(you need to have your friend's mom call the police and tell them you're in danger Crow's in Anniston)
She stopped halfway down the hall. Her comfort-hand came up and began to rub her mouth. Dan didn't know she had left the Deanes' house. How could he? He'd been very busy.
(I'm not)
Before she could finish, Rose the Hat's mental voice blasted through her head, wiping away all thought.
(YOU LITTLE BITCH WHAT HAVE YOU DONE)
The familiar hallway between the front door and the kitchen began to sideslip. The last time this revolving thing happened, she'd been prepared. This time she wasn't. Abra tried to stop it and couldn't. Her house was gone. Anniston was gone. She was lying on the ground and looking up at the sky. Abra realized the loss of those three in Cloud Gap had literally knocked Rose off her feet, and she had a moment to be savagely glad. She struggled for something to defend herself with. There wasn't much time.
6
Rose's body lay sprawled halfway between the showers and the Overlook Lodge, but her mind was in New Hampshire, swarming through the girl's head. There was no daydream horsewoman with a stallion and lance this time, oh no. This time it was just one surprised little chickadee and old Rosie, and Rosie wanted revenge. She would kill the girl only as a last resort, she was much too valuable for that, but Rose could give her a taste of what was coming. A taste of what Rose's friends had already suffered. There were plenty of soft, vulnerable places in the minds of rubes, and she knew them all very w--
(GET AWAY YOU BITCH LEAVE ME ALONE OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!)
It was like having a flash-bang go off behind her eyes. Rose jerked and cried out. Big Mo, who had been reaching down to touch her, recoiled in surprise. Rose didn't notice, didn't even see her. She kept underestimating the girl's power. She tried to keep her footing in the girl's head, but the little bitch was actually pushing her out. It was incredible and infuriating and terrifying, but it was true. Worse, she could feel her physical hands rising toward her face. If Mo and Short Eddie hadn't restrained her, the little girl might have made Rose claw her own eyes out.
For the time being, at least, she had to give up and leave. But before she did, she saw something through the girl's eyes that flooded her with relief. It was Crow Daddy, and in one hand he was holding a needle.
7
Abra used all the psychic force she could muster, more than she had used on the day she had gone hunting for Brad Trevor, more than she had ever used in her life, and it was still barely enough. Just when she started to think she wouldn't be able to get the hat woman out of her head, the world began to revolve again. She was making it revolve, but it was so hard--like pushing a great stone wheel. The sky and the faces staring down at her slid away. There was a moment of darkness when she was
(between)
nowhere, and then her own front hall slid back into view. But she was no longer alone. A man was standing in the kitchen doorway.
No, not a man. A Crow.
"Hello, Abra," he said, smiling, and leaped at her. Still mentally reeling from her encounter with Rose, Abra made no attempt to push him away with her mind. She simply turned and ran.
8
In their moments of highest stress, Dan Torrance and Crow Daddy were very much alike, although neither would ever know it. The same clarity came over Crow's vision, the same sense that all of this was happening in beautiful slow motion. He saw the pink rubber bracelet on Abra's left wrist and had time to think breast cancer awareness. He saw the girl's backpack slew to the left as she whirled to her right and knew it was full of books. He even had time to admire her hair as it flew out behind her in a bright sheaf.
He caught her at the door as she was trying to turn the thumb lock. When he put his left arm around her throat and yanked her back, he felt her first efforts--confused, weak--to push him away with her mind.
Not the whole hypo, it might kill her, she can't weigh more than a hundred and fifteen pounds max.
Crow injected her just south of the collarbone as she twisted and struggled. He needn't have worried about losing control and shooting the whole dose into her, because her left arm came up and thumped against his right hand, knocking the hypo free. It fell to the floor and rolled. But providence favors True above rubes, it had always been that way and was now. He got just enough into her. He felt her little handhold on his mind first slip, then fall away. Her hands did the same. She stared at him with shocked, floating eyes.
Crow patted her shoulder. "We're going for a ride, Abra. You're going to meet exciting new people."
Incredibly, she managed a smile. A rather frightening one for a girl so young that with her hair piled up under a cap, she could still have passed for a boy. "Those monsters you call your friends are all dead. Theyyy . . ."
The last word was only an unwinding slur as her eyes rolled up and her knees came unhinged. Crow was tempted to let her drop--it would serve her too right--but restrained the impulse and caught her under the arms instead. She was valuable property, after all.
True property.
9
He had come in through the rear door, snapping back the next-to-useless spring lock with a single downward flick of Henry Rothman's American Express Platinum Card, but he had no intention of leaving that way. There was nothing but a high fence at the foot of the sloping backyard, and beyond that a river. Also, his transportation was in the other direction. He carried Abra through the kitchen and into the empty garage. Both parents at work, maybe . . . unless they were out at Cloud Gap, gloating over Andi, Billy, and Nut. For now he didn't give much of a shit about that end of things; whoever had been helping the girl could wait. Their time would come.
He slid her limp body under a table holding her father's few tools. Then he thumbed the button that opened the garage door and stepped out, being sure to slap on that big old Henry Rothman smile before he did. The key to survival in the world of rubes was to look as if you belonged, as if you were always on the goodfoot, and no one was better at it than Crow. He walked briskly down to the truck and moved the geezer again, this time to the middle of the bench seat. As Crow turned in to the Stone driveway, Billy's head lolled against his shoulder.
"Gettin a little chummy there, aren't you, oldtimer?" Crow asked, and laughed as he drove the red truck into the garage. His friends were dead and this situation was horribly dangerous, but there was one big compensation: he felt totally alive and aware for the first time in a great many years, the world bursting with color and humming like a powerline. He had her, by God. In spite of all her weird strength and nasty tricks, he had her. Now he would bring her to Rose. A love offering.
"Jackpot," he said, and gave the dashboard one hard, exultant hit.
He stripped off Abra's backpack, left it under the worktable, and lifted her into the truck on the passenger side. He seatbelted both of his snoozing passengers. It had certainly occurred to him to snap the geezer's neck and leave his body in the garage, but the geezer might come in handy. If the drug didn't kill him, that was. Crow checked for a pulse on the side of the grizzled old neck and felt it, slow but strong. There was no question about the girl; she was leaning against the passenger window and he could see her breath fogging the glass. Excellent.
Crow took a second to inventory his stock. No gun--the True Knot never traveled with firearms--but he still had two full hypos of the noddy-time night-night stuff. He didn't know how far two would get him, but the girl was his priority. Crow had an idea that the geezer's period of usefulness might prove to be extremely limited. Oh, well. Rubes came and rubes went.
He took out his cell and this time it was Rose he hit on the speed dial. She answered just as he had resigned himself to leaving a message. Her voice was slow, her pronunciation slurry. It was a little like talking to a drunk.
"Rose? What's up with you?"
"The girl messed with me a trifle more than I expected, but I'm all right. I don't hear her anymore. Tell me you have her."
"I do, and she's having a nice nap, but s
he's got friends. I don't want to meet them. I'll head west immediately, and I've got no time to be fucking with maps. I need secondary roads that'll take me across Vermont and into New York."
"I'll put Toady Slim on it."
"You need to send someone east to meet me immediately, Rosie, and with whatever you can lay your hands on that'll keep Little Miss Nitro pacified, because I don't have much left. Look in Nut's supplies. He must have something--"
"Don't tell me my business," she snapped. "Toady will coordinate everything. You know enough to get started?"
"Yes. Rosie darlin, that picnic area was a trap. The little girl fucking deked us. What if her friends call the cops? I'm riding in an old F-150 with a couple of zombies next to me in the cab. I might as well have KIDNAPPER tattooed on my forehead."
But he was grinning. Damned if he wasn't grinning. There was a pause at the other end. Crow sat behind the wheel in the Stones' garage, waiting.
At last Rose said, "If you see blue lights behind you or a roadblock ahead of you, strangle the girl and suck out as much of her steam as you can while she goes. Then surrender. We'll take care of you eventually, you know that."
