〃Thank you much。〃
Leaving the desk； he saw the sharp…faced woman standing on one of the queues
that had formed in front of the luggage carousel。 She was still reading her
book。 Hallorann winked at her as he went by。 She looked up； smiled at him； and
gave him a peace sign。
（shine）
He turned up his overcoat collar； smiling； and shifted his flight bag to the
other hand。 Only a little one； but it made him feel better。 He was sorry he'd
told her that fish story about having a steel plate in his head。 He mentally
wished her well and as he went out into the howling wind and snow； he thought
she wished him the same in return
* * *
The charge for putting on the chains at the service station was a modest one；
but Hallorann slipped the man at work in the garage bay an extra ten to get
moved up a little way on the waiting list。 It was still quarter of ten before he
was actually on the road； the windshield wipers clicking and the chains clinking
with tuneless monotony on the Buick's big wheels。
The turnpike was a mess。 Even with the chains he could go no faster than
thirty。 Cars had gone off the road at crazy angles； and on several of the grades
traffic was barely struggling along； summer tires spinning helplessly in the
drifting powder。 It was the first big storm of the winter down here in the
lowlands （if you could call a mile above sealevel 〃low〃）； and it was a mother。
Many of them were unprepared； mon enough； but Hallorann still found himself
cursing them as he inched around them； peering into his snow…clogged outside
mirror to be sure nothing was
（Dashing through the snow 。。。）
ing up in the left…hand lane to cream his black ass。
There was more bad luck waiting for him at the Route 36 entrance ramp。 Route
36； the Denver…Boulder turnpike； also goes west to Estes Park； where it connects
with Route 7。 That road； also known as the Upland Highway； goes through
Sidewinder； passes the Overlook Hotel； and finally winds down the Western Slope
and into Utah。
The entrance ramp had been blocked by an overturned semi。 Bright…burning
flares had been scattered around it like birthday candles on some idiot child's
cake。
He came to a stop and rolled his window down。 A cop with a fur Cossack hat
jammed down over his ears gestured with one gloved hand toward the flow of
traffic moving north on I…25。
〃You can't get up here！〃 he bawled to Hallorann over the wind。 〃Go down two
exits； get on 91； and connect with 36 at Broomfield！〃
〃I think I could get around him on the left！〃 Hallorann shouted back。 〃That's
twenty miles out of my way； what you're rappin！〃
〃I'll rap your friggin head！〃 the cop shouted back。 〃This ramp's closed！〃
Hallorann backed up； waited for a break in traffic； and continued on his way
up Route 25。 The signs informed him it was only a hundred miles to Cheyenne；
Wyoming。 If he didn't look out for his ramp； he'd wind up there。
He inched his speed up to thirty…five but dared no more； already snow was
threatening to clog his wiper blades and the traffic patterns were decidedly
crazy。 Twenty…mile detour。 He cursed； and the feeling that time was growing
shorter for the boy welled up in him again； nearly suffocating with its urgency。
And at the same time he felt a fatalistic certainty that he would not be ing
back from this trip。
He turned on the radio； dialed past Christmas ads； and found a weather
forecast。
〃 — six inches already； and another foot is expected in the Denver metro area
by nightfall。 Local and state police urge you not to take your car out of the
garage unless it's absolutely necessary； and warn that most mountain passes have
already been closed。 So stay home and wax up your boards and keep tuned to — 〃
〃Thanks； mother；〃 Hallorann said； and turned the radio off savagely。
》
WENDY
Around noon； after Danny had gone into the bathroom to use the toilet； Wendy
took the towel…wrapped knife from under her pillow； put it in the pocket of her
bathrobe； and went over to the bathroom door。
〃Danny？〃
〃What？〃
〃I'm going down to make us some lunch。 'Kay？〃
〃Okay。 Do you want me to e down？〃
〃No； I'll bring it up。 How about a cheese omelet and some soup？〃
〃Sure。〃
She hesitated outside the closed door a moment longer； 〃Danny； are you sure
it's okay？〃
〃Yeah；〃 he said。 〃Just be careful。〃
〃Where's your father？ Do you know？〃
His voice came back； curiously flat： 〃No。 But it's okay。〃 She stifled an urge
to keep asking； to keep picking around the edges of the thing。 The thing was
there； they knew what it was； picking at it was only going to frighten Danny
more 。。。 and herself。 Jack had lost his mind。 They had sat together on Danny's
cot as the storm began to pick up clout and meanness around eight o'clock this
morning and had listened to him downstairs； bellowing and stumbling from one
place to another。 Most of it had seemed to e from the ballroom。 Jack singing
tuneless bits of song； Jack holding up one side of an argument； Jack screaming
loudly at one point； freezing both of their faces as they stared into one
another's eyes。 Finally they had heard him stumbling back across the lobby； and
Wendy thought she had heard a loud banging noise； as if he had fallen down or
pushed a door violently open。 Since eightthirty or so — three and a half hours
now — there had been only silence。
She went down the short hall； turned into the main first floor corridor； and
went to the stairs。 She stood on the firstfloor landing looking down into the
lobby。 It appeared deserted； but the gray and snowy day had left much of the
long room in shadow。 Danny could be wrong。 Jack could be behind a chair or couch
。。。 maybe behind the registration desk 。。。 waiting for her to e down。。。
She wet her lips。 〃Jack？〃
No answer。
Her hand found the handle of the knife and she began to go down。 She had seen
the end of her marriage many times； in divorce； in Jack's death at the scene of
a drunken car accident （a regular vision in the dark two o'clock of Stovington
mornings）； and occasionally in daydreams of being discovered by another man； a
soap opera Galahad who would sweep Danny and her onto the saddle of his snow…
white charger and take them away。 But she had never envisioned herself prowling
halls and staircases like a nervous felon； with a knife clasped in one hand to
use against Jack。
A wave of despair struck through her at the thought and she had to stop
halfway down the stairs and hold the railing； afraid her knees would buckle。
（Admit it。 It isn't just Jack； he's just the one solid thing in all of this
you can hang the other things on； the things you can't believe and yet are being
forced to believe； that thing about the hedges； the party favor in the elevator；
the mask）
She tried to stop the thought but it was too late。
（and the voices。）
Because from time to time it had not seemed that there was a solitary crazy
man below them； shouting at and holding conversations with the phantoms in his
own crumbling mind。 From time to time； like a radio signal fading in and out；
she had heard — or thought she had — other voices； and music； and laughter。 At one
moment she would hear Jack holding a conversation with someone named Grady （the
name was vaguely familiar to her but she made no actual connection）； making
statements and asking questions into silence； yet speaking loudly； as if to make
himself heard over a steady background racket。 And then； eerily； other sounds
would be there； seeming to slip into places — a dance band； people clapping； a man
with an amused yet authoritative voice who seemed to be trying to persuade
somebody to make a speech。 For a period of thirty seconds to a minute she would
hear this； long enough to grow faint with terror； and then it would be gone
again and she would only hear Jack； talking in that manding yet slightly
slurred way she remembered as his drunk…speak voice。 But there was nothing in
the hotel to drink except cooking sherry。 Wa