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icycle gear） in order to see if maybe Mick Jagger or Frank Sinatra had decided to pay them a call。 Nope； just us； folks。 Sleep kept stealing him away。 Once he awoke （Colorado？ Illinois？） to the thumping of rock music； Wolf snapping his fingers while keeping the big car rolling smoothly； a bursting sky of orange and purple and blue； and saw that Richard had somewhere acquired a book and was reading it with the aid of the El Dorado's recessed passenger light。 The book was Broca's Brain。 Richard always knew what time it was。 Jack rolled his eyes upward and let the music； the evening colors； take him。 They had done it； they had done everything 。 。 。 everything except what they would have to do in an empty little resort town in New Hampshire。
Five days； or one long； dreaming twilight？ 'Run Through the Jungle。' Zoot Sims's tenor saxophone saying Here's a story for you； do you like this story？ Richard was his brother； his brother。
Time returned to him about when the Talisman came back to life； during the magical sunset of the fifth day。 Oatley； Jack thought on the sixth day。 I could have shown Richard the Oat…ley tunnel； and whatever's left of the Tap； I could have shown Wolf which way to go 。 。 。 but he did not want to see Oatley again； there was no satisfaction or pleasure in that。 And he was conscious now of how close they had e； of how far they had travelled while he drifted through time like a whistle。 Wolf had brought them to the great broad artery of I…95； now that they were in Connecticut； and Arcadia Beach lay only a few states away； up the indented New England coast。 From now on Jack counted the miles； and the minutes； too。
2
At quarter past five on the evening of December 21st； some three months after Jack Sawyer had set his face…and his hopes…on the west； a black El Dorado Cadillac swung into the crushed…gravel driveway of the Alhambra Inn and Gardens in the town of Arcadia Beach； New Hampshire。 In the west； the sunset was a mellow valediction of reds and oranges fading to yellow 。 。 。 and blue 。 。 。 and royal purple。 In the gardens themselves； naked branches clattered together in a bitter winter wind。 Amid them； until a day not quite a week ago； had been a tree which caught and ate small animals…chipmunks； birds； the desk clerk's starveling； slat…sided cat。 This small tree had died very suddenly。 The other growing things in the garden； though skeletal now； still bided with dormant life。
The El Dorado's steel…belted radials popped and cracked over the gravel。 From inside； muffled behind the polarized glass； came the sound of Creedence Clearwater Revival。 'The people who know my magic；' John Fogerty sang； 'have filled the land with smoke。'
The Cadillac stopped in front of the wide double doors。 There was only darkness beyond them。 The double headlights went out and the long car stood in shadow； tailpipe idling white exhaust； orange parking lights gleaming。
Here at the end of day； here at sunset with color fanning up from the western sky in glory。
Here：
Right here and now。
3
The back of the Caddy was lit with faint； uncertain light。 The Talisman flickered 。 。 。 but its glow was weak； little more than the glow of a dying firefly。
Richard turned slowly toward Jack。 His face was wan and frightened。 He was clutching Carl Sagan with both hands； wringing the paperback the way a washerwoman might wring a sheet。
Richard's Talisman； Jack thought； and smiled。 'Jack； do you want…'
'No；' Jack said。 'Wait until I call。'
He opened the rear right door； started to get out of the car； then looked back at Richard。 Richard sat small and shrunken in his seat； wringing his paperback in his hand。 He looked miserable。
Not thinking； Jack came back in for a moment and kissed Richard's cheek。 Richard put his arms around Jack's neck for a moment； and hugged fiercely。 Then he let Jack go。 Neither of them said anything。
4
Jack started for the stairs leading up to the lobby…level 。 。 。 and then turned right and walked for a moment to the edge of the driveway instead。 There was an iron railing here。 Below it； cracked and tiered rock fell to the beach。 Farther to his right； standing against the darkling sky； was the Arcadia Funworld roller coaster。
Jack lifted his face to the east。 The wind that was harrying through the formal gardens lifted his hair away from his forehead and blew it back。
He lifted the globe in his hands； as if as an offering to the ocean。
5
On December 21st； 1981； a boy named Jack Sawyer stood near the place where the water and the land came together； hands cradling an object of some worth； looking out at the night…steady Atlantic。 He had turned thirteen years old that day； although he did not know it； and he was extraordinarily beautiful。 His brown hair was long…probably too long…but the sea…breeze swept it back from a fine； clear brow。 He stood there thinking about his mother； and about the rooms in this place which they had shared。 Was she going to turn on a light up there？ He rather suspected she was。
Jack turned； eyes flashing wildly in the Talisman's light。
6
Lily felt along the wall with one trembling； skeletal hand； groping for the light…switch。 She found it and turned it on。 Anyone who had seen her in that moment might well have turned away。 In the last week or so； the cancer had begun to sprint inside her； as if sensing that something might be on the way which would spoil all its fun。 Lily Cavanaugh now weighed seventy…eight pounds。 Her skin was sallow； stretched over her skull like parchment。 The brown circles under her eyes had turned a dead and final black； the eyes themselves stared from their sockets with fevered； exhausted intelligence。 Her bosom was gone。 The flesh on her arms was gone。 On her buttocks and the backs of her thighs； bedsores had begun to flower。
Nor was that all。 In the course of the last week； she had contracted pneumonia。
In her wasted condition she was； of course； a prime candidate for that or any other respiratory disease。 It might have e under the best of circumstances 。 。 。 and these were definitely not those。 The radiators in the Alhambra had ceased their nightly clankings some time ago。 She wasn't sure just how long…time had bee as fuzzy and indefinable to her as it had been for Jack in the El Dorado。 She only knew the heat had gone out on the same night she had punched her fist through the window； making the gull that had looked like Sloat fly away。
In the time since that night the Alhambra had bee a deserted coldbox。 A crypt in which she would soon die。
If Sloat was responsible for what had happened at the Alhambra； he had done one hell of a good job。 Everyone was gone。 Everyone。 No more maids in the halls trundling their squeaky carts。 No more whistling maintenance man。 No more mealy…mouthed desk clerk。 Sloat had put them all in his pocket and taken them away。
Four days ago…when she could not find enough in the room to satisfy even her birdlike appetite…she had gotten out of bed and had worked her way slowly down the hall to the elevator。 She brought a chair with her on this expedition； alternately sitting on it； her head hanging in exhaustion； and using it as a walker。 It took her forty minutes to traverse forty feet of corridor to the elevator shaft。
She had pushed the button for the car repeatedly； but the car did not e。 The buttons did not even light。
'Fuck a duck；' Lily muttered hoarsely； and then slowly worked herself another twenty feet down the hall to the stairwell。
'Hey！' she shouted downstairs； and then broke into a fit of coughing； bent over the back of the chair。
Maybe they couldn't hear the yell but they sure as shit must have been able to hear me coughing out whatever's left of my lungs； she thought。
But no one came。
She yelled again； twice； had another coughing fit； and then started back down the hallway； which looked as long as a stretch of Nebraska turnpike on a clear day。 She didn't dare go down those stairs。 She would never get back up them。 And there was no one down there； not in the lobby； not in The Saddle of Lamb； not in the coffee shop； not anywhere。 And the phones were out。 At least； the phone in her room was out； and she hadn't heard a single ring anywhere else in this old mausoleum。 Not worth it。 A bad gamble。 She didn't want to freeze to death in the lobby。
'Jack…O；' she muttered； 'where the hell are y…'
Then she began to cough again and this one was really bad and in the middle of it she collapsed to one side in a faint； pulling the ugly sitting…room chair over on top of her； and she lay there on the cold floor for nearly an hour； and that was probably when the pneumonia moved into the rapidly declining neighborhood that was Lily Cavanaugh's body。 Hey there； big C！ I'm the new kid on the block！ You can call me big P！ Race you to the finish line！
Somehow she had made it back to her room； and since then she had existed in a deepening spiral of fever； listening to her respiration grow louder and louder until her fevered mind began to imagine her lungs as two organic aquariums in which a number of submerged chains were rattling。 And