It was Crow's turn to pause. At last he said, "Are you sure that's the right way to go, darlin?"
"I am." Her voice was stony. "She's responsible for the deaths of Jimmy, Nut, and Snakebite. I mourn them all, but it's Andi I feel the worst about, because I Turned her myself and she only had a taste of the life. Then there's Sarey . . ."
She trailed off with a sigh. Crow said nothing. There was really nothing to say. Andi Steiner had been with a lot of women during her early years with the True--not a surprise, steam always made newbies especially randy--but she and Sarah Carter had been a couple for the last ten years, and devoted to each other. In some ways, Andi had seemed more like Silent Sarey's daughter than her lover.
"Sarey's inconsolable," Rose said, "and Black-Eyed Susie's not much better about Nut. That little girl is going to answer for taking those three from us. One way or the other, her rube life is over. Any more questions?"
Crow had none.
10
No one paid any particular attention to Crow Daddy and his snoozing passengers as they left Anniston on the old Granite State Highway, headed west. With a few notable exceptions (sharp-eyed old ladies and little kids were the worst), Rube America was staggeringly unobservant even twelve years into the Dark Age of Terrorism. If you see something, say something was a hell of a slogan, but first you had to see something.
By the time they crossed into Vermont it was growing dark, and cars passing by in the other direction saw only Crow's headlights, which he purposely left on hi-beam. Toady Slim had called three times already, feeding him route information. Most were byroads, many unmarked. Toady had also told Crow that Diesel Doug, Dirty Phil, and Apron Annie were on their way. They were riding in an '06 Caprice that looked like a dog but had four hundred horses under the hood. Speeding would not be a problem; they were also carrying Homeland Security creds that would check out all the way up the line, thanks to the late Jimmy Numbers.
The Little twins, Pea and Pod, were using the True's sophisticated satellite communications gear to monitor police chatter in the Northeast, and so far there had been nothing about the possible kidnapping of a young girl. This was good news, but not unexpected. Friends smart enough to set up an ambush were probably smart enough to know what could happen to their chickadee if they went public.
Another phone rang, this one muffled. Without taking his eyes off the road, Crow leaned across his sleeping passengers, reached into the glove compartment, and found a cell. The geezer's, no doubt. He held it up to his eyes. There was no name, so the caller wasn't in the phone's memory, but the number had a New Hampshire area code. One of the ambushers, wanting to know if Billy and the girl were all right? Very likely. Crow considered answering it and decided not to. He would check later to see if the caller had left a message, though. Information was power.
When he leaned over again to return the cell to the glove compartment, his fingers touched metal. He stowed the phone and brought out an automatic pistol. A nice bonus, and a lucky find. If the geezer had awakened a little sooner than expected, he might have gotten to it before Crow could read his intentions. Crow slid the Glock under his seat, then flipped the glove compartment closed.
Guns were also power.
11
It was full dark and they were deep into the Green Mountains on Highway 108 when Abra began to stir. Crow, still feeling brilliantly alive and aware, wasn't sorry. For one thing, he was curious about her. For another, the old truck's gas gauge was touching empty, and someone was going to have to fill the tank.
But it wouldn't do to take chances.
With his right hand he removed one of the two remaining hypos from his pocket and held it on his thigh. He waited until the girl's eyes--still soft and muzzy--opened. Then he said, "Good evening, little lady. I'm Henry Rothman. Do you understand me?"
"You're . . ." Abra cleared her throat, wet her lips, tried again. "You're not Henry anything. You're the Crow."
"So you do understand. That's good. You feel woolly-headed just now, I imagine, and you're going to stay that way, because that's just how I like you. But there will be no need to knock you all the way out again as long as you mind your Ps and Qs. Have you got that?"
"Where are we going?"
"Hogwarts, to watch the International Quidditch Tourney. I'll buy you a magic hotdog and a cone of magic cotton candy. Answer my question. Are you going to mind your Ps and Qs?"
"Yes."
