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The tub was dry and empty。
Relief and irritation vented in a sudden 〃Pahl〃 sound that escaped his pressed lips like a very small explosive。 The tub had been scrubbed clean at the end of the season； except for the rust stain under the twin faucets； it sparkled。 There was a faint but definable smell of cleanser； the kind that can irritate your nose with the smell of its own righteousness for weeks； even months； after it has been used。
He bent down and ran his fingertips along the bottom of the tub。 Dry as a bone。 Not even a hint of moisture。 The boy had been either hallucinating or outright lying。 He felt angry again。 That was when the bathmat on the floor caught his attention。 He frowned down at it。 What was a bathmat doing in here？
It should be down in the linen cupboard at the end of the wing with the rest of the sheets and towels and pillow slips。 All the linen was supposed to be there。
Not even the beds were really made up in these guest rooms； the mattresses had been zipped into clear plastic and then covered with bedspreads。 He supposed Danny might have gone down and gotten it…the passkey would open the linen cupboard…but why？ He brushed the tips of his fingers back and forth across it。
The bathmat was bone dry。
He went back to the bathroom door and stood in it。 Everything was all right。
The boy had been dreaming。 There was not a thing out of place。 It was a little puzzling about the bathmat； granted； but the logical explanation was that some chambermaid； hurrying like mad on the last day of the season； had just forgotten to pick it up。 Other than that； everything was… His nostrils flared a little。 Disinfectant； that self…righteous smell； cleaner…than…thou。 And… Soap？
Surely not。 But once the smell had been identified； it was too clear to dismiss。 Soap。 And not one of those postcard…size bars of Ivory they provide you with in hotels and motels； either。 This scent was light and perfumed； a lady's soap。 It had a pink sort of smell。 Camay or Lowila； the brand that Wendy had always used in Stovington。
（It's nothing。 It's your imagination。） （yes like the hedges nevertheless they did move） （They did not move！） He crossed jerkily to the door which gave on the hall； feeling the irregular thump of a headache beginning at his temples。 Too much had happened today； too much by far。 He wouldn't spank the boy or shake him； just talk to him； but by God； he wasn't going to add Room 217 to his problems。 Not on the basis of a dry bathmat and a faint smell of Lowila soap。 He… There was a sudden rattling； metallic sound behind him。 It came just as his hand closed around the doorknob； and an observer might have thought the brushed steel of the knob carried an electric charge。 He jerked convulsively； eyes widening； other facial features drawing in； grimacing。
Then he had control of himself； a little； anyway； and he let 90 of the doorknob and turned carefully around。 His joints creaked。 He began to walk back to the bathroom door； step by leaden step。
The shower curtain； which he had pushed back to look into the tub； was now drawn。 The metallic rattle； which had sounded to him like a stir of bones in a crypt； had been the curtain rings on the overhead bar。 Jack stared at the curtain。 His face felt as if it had been heavily waxed； all dead skin on the outside； live； hot rivulets of fear on the inside。 The way he had felt on the playground。
There was something behind the pink plastic shower curtain。 There was something in the tub。
He could see it； ill defined and obscure through the plastic； a nearly amorphous shape。 It could have been anything。 A trick of the light。 The shadow of the shower attachment。 A woman long dead and reclining in her bath； a bar of Lowila in one stiffening hand as she waited patiently for whatever lover might e。
Jack told himself to step forward boldly and rake the shower curtain back。 To expose whatever might be there。 Instead he turned with jerky； marionette strides； his heart whamming frightfully in his chest； and went back into the bed/sitting room。
The door to the hall was shut。
He stared at it for a long； immobile second。 He could taste his terror now。 It was in the back of his throat like a taste of gone…over cherries。
He walked to the door with that same jerky stride and forced his fingers to curl around the knob。
（It won't open。） But it did。
He turned off the light with a fumbling gesture； stepped out into the hall； and pulled the door shut without looking back。 From inside； he seemed to hear an odd wet thumping sound； far off； dim； as if something had just scrambled belatedly out of the tub； as if to greet a caller； as if it had realized the caller was leaving before the social amenities had been pleted and so it was now rushing to the door； all purple and grinning； to invite the caller back inside。 Perhaps forever。
Footsteps approaching the door or only the heartbeat in his ears？
He fumbled at the passkey。 It seemed sludgy； unwilling to turn in the lock。 He attacked the passkey。 The tumblers suddenly fell and he stepped back against the corridor's far wall； a little groan of relief escaping him。 He closed his eyes and all the old phrases began to parade through his mind； it seemed there must be hundreds of them； （cracking up not playing with a full deck lostya marbles guy just went loony tunes he went up and over the high side went bananas lost his football crackers nuts half a seabag） all meaning the same thing： losing your mind。
〃No；〃 he whimpered； hardly aware that he had been reduced to this； whimpering with his eyes shut like a child。 〃Oh no； God。 Please； God； no。〃 But below the tumble of his chaotic thoughts； below the triphammer beat of his heart； he could hear the soft and futile sound of the doorknob being turned to and fro as something locked in tried helplessly to get out； something that wanted to meet him； something that would like to be introduced to his family as the storm shrieked around them and white daylight became black night。 If he opened his eyes and saw that doorknob moving he would go mad。 So he kept them shut； and after an unknowable time； there was stillness。
Jack forced himself to open his eyes； half…convinced that when he did； she would be standing before him。 But the hall was empty。
He felt watched just the same。
He looked at the peephole in the center of the door and wondered what would happen if he approached it； stared into ft。 What would he be eyeball to eyeball with？
His feet were moving （feets don't fail me now） before he realized it。 He turned them away from the door and walked down to the main hall； his feet whispering on the blue…black jungle carpet。 He stopped halfway to the stairs and looked at the fire extinguisher。 He thought that the folds of canvas were arranged in a slightly different manner。 And he was quite sure that the brass nozzle had been pointing toward the elevator when he came up the hall。 Now it was pointing the other way。
〃I didn't see that at all；〃 Jack Torrance said quite clearly。 His face was white and haggard and his mouth kept trying to grin。
But he didn't take the elevator back down。 It was too much like an open mouth。
Too much by half。 He took the stairs。
》
THE VERDICT
He stepped into the kitchen and looked at them； bouncing the passkey a few inches up off his left hand； making the chain on the white metal tongue jingle； then catching it again。 Danny was pallid and worn out。 Wendy had been crying； he saw； her eyes were red and darkly circled。 He felt a sudden burst of gladness at this。 He wasn't suffering alone； that was sure。
They looked at him without speaking。
〃Nothing there；〃 he said； astounded by the heartiness of his voice。 〃Not a thing。〃 He bounced the passkey up and down； up and down； smiling reassuringly at them； watching the relief spread over their faces； and thought he had never in his life wanted a drink so badly as he did right now。
》
THE BEDROOM
Late that afternoon Jack got a cot from the first…floor storage room and put it in the corner of their bedroom。 Wendy had expected that the boy would be half the night getting to sleep； but Danny was nodding before 〃The Waltons〃 was half over； and fifteen minutes after they had tucked biro in he was far down in sleep； moveless； one band tucked under his cheek。 Wendy sat watching him； holding her place in a fat paperback copy of Cashelmara with one finger。 Jack sat at his desk； looking at his play。
〃Oh shit；〃 Jack said。
Wendy looked up from her contemplation of Danny。 〃What？〃
〃Nothing。〃 He looked down at the play with smoldering ill…temper。 How could he have thought it was good？ It was puerile。 It had been done a thousand times。 Worse； he had no idea how to finish it。 Once it had seemed simple enough。 Denker； in a fit of rage； seizes the poker from beside the fireplace and beats saintly Gary to death。 Then； standing spread…legged over the body； the bloody poker in one hand； he screams at the audience： 〃It's here somewhere and I will find it！〃 Then； as the lights dim and the curtain is slowly drawn； the audience sees Gary's body face down on the forestage as Denker strides to