"Jack, I want to help."
"Oh yeah. You and Danny only want to help." The grip on her ankle was crushing now. Still holding onto her, Jack was getting shakily to his knees. "You wanted to help us all right out of here. But now . . . I . . . gotcha!"
"Jack, you're hurting my ankle—"
"I'll hurt more than your ankle, you bitch." The word stunned her so completely that she made no effort to move when he let go of her ankle and stumbled from his knees to his feet, where he stood swaying in front of her.
"You never loved me," he said. "You want us to leave because you know that'll be the end of me. Did you ever think about my re . . . res . . .
respons'bilities? No, I guess to fuck you didn't. All you ever think about is ways to drag me down. You're just like my mother, you milksop bitch!"
"Stop it," she said, crying. "You don't know what you're saying. You're drunk.
I don't know how, but you're drunk."
"Oh, I know. I know now. You and him. That little pup upstairs. The two of you, planning together. Isn't that right?"
"No, no! We never planned anything! What are you—"
"You liarl" he screamed. "Oh, I know how you do it! I guess I know that! When I say, `We're going to stay here and I'm going to do my job,' you say, `Yes, dear,' and he says, `Yes, Daddy,' and then you lay your plans. You planned to use the snowmobile. You planned that. But I knew. I figured it out. Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Did you think I was stupid?" She stared at him, unable to speak now. He was going to kill her, and then he was going to kill Danny. Then maybe the hotel would be satisfied and allow him to kill himself. Just like that other caretaker. Just like (Grady.) With almost swooning horror, she realized at last who it was that Jack had been conversing with in the ballroom.
"You turned my son against me. That was the worst." His face sagged into lines of selfpity. "My little boy. Now he hates me, too. You saw to that. That was your plan all along, wasn't it? You've always been jealous, haven't you? Just like your mother. You couldn't be satisfied unless you had all the cake, could you? Could you?" She couldn't talk.
"Well, I'll fix you," he said, and tried to put his hands around her throat.
She took a step backward, then another, and he stumbled against her. She remembered the knife in the pocket of her robe and groped for it, but now his left arm had swept around her, pinning her arm against her side. She could smell sharp gin and the sour odor of his sweat.
"Have to be punished," he was grunting. "Chastised. Chastised . . . harshly." His right hand found her throat.
As her breath stopped, pure panic took over. His left hand joined his right and now the knife was free to her own hand, but she forgot about it. Both of her hands came up and began to yank helplessly at his larger, stronger ones.
"Mommy!" Danny shrieked from somewhere. "Daddy, stop! You're hurting Mommyl" He screamed piercingly, a high and crystal sound that she heard from far off.
Red flashes of light leaped in front of her eyes like ballet dancers. The room grew darker. She saw her son clamber up on the bar and throw himself at Jack's shoulders. Suddenly one of the hands that had been crushing her throat was gone as Jack cuffed Danny away with a snarl. The boy fell back against the empty shelves and dropped to the floor, dazed. The hand was on her throat again. The red flashes began to turn black.
Danny was crying weakly. Her chest was burning. Jack was shouting into her face: "I'll fix you! Goddam you, I'll show you who is boss around here! I'll show you—" But all sounds were fading down a long dark corridor. Her struggles began to weaken. One of her hands fell away from his and dropped slowly until the arm was stretched out at right angles to her body, the hand dangling limply from the wrist like the hand of a drowning woman.
It touched a bottle-one of the straw-wrapped wine bottles that served as decorative candleholders.
Sightlessly, with the last of her strength, she groped for the bottle's neck and found it, feeling the greasy beads of wax against her hand.
(and U God if it slips) She brought it up and then down, praying for aim, knowing that if it only struck his shoulder or upper arm she was dead.
But the bottle came down squarely on Jack Torrance's head, the glass shattering violently inside the straw. The base of it was thick and heavy, and it made a sound against his skull like a medicine ball dropped on a hardwood floor. He rocked back on his heels, his eyes rolling up in their sockets. The pressure on her throat loosened, then gave way entirely. He put his hands out, as if to steady himself, and then crashed over on his back.
Wendy drew a long, sobbing breath. She almost fell herself, clutched the edge of the bar, and managed to hold herself up. Consciousness wavered in and out.
She could hear Danny crying, but she had no idea where he was. It sounded like crying in an echo chamber. Dimly she saw dime-sized drops of blood falling to the dark surface of the bar-from her nose, she thought. She cleared her throat and spat on the floor. It sent a wave of agony up the column of her throat, but the agony subsided to a steady dull press of pain . . , just bearable.
Little by little, she managed to get control of herself.
She let go of the bar, turned around, and saw Jack lying full-length, the shattered bottle beside him. He looked like a felled giant. Danny was crouched below the lounge's cash register, both hands in his mouth, staring at his unconscious father.
Wendy went to him unsteadily and touched his shoulder. Danny cringed away from her.
"Danny, listen to me—"
"No, no," he muttered in a husky old man's voice. "Daddy hurt you . . . you hurt Daddy . . . Daddy hurt you , . . I want to go to sleep. Danny wants to go to sleep."
"Danny—"
"Sleep, sleep. Nighty-night."
"No!" Pain ripping up her throat again. She winced against it. But he opened his eyes. They looked at her warily from bluish, shadowed sockets.
She made herself speak calmly, her eyes never leaving his. Her voice was low and husky, almost a whisper. It hurt to talk. "Listen to me, Danny. It wasn't your daddy trying to hurt me. And I didn't want to hurt him. The hotel has gotten into him, Danny. The Overlook has gotten into your daddy. Do you understand me?" Some kind of knowledge came slowly back into Danny's eyes.
"The Bad Stuff," he whispered. "There was none of it here before, was there?"
"No. The hotel put it here. The . . : ' She broke off in a fit of coughing and spat out more blood. Her throat already felt puffed to twice its size. "The hotel made him drink it. Did you hear those people he was talking to this morning?"
"Yes . . . the hotel people. . ."
"I heard them too. And that means the hotel is getting stronger. It wants to hurt all of us. But I think . . , I hope . . , that it can only do that through your daddy. He was the only one it could catch. Are you understanding me, Danny?
It's desperately important that you understand."
"The hotel caught Daddy," He looked at Jack and groaned helplessly.
"I know you love your daddy. I do too. We have to remember that the hotel is trying to hurt him as much as it is us." And she was convinced that was true.
More, she thought that Danny might be the one the hotel really wanted, the reason it was going so far . . . maybe the reason it was able to go so far. It might even be that in some unknown fashion it was Danny's shine that was powering it, the way a battery powers the electrical equipment in a car . . .
the way a battery gets a car to start. If they got out of here, the Overlook might subside to its old semi-sentient state, able to do no more than present penny-dreadful horror slides to the more psychically aware guests who entered it. Without Danny it was not much more than an amusement park haunted house, where a guest or two might hear rappings or the phantom sounds of a masquerade party, or see an occasional disturbing thing. But if it absorbed Danny . , .
Danny's shine or Iifeforce or spirit . . . whatever you wanted to call it . . .
into itself—what would it be then?
The thought made her cold all over.
"I wish Daddy was all better," Danny said, and the tears began to flow again.
"Me too," she said, and hugged Danny tightly. "And honey, that's why you've got to help me put your daddy somewhere. Somewhere that the hotel can't make him hurt us and where he can't hurt himself. Then . . . if your friend Dick comes, or a park ranger, we can take him away. And I think he might be all right again.
All of us might be all right. I think there's still a chance for that, if we're strong and brave, like you were when you jumped on his back. Do you understand?" She looked at him pleadingly and thought how strange it was; she had never seen him when he looked so much like Jack.
"Yes," he said, and nodded. "I think . . . if we can get away from here . . .
everything will be like it was. Where could we put him?"
"The pantry. There's food in there, and a good strong bolt on the outside.
It's warm. And we can eat up the things from the refrigerator and the freezer.
There will be plenty for all three of us until help comes."
"Do we do it now?"
