“In the book, it’s Father Callahan. But on the flap someone wrote Father Cody, which is actually the name of the town’s doctor.”
“And that’s all it took to bump the price of a copy from nine bucks to nine hundred and fifty,”
Eddie marveled.
Tower nodded. “That’s all — scarcity, clipped flap, misprint. But there’s also an element of speculation in collecting rare editions which I find . . . quite exciting.”
“That’s one word for it,” Deepneau said dryly.
“For instance, suppose this man King becomes famous or critically acclaimed? I admit the
chances are small, but suppose that did happen? Available first editions of his second book are so rare that, instead of being worth seven hundred and fifty dollars, my copy might be worth ten
times that.” He frowned at Eddie. “So you’d better be taking good care of it.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Eddie said, and wondered what Calvin Tower would think if he knew that one of the book’s characters had it on a shelf in his arguably fictional rectory. Said rectory in a town that was the fraternal twin of one in an old movie starring Yul Brynner as Roland’s twin, and introducing Horst Buchholz as Eddie’s.
He’d think you were crazy, that’s what he’d think.
Eddie got to his feet, swayed a little, and gripped the kitchen table. After a few moments the
world steadied.
“Can you walk on it?” Roland asked.
“I was before, wasn’t I?”
“No one was digging around in there before.”
Eddie took a few experimental steps, then nodded. His shin flared with pain each time he
shifted his weight to his right leg, but yes — he could walk on it.
“I’ll give you the rest of my Percocet,” Aaron said. “I can get more.”
Eddie opened his mouth to say yeah, sure, bring it on, and then saw Roland looking at him. If
Eddie said yes to Deepneau’s offer, the gunslinger wouldn’t speak up and cause Eddie to lose
face . . . but yes, his dinh was watching.
Eddie thought of the speech he’d made to Tower, all that poetic stuff about how Calvin was
eating a bitter meal. It was true, poetic or not. But that apparently wouldn’t stop Eddie from
sitting back down to that same dinner himself. First a few Percodan, then a few Percocet. Both of
them too much like horse for comfort. So how long would it be before he got tired of kissing his sister and started looking for some real pain relief?
“I think I’ll skip the Peres,” Eddie said. “We’re going to Bridgton — ”
Roland looked at him, surprised. “We are?”
“We are. I can pick up some aspirin on the way.”
“Astin,” Roland said, with unmistakable affection.
“Are you sure?” Deepneau asked.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I am.” He paused, then added: “Say sorry.”
THIRTEEN
Five minutes later the four of them stood in the needle-carpeted dooryard, listening to sirens and looking at the smoke, which had now begun to thin. Eddie was bouncing the keys to John
Cullum’s Ford impatiently in one hand. Roland had asked him twice if this trip to Bridgton was
necessary, and Eddie had told him twice that he was almost sure it was. The second time he’d
added (almost hopefully) that as dinh, Roland could overrule him, if he wished.
“No. If you think we should go see this tale-spinner, we will. I only wish you knew why. ”
“I think that when we get there, we’ll both understand.”
Roland nodded, but still looked dissatisfied. “I know you’re as anxious as I am to leave this world — this level of the Tower. For you to want to go against that, your intuition must be
strong.”
It was, but there was something else, as well: he’d heard from Susannah again, the message
once more coming from her version of the Dogan. She was a prisoner in her own body — at least
Eddie thought that was what she was trying to tell him — but she was in the year 1999 and she was all right.
This had happened while Roland was thanking Tower and Deepneau for their help. Eddie was
in the bathroom. He’d gone in to take a leak, but suddenly forgot all about that and simply sat on the toilet’s closed lid, head bent, eyes closed. Trying to send a message back to her. Trying to tell her to slow Mia down if she possibly could. He’d gotten the sense of daylight from her — New
York in the afternoon — and that was bad. Jake and Callahan had gone through the Unfound
Door into New York at night; this Eddie had seen with his own eyes. They might be able to help
her, but only if she could slow Mia down.
Burn up the day, he sent to Susannah . . . or tried to. You have to burn up the day before she takes you to wherever she’s supposed to have the kid. Do you hear me? Suze, do you hear me?
Answer if you hear me! Jake and Pere Callahan are coming and you have to hold on!
June, a sighing voice had replied. June of 1999. The girls walk around with their bellies showing and —
Then came Roland’s knock on the bathroom door, and Roland’s voice asking if Eddie was
ready to roll. Before the day was over they’d make their way to Turtleback Lane in the town of
Lovell — a place where walk-ins were common, according to John Cullum, and reality was apt
to be correspondingly thin — but first they were going to make a trip to Bridgton, and hopefully meet the man who seemed to have created Donald Callahan and the town of ‘Salem’s Lot.
Be a hoot if King was out in California, writing the movie version, or something, Eddie thought, but he didn’t believe that was going to be the case. They were still on the Path of the Beam, in the way of ka. So, presumably, was sai King.
“You boys want to take it very easy,” Deepneau told them. “There are going to be a lot of cops around. Not to mention Jack Andolini and whatever remains of his merry band.”
“Speaking of Andolini,” Roland said, “I think the time has come for the two of you to go somewhere he isn’t.”
Tower bristled. Eddie could have predicted it. “Go now? You must be joking! I have a list of almost a dozen people in the area who collect books — buy, sell, trade. Some know what they’re
doing, but others . . .” He made a clipping gesture, as if shearing an invisible sheep.
“There’ll be people selling old books out of their barns over in Vermont, too,” Eddie said.
“And you want to remember how easy it was for us to find you. It was you who made it easy, Cal.”
“He’s right,” Aaron said, and when Calvin Tower made no reply, only turned his sulky face down to regard his shoes, Deepneau looked at Eddie again. “But at least Cal and I have driver’s licenses to show, should we be stopped by the local or the state police. I’m guessing neither of you do.”
“That would be correct,” Eddie said.
“And I very much doubt if you could show a permit to carry those frighteningly large
handguns, either.”
Eddie glanced down at the big — and incredibly ancient — revolver riding just below his hip,
then looked back up at Deepneau, amused. “That would also be correct,” he said.
“Then be careful. You’ll be leaving East Stoneham, so you’ll probably be okay if you are.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said, and stuck out his hand. “Long days and pleasant nights.”
Deepneau shook. “That’s a lovely thing to say, son, but I’m afraid my nights haven’t been
especially pleasant just lately, and if things on the medical front don’t take a turn for the better soon, my days aren’t apt to be especially long, either.”
“They’re going to be longer than you might think,” Eddie said. “I have good reason to believe you’ve got at least another four years in you.”
Deepneau touched a finger to his lips, then pointed at the sky. “From the mouth of man to the ear of God.”
Eddie swung to Calvin Tower while Roland shook hands with Deepneau. For a moment Eddie
didn’t think the bookstore owner was going to shake with him, but at last he did. Grudgingly.
“Long days and pleasant nights, sai Tower. You did the right thing.”
“I was coerced and you know it,” Tower said. “Store gone . . . property gone . . . about to be run off the first real vacation I’ve had in ten years . . .”
“Microsoft,” Eddie said abruptly. And then: “Lemons.”
Tower blinked. “Beg pardon?”
” Lemons” Eddie repeated, and then he laughed out loud.
FOURTEEN
Toward the end of his mostly useless life, the great sage and eminent junkie Henry Dean had