"Such instant agreement is pleasing to the ear, but you'll have to pardon me if I don't completely trust it. I need to give you some vital information before you try something foolish that you might regret. Do you see the needle I have?"
"Yes." Abra's head was still resting against the window, but she looked down at the hypo. Her eyes drifted shut then opened again, very slowly. "I'm thirsty."
"From the drug, no doubt. I don't have anything to drink with me, we left in a bit of a hurry--"
"I think there's a juice box in my pack." Husky. Low and slow. The eyes still opening with great effort after every blink.
"Afraid that's back in your garage. You may get something to drink in the next town we come to--if you're a good little Goldilocks. If you're a bad little Goldilocks, you can spend the night swallowing your own spit. Clear?"
"Yes . . ."
"If I feel you fiddling around inside my head--yes, I know you can do it--or if you try attracting attention when we stop, I'll inject this old gentleman. On top of what I already gave him, it will kill him as dead as Amy Winehouse. Are we clear on that, as well?"
"Yes." She licked her lips again, then rubbed them with her hand. "Don't hurt him."
"That's up to you."
"Where are you taking me?"
"Goldilocks? Dear?"
"What?" She blinked at him dazedly.
"Just shut up and enjoy the ride."
"Hogwarts," she said. "Cotton . . . candy." This time when her eyes closed, the lids stayed down. She began to snore lightly. It was a breezy sound, sort of pleasant. Crow didn't think she was shamming, but he continued to hold the hypo next to the geezer's leg just to be sure. As Gollum had once said about Frodo Baggins, it was tricksy, precious. It was very tricksy.
12
Abra didn't go under completely; she still heard the truck's motor, but it was far away. It seemed to be above her. It made her remember when she and her parents went to Lake Winnipesaukee on hot summer afternoons, and how you could hear the distant drone of the motorboats if you ducked your head underwater. She knew she was being kidnapped, and she knew this should concern her, but she felt serene, content to float between sleep and waking. The dryness in her mouth and throat was horrible, though. Her tongue felt like a strip of dusty carpet.
I have to do something. He's taking me to the hat woman and I have to do something. If I don't, they'll kill me like they killed th
e baseball boy. Or something even worse.
She would do something. After she got something to drink. And after she slept a little more . . .
The engine sound had faded from a drone to a distant hum when light penetrated her closed eyelids. Then the sound stopped completely and the Crow was poking her in the leg. Easy at first, then harder. Hard enough to hurt.
"Wake up, Goldilocks. You can go back to sleep later."
She struggled her eyes open, wincing at the brightness. They were parked beside some gas pumps. There were fluorescents over them. She shielded her eyes from the glare. Now she had a headache to go with her thirst. It was like . . .
"What's funny, Goldilocks?"
"Huh?"
"You're smiling."
"I just figured out what's wrong with me. I'm hungover."
Crow considered this, and grinned. "I suppose you are at that, and you didn't even get to prance around with a lampshade on your head. Are you awake enough to understand me?"
"Yes." At least she thought she was. Oh, but the thudding in her head. Awful.
"Take this."
He was holding something in front of her face, reaching across his body with his left hand to do it. His right one still held the hypodermic, the needle resting next to Mr. Freeman's leg.
She squinted. It was a credit card. She reached up with a hand that felt too heavy and took it. Her eyes started to close and he slapped her face. Her eyes flew open, wide and shocked. She had never been hit in her life, not by an adult, anyway. Of course she had never been kidnapped, either.
"Ow! Ow!"
"Get out of the truck. Follow the instructions on the pump--you're a bright kid, I'm sure you can do that--and fill the tank. Then replace the nozzle and get back in. If you do all that like a good little Goldilocks, we'll drive over to yonder Coke machine." He pointed to the far corner of the store. "You can get a nice big twenty-ounce soda. Or a water, if that's what you want; I spy with my little eye that they have Dasani. If you're a bad little Goldilocks, I'll kill the old man, then go into the store and kill the kid at the register. No problem there. Your friend had a gun, which is now in my possession. I'll take you with me and you can watch the kid's head go splat. It's up to you, okay? You get it?"