sk.theshining-第80部分
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s burning up there。 Did Hallorann think the guests wanted to go up there and play treasure hunt？ Did he think electricity was free？
And he suspected…no； was nearly positive…that several of the guests had seen or heard things。 too。 In the three years he had been there； the Presidential Suite had been booked nineteen times。 Six of the guests who had put up there had left the hotel early； some of them looking markedly ill。 Other guests had left other rooms with the same abruptness。 One night in August of 1974； near dusk； a man who had won the Bronze and Silver Stars in Korea （that man now sat on the boards of three major corporations and was said to have personally pink…slipped a famous TV news anchorman） unaccountably went into a fit of screaming hysterics on the putting green。 And there had been dozens of children during Hallorann's association with the Overlook who simply refused to go into the playground。 One child had had a convulsion while playing in the concrete rings； but Hallorann didn't know if that could be attributed to the Overlook's deadly siren song or not…word had gone around among the help that the child； the only daughter of a handsome movie actor； was a medically controlled epileptic who had simply forgotten her medicine that day。
And so； staring down at the corpse of Mrs。 Massey； he had been frightened but not pletely terrified。 It was not pletely unexpected。 Terror came when she opened her eyes to disclose blank silver pupils and began to grin at him。 Horror came when （she had started to get out and e after him。） He had fled； heart racing； and had not felt safe even with the door shut and locked behind him。 In fact； he admitted to himself now as he zipped the fiightbag shut； he had never felt safe anywhere in the Overlook again。
And now the boy…calling； screaming for help。
He looked at his watch。 It was 5：30 P。m。 He went to the apartment's door； remembered it would be heavy winter now in Colorado； especially up in the mountains； and went back to his closet。 He pulled his long； sheepskin…lined overcoat out of its polyurethane dry…cleaning bag and put it over his arm。 It was the only winter garment he owned。 He turned off all the lights and looked around。 Had he forgotten anything？ Yes。 One thing。 He took the will out of his breast pocket and slipped it into the margin of the dressing table mirror。 With luck he would be back to get it。
Sure； with luck。
He left the apartment； locked the door behind him； put the key under the rush mat； and ran down the outside steps to his converted Cadillac。
* * *
Halfway to Miami International； fortably away from the switchboard where Queems or Queems's toadies were known to listen in； Hallorann stopped at a shopping center Laundromat and called United Air Lines。 Flights to Denver？
There was one due out at 6：36 P。m。 Could the gentleman make that？
Hallorann looked at his watch； which showed 6：02； and said he could。 What about vacancies on the flight？
Just let me check。
A clunking sound in his ear followed by saccharine Montavani； which was supposed to make being on bold more pleasant。 It didn't。 Hallorann danced from one foot to the other； alternating glances between his watch and a young girl with a sleeping baby； in a hammock on her back unloading a coin…op Maytag。 She was afraid she was going to get home later than she planned and the roast would burn and her husband…Mark？ Mike？ Matt？…would be mad。
A minute passed。 Two。 He had just about made up his mind to drive ahead and take his chances when the cannedsounding voice of the flight reservations clerk came back on。 There was an empty seat； a cancellation。 It was in first class。
Did that make any difference？
No。 He wanted it。
Would that be cash or credit card？
Cash； baby； cash。 I've got to fly。
And the name was…？
Hallorann； two l's； two n's。 Catch you later。
He hung up and hurried toward the door。 The girl's simple thought； worry for the roast； broadcast at him over and over until be thought he would go mad。
Sometimes it was like that； for no reason at all you would catch a thought； pletely isolated； pletely pure and clear 。 。 。 and usually pletely useless。
* * *
He almost made it。
He had the limo cranked up to eighty and the airport was actually in sight when one of Florida's Finest pulled him over。
Hallorann unrolled the electric window and opened his mouth at the cop； who was flipping up pages in his citation book。
〃I know；〃 the cop said fortingly。 〃It's a funeral in Cleveland。 Your father。 It's a wedding in Seattle。 Your sister。
A fire in San Jose that wiped out your gramp's candy store。 Some really fine Cambodian Red just waiting in a terminal locker in New York City。 I love this piece of road just outside the airport。 Even as a kid； story hour was my favorite part of school。〃
〃Listen； officer； my son is…〃
〃The only part of the story I can never figure out until the end；〃 the officer said； finding the right page in his citation book； 〃is the driver's…license number of the offending motorist/storyteller and his registration information… So be a nice guy。 Let me peek。〃 Hallorann looked into the cop's calm blue eyes； debated telling his my…son…is… in…critical…condition story anyway； and decided that would make things worse。
This Smokey was no Queems。 He dug out his wallet。
〃Wonderful；〃 the cop said。 〃Would you take them out for me； please？ I just have to see how it's all going to e out in the end。〃 Silently； Hallorann took out his driver's license and his Florida registration and gave them to the traffic cop。
〃That's very good。 That's so good you win a present。〃
〃What？〃 Hallorann asked hopefully。
〃When I finish writing down these numbers； I'm going to let you blow up a little balloon for me。〃
〃Oh； Jeeeesus！〃 Hallorann moaned。 〃Officer； my flight…〃
〃Shhhh；〃 the traffic cop said。 〃Don't be naughty。〃 Hallorann closed his eyes。
* * *
He got to the United desk at 6：49； hoping against hope that the flight had been delayed。 He didn't even have to ask。 The departure monitor over the ining passengers desk told the story。 Flight 901 for Denver； due out at 6：36 EST； had left at 6：40。 Nine minutes before。
〃Oh shit；〃 Dick Hallorann said。
And suddenly the smell of oranges； heavy and cloying； he had just time to reach the men's room before it came； deafening； terrified： （！！！ E PLEASE E DICK PLEASE PLEASE E ！！！）
》
ON THE STAIRS
One of the things they had sold to swell their liquid assets a little before moving from Vermont to Colorado was Jack's collection of two hundred old rock 'n' roll and r & b albums； they had gone at the yard sale for a dollar apiece。
One of these albums； Danny's personal favorite； had been an Eddie Cochran double…record set with four pages of bound…in liner notes by Lenny Kaye。 Wendy had often been struck by Danny's fascination for this one particular album by a manboy who had lived fast and died young 。 。 。 had died； in fact； when she herself had only been ten years old。
Now； at quarter past seven （mountain time）； as Dick Hallorann was telling Queems about his ex…wife's white boyfriend； she came upon Danny sitting halfway up the stairs between the lobby and the first floor； tossing a red rubber ball from hand to band and singing one of the songs from that album。 His voice was low and tuneless。
〃So I climb one…two flight three flight four；〃 Danny sang； 〃five flight six flight seven flight more 。 。 。 when I get to the top； I'm too tired to rock 。 。
。〃 She came around him； sat down on one of the stair risers； and saw that his lower lip had swelled to twice its size and that there was dried blood on his chin。 Her heart took a frightened leap in her chest； but she managed to speak neutrally。
〃What happened； doc？〃 she asked； although she was sure she knew。 Jack had hit him。 Well； of course。 That came next； didn't it？ The wheels of progress； sooner or later they took you back to where you started from。
〃I called Tony；〃 Danny said。 〃In the ballroom。 I guess I fell off the chair。
It doesn't hurt anymore。 Just feels 。 。 。 like my