"Yes, right now. Before he wakes up.," Danny put the bargate up while she folded Jack's hands on his chest and listened to his breathing for a moment. It was slow but regular. From the smell of him she thought he must have drunk a great deal . . . and he was out of the habit. She thought it might be liquor as much as the crack on the head with the bottle that had put him out.
She picked up his legs and began to drag him along the floor. She had been married to him for nearly seven years, he had lain on top of her countless times-in the thousandsbut she had never realized how heavy he was. Her breath whistled painfully in and out of her hurt throat. Nevertheless, she felt better than she had in days. She was alive. Having just brushed so close to death, that was precious. And Jack was alive, too. By blind luck rather than plan, they had perhaps found the only way that would bring them all safely out.
Panting harshly, she paused a moment, holding Jack's feet against her hips.
The surroundings reminded her of the old seafaring captain's cry in Treasure Island after old blind Pew had passed him the Black Spot: h'e'll do em yeti And then she remembered, uncomfortably, that the old seadog had dropped dead mere seconds later.
"Are you all right, Mommy? Is he.. . is he too heavy?"
"I'll manage." She began to drag him again. Danny was beside Jack. One of his hands had fallen off his chest, and Danny replaced it gently, with love.
"Are you sure, Mommy?"
"Yes. It's the best thing, Danny."
"It's like putting him in jail."
"Only for awhile."
"Okay, then. Are you sure you can do it?"
"Yes." But it was a near thing, at that. Danny had been cradling his father's head when they went over the doorsills, but his hands slipped in Jack's greasy hair as they went into the kitchen. The back of his head struck the tiles, and Jack began to moan and stir.
"You got to use smoke," Jack muttered quickly. "Now run and get me that gascan." Wendy and Danny exchanged tight, fearful glances.
"Help me," she said in a low voice.
For a moment Danny stood as if paralyzed by his father's face, and then he moved jerkily to her side and helped her hold the left leg. They dragged him across the kitchen floor in a nightmare kind of slow motion, the only sounds the faint, insectile buzz of the fluorescent lights and their own labored breathing.
When they reached the pantry, Wendy put Jack's feet down and turned to fumble with the bolt. Danny looked down at Jack, who was lying limp and relaxed again.
The shirttail had pulled out of the back of his pants as they dragged him and Danny wondered if Daddy was too drunk to be cold. It seemed wrong to lock him in the pantry like a wild animal, but he had seen what he tried to do to Mommy.
Even upstairs he had known Daddy was going to do that. He had heard them arguing in his head.
(If only we could all be out of here. Or if it was a dream I was having, back in Stovington. If only.) The bolt was stuck.
Wendy pulled at it as hard as she could, but it wouldn't move. She couldn't retract the goddam bolt. It was stupid and unfair . . . she had opened it with no trouble at all when she had gone in to get the can of soup. Now it wouldn't move, and what was she going to do? They couldn't put him in the walk-in refrigerator; he would freeze or smother to death. But if they left him out and he woke up . . .
Jack stirred again on the floor.
"I'll take care of it," he muttered. "I understand"
"He's waking up, Mommyl" Danny warned.
Sobbing now, she yanked at the bolt with both hands.
"Danny?" There was something softly menacing, if still blurry, in Jack's voice. "That you, ole doc?"
"Just go to sleep, Daddy," Danny said nervously. "It's bedtime, you know." He looked up at his mother, still struggling with the bolt, and saw what was wrong immediately. She had forgotten to rotate the bolt before trying to withdraw it. The little catch was stuck in its notch.
"Here," he said low, and brushed her trembling hands aside; his own were shaking almost as badly. He knocked the catch loose with the heel of his hand and the bolt drew back easily.
"Quick," he said. He looked down. Jack's eyes bad fluttered open again and this time Daddy was looking directly at him, his gaze strangely flat and speculative.
"You copied it," Daddy told him. "I know you did, But it's here somewhere. And I'll find it. That I promise you. IT find it . . . " His words slurred off again.
Wendy pushed the pantry door open with her knee, hardly noticing the pungent odor of dried fruit that wafted out. She picked up Jack's feet again and dragged him in. She was gasping harshly now, at the limit of her strength. As she yanked the chain pull that turned on the light, Jack's eyes fluttered open again.
