigger Vachon had in mind. He still wasn't clear on everything, but one thing he knew for sure: nothing was happening by chance. Not anymore. This was the Purpose with a vengeance. He pulled up beside Trigger and pushed the button that lowered his window. It went down with an ill-tempered whine.
'Eyyy, Ralph!' Trigger cried. 'I t'ought I missed you!'
'What is it, Trig? We're in kind of a hurry--'
'Yeah, yeah, dis won't take but a secon. I got it right here in my wallet, Ralph. Man, I keep all my paperwork in here, and I never lose a t'ing out of it.'
He spread the old billfold's limp jaws, revealing a few crumpled bills, a celluloid accordion of pictures (and damned if Ralph didn't catch a glimpse of Trigger holding up a big bass in one of them), and what looked like at least forty business cards, most of them creased and limber with age. Trigger began to go through these with the speed of a veteran bank-teller counting currency.
'I never t'row dese t'ings out, me,' Trigger said. 'They're great to write stuff on, better'n a notebook, and free. Now just a secon . . . just a secon, oh you damn t'ing, where you be?'
Lois gave Ralph an impatient, worried look and pointed up the road. Ralph ignored both the look and the gesture. He had begun to feel a strange tingling in his chest. In his mind's eye he saw himself reaching out with his index finger and drawing something in the foggy condensate that had appeared on the windshield of Trigger's van as a result of a summer storm fifteen months ago - cold rain on a hot day.
'Ralph, you 'member the scarf Deepneau was wearin dat day? White, wit some kind of red marks on it?'
'Yes, I remember,' Ralph said. Cuntlicker, Ed had told the heavyset guy. Fucked your mother and licked her cunt. And yes, he remembered the scarf - of course he did. But the red thing hadn't been just marks or a splotch or a meaningless bit of pattern; it had been an ideogram or ideograms. The sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach told Ralph that Trigger could quit rummaging through his old business cards right now. He knew what this was about. He knew.
'Was you in da war, Ralph?' Trigger asked. 'The big one? Number Two?'
'In a way, I guess,' Ralph said. 'I fought most of it in Texas. I went overseas in early '45, but I was rear-echelon all the way.'
Trigger nodded. 'Dat means Europe,' he said. 'Wasn't no rear-echelon in the Pacific, not by the end.'
'England,' Ralph said. 'Then Germany.'
Trigger was still nodding, pleased. 'If you'd been in da Pacific, you woulda known the stuff on that scarf wasn't Chinese.'
'It was Japanese, wasn't it? Wasn't it, Trig?'
Trigger nodded. In one hand he held a business card plucked from among many. On the blank side, Ralph saw a rough approximation of the double symbol they had seen on Ed's scarf, the double symbol he himself had drawn in the windshield mist.
'What are you talking about?' Lois asked, now sounding not impatient but just plain scared.
'I should have known,' Ralph heard himself say in a faint, horrified voice. 'I still should have known.'
'Known what?' She grabbed his shoulder and shook it. 'Known what?'
He
didn't answer. Feeling like a man in a dream, he reached out and took the card. Trigger Vachon was no longer smiling, and his dark eyes studied Ralph's face with grave consideration. 'I copied it before it could melt offa da windshield,' Trigger said, 'cause I knew I seen it before, and by the time I got home dat night, I knew where. My big brother, Marcel, fought dar las year of the war in the Pacific. One of the t'ings he brought back was a scarf with dat same two marks on it, in dat same red. I ast him, jus to be sure, and he wrote it on dat card.' Trigger pointed to the card Ralph was holding between his fingers. 'I meant to tell you as soon as I saw you again, only I forgot until today. I was glad I finally remembered, but lookin at you now, I guess it woulda been better if I'd stayed forgetful.'
'No, it's okay.'
Lois took the card from him. 'What is it? What does it mean?'
'Tell you later.' Ralph reached for the gearshift. His heart felt like a stone in his chest. Lois was looking at the symbols on the blank side of the card, allowing Ralph to see the printed side. R.H. FOSTER, WELLS & DRY-WALLS, it said. Below this, Trigger's big brother had printed a single word in black capital letters.
KAMIKAZE.
PART 3
THE CRIMSON KING
We are old-timers,
each of us holds a locked razor.
Robert Lowell
'Walking in the Blue'
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
1
There was only one conversational exchange between them as the Oldsmobile rolled up Hospital Drive, and it was a brief one.
'Ralph?'
He glanced over at her, then quickly back at the road. That clacking sound under the hood had begun again, but Lois hadn't mentioned it yet. He hoped she wasn't going to do so now.
'I think I know where he is. Ed, I mean. I was pretty sure, even up on the roof, that I recognized that ramshackle old building they showed us.'
'What is it? And where?'
'It's an airplane garage. A whatdoyoucallit. Hangar.'
'Oh my God,' Ralph said. 'Coastal Air, on the Bar Harbor Road?'
Lois nodded. 'They have charter flights, seaplane rides, things like that. One Saturday when we were out for a drive, Mr Chasse went in and asked a man who worked there how much he'd charge to take us for a sightseeing hop over the islands. The man said forty dollars, which was much more than we could have afforded to spend on something like that, and in the summer I'm sure the man would've stuck to his guns, but it was only April, and Mr Chasse was able to dicker him down to twenty. I thought that was still too much to spend on a ride that didn't even last an hour, but I'm glad we went. It was scary, but it was beautiful.'