"Best to keep it simple, then. " Roland took the ball when Eddie tossed it to him but now looked more than a little impatient with the game of toss. "We reallydo have to move on. "
How Eddie knew it. He would have asked his questions while they were rolling, if they all could have ridden in the same vehicle. But they couldn't, and Roland had never driven a motor vehicle, which made it impossible for Eddie and Cullum to ride in the same one.
"All right," he said. "Who is he? Let's start with that. Who is Stephen King?"
"A writer," Cullum said, and gave Eddie a look that said,Are you a fool, son? "He lives over in Bridgton with his family. Nice enough fella, from what I've heard. "
"How far away is Bridgton?"
"Oh. . . twenty, twenty-five miles. "
"How old is he?" Eddie was groping, maddeningly aware that the right questions might be out there, but he had no clear idea of what they were.
John Cullum squinted an eye and seemed to calculate. "Not that old, I sh'd think. If he's thirty, he just got there. "
"This book. . . 'Salem's Lot. . . was it a bestseller?"
"Dunno," Cullum said. "Lots of people around here read it, tell you that much. Because it's set in Maine. And because of the ads they had on TV, you know. Also there was a movie made out of his first book, but I never went to see it. Looked too bloody. "
"What was it called?"
Cullum thought, then shook his head. "Can't quite remember. 'Twas just one word, and I'm pretty sure it was a girl's name, but that's the best I can do. Maybe it'll come to me. "
"He's not a walk-in, you don't think?"
Cullum laughed. "Born and raised right here in the State of Maine. Guess that makes him alive -in. "
Roland was looking at Eddie with increasing impatience, and Eddie decided to give up. This was worse than playing Twenty Questions. But goddammit, Pere Callahan wasreal and he was also in a book of fiction written by this man King, and King lived in an area that was a magnet for what Cullum called walk-ins. One of those walk-ins had sounded very much to Eddie like a servant of the Crimson King. A woman with a bald head who seemed to have a bleeding eye in the center of her forehead, John had said.
Time to drop this for now and get to Tower. Irritating he might be, but Calvin Tower owned a certain vacant lot where the most precious rose in the universe was growing wild. Also, he knew all sorts of stuff about rare books and the folks who had written them. Very likely he knew more about the author of'Salem's Lot than sai Cullum. Time to let it go. But -
"Okay," he said, tossing the ball back to the caretaker. "Lock that thing up and we'll head off to the Dimity Road, if it does ya. Just a couