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ite smoke。 He bad made a plete circuit of the shed and the thing wasn't there。 Maybe somebody had lifted it。 Maybe Watson had。 He laughed aloud。 The old office bootleg trick。 A few paperclips； a couple of reams of paper； nobody will miss this tablecloth or this Golden Regal place setting 。 。 。 and what about this fine snowmobile battery？ Yes； that might e in handy。 Toss it in the sack。
White…collar crime； Baby。 Everybody has sticky fingers。 Under…the…jacket discount； we used to call it when we were kids。
He walked back to the snowmobile and gave the side of it a good healthy kick as he went by。 Well； that was the end of it。 He would just have to tell Wendy sorry； baby； but… There was a box sitting in the corner by the door。 The stool bad been right over it。 Written on the top； in pencil； was the abbreviation Skid。
He looked at it； the smile drying up on his lips。 Look； sir； it's the cavalry。
Looks like your smoke signals must have worked after all。
It wasn't fair。
Goddammit； it just wasn't fair。
Something…luck； fate； providence…had been trying to save him。 Some other luck； white luck。 And at the last moment bad old Jack Torrance luck had stepped back in。 The lousy run of cards wasn't over yet。
Resentment； a gray； sullen wave of it； pushed up his throat。 His hands had clenched into fists again。
（Not fair； goddammit； not fair！） Why couldn't he have looked someplace else？ Anyplace！ Why hadn't he had a crick in his neck or an itch in his nose or the need to blink？ Just one of those little things。 He never would have seen it。
Well； he hadn't。 That was all。 It was an hallucination； no different from what had happened yesterday outside that room on the second floor or the goddam hedge menagerie。 A momentary strain； that was all。 Fancy； I thought I saw a snowmobile battery in that corner。 Nothing there now。 bat fatigue； I guess； sir。 Sorry。
Keep your pecker up； son。 It happens to all of us sooner or later。
He yanked the door open almost hard enough to snap the binges and pulled his snowshoes inside。 They were clotted with snow and he slapped them down hard enough on the floor to raise a cloud of it。 He put his left foot on the left shoe 。 。 。 and paused。
Danny was out there； by the milk platform。 Trying to make a snowman； by the looks。 Not much luck； the snow was too cold to stick together。 Still； he was giving it the old college try； out there in the flashing morning； a speck of a bundled…up boy above the brilliant snow and below the brilliant sky。 Wearing his hat turned around backward like Carlton Fiske。
（What in the name of God were you thinking of？） The answer came back with no pause。
（Me。 I was thinking of me。） He suddenly remembered lying in bed the night before； lying there and suddenly he had been contemplating the murder of his wife。
In that instant； kneeling there； everything came clear to him。 It was not just Danny the Overlook was working on。 It was working on him； too。 It wasn't Danny who was the weak link； it was him。 He was the vulnerable one； the one who could be bent and twisted until something snapped。
（until i let go and sleep 。 。 。 and when i do that if i do that） He looked up at the banks of windows and the sun threw back an almost blinding glare from their many…paned surfaces but he looked anyway。 For the first time he noticed how much they seemed like eyes。 They reflected away the sun and held their own darkness within。 It was not Danny they were looking at。 It was him。
In those few seconds he understood everything。 There was a certain black…and… white picture he remembered seeing as a child； in catechism class。 The nun had presented it to them on an easel and called it a miracle of God。 The class had looked at it blankly； seeing nothing but a jumble of whites and blacks； senseless and patternless Then one of the children in the third row had gasped；
〃It's Jesus！〃 and that child had gone home with a brand…new Testament and also a calendar because he had been first。 The others stared even harder； Jacky Torrance among them。 One by one the other kids had given a similar gasp； one little girl transported in near…ecstasy； crying out shrilly： 〃I see Him！ I see Him！〃 She had also been rewarded with a Testament。 At last everyone had seen the face of Jesus in the jumble of blacks and whites except Jacky。 He strained harder and harder； scared now； part of him cynically thinking that everyone else was simply putting on to please Sister Beatrice； part of him secretly convinced that he wasn't seeing it because God had decided he was the worst sinner in the class。 〃Don't you see it； Jacky？〃 Sister Beatrice had asked him in her sad； sweet manner。 I see your tits； he had thought in vicious desperation。 He began to shake his head； then faked excitement and said： 〃Yes； I do！ Wow！ It is Jesus！
〃 And everyone in class had laughed and applauded him； making him feel triumphant； ashamed； and scared。 Later； when everyone else had tumbled their way up from the church basement and out onto the street he had lingered behind； looking at the meaningless black…and…white jumble that Sister Beatrice had left on the easel。 He hated it。 They had all made it up the way he had； even Sister herself。 It was a big fake。 〃Shitfire…hellfire…shitfire；〃 he had whispered under his breath； and as he turned to go he bad seen the face of Jesus from the corner of his eye； sad and。 wise。 He turned back； his heart in his throat。 Everything had suddenly clicked into place and he had stared at the picture with fearful wonder； unable to believe he had missed it。 The eyes； the zigzag of shadow across the care…worn brow； the fine nose； the passionate lips。 Looking at Jack Torrance。 What had only been a meaningless sprawl had suddenly been transformed into a stark black…and…white etching of the face of ChristOur…Lord。
Fearful wonder became terror。 He had cussed in front of a picture of Jesus。 He would be damned。 He would be in hell with the sinners。 The face of Christ had been in the picture all along。 All along。
Now； kneeling in the sun and watching his son playing in the shadow of the hotel； he knew that it was all true。 The hotel wanted Danny； maybe all of them but Danny for sure。 The hedges had really walked。 There was a dead woman in 217； a woman that was perhaps only a spirit and harmless under most circumstances； but a woman who was now an active danger。 Like some malevolent clockwork toy she had been wound up and set in motion by Danny's own odd mind 。 。 。 and his own。
Had it been Watson who had told him a man had dropped dead of a stroke one day on the roque court？ Or had it been Ullman？ It didn't matter。 There had been an assassination on the third floor。 How many old quarrels； suicides； strokes？ How many murders？ Was Grady lurking somewhere in the west wing with his ax； just waiting for Danny to start him up so he could e back out of the woodwork？
The puffed circle of bruises around Danny's neck。
The twinkling； half…seen bottles in the deserted lounge。
The radio。
The dreams。
The scrapbook he had found in the cellar。
（Medoc； are you here？ I've been sleepwalking again； my dear 。 。 。 ） He got up suddenly； thrusting the snowshoes back out the door。 He was shaking all over。 He slammed the door and picked up the box with the battery in it。 It slipped through his shaking fingers （oh christ what if i cracked it） and thumped over on its side。 He pulled the flaps of the carton open and yanked the battery out； heedless of the acid that might be leaking through the battery's casing if it had cracked。 But it hadn't。 It was whole。 A little sigh escaped his lips。
Cradling it； he took it over to the Skidoo and put it on its platform near the front of the engine。 He found a small adjustable wrench on one of the shelves and attached the battery cables quickly and with no trouble。 The battery was live； no need to use the charger on it。 There had been a crackle of electricity and a small odor of ozone when he slipped the positive cable onto its terminal。
The job done； he stood away； wiping his hands nervously on his faded denim jacket。 There。 It should work。 No reason why not。 No reason at all except that it was part of the Overlook and the Overlook really didn't want them out of here。 Not at all。 The Overlook was having one hell of a good time。 There was a little boy to terrorize a man and his woman to set one against the other； and if it played its cards right they could end up flitting through the Overlook's halls like insubstantial shades in a Shirley Jackson novel； whatever walked in Hill House walked alone； but you wouldn't be alone in the Overlook； oh no； there would be plenty of pany here。 But there was really no reason why the snowmobile shouldn't start。 Except of course （Except he still didn't really want to go。） yes； except for that。
He stood looking at the Skidoo； his breath puffing out in frozen little plumes。 He wanted it to be the way it had been。 When he had e in here he'd had no doubts。 Going down would be the wrong decision； he had known that then。
Wendy was only scared of the boogeyman summoned up by a single hysterical little boy。 Now suddenly； he could see her side。 It was like his play； his damnable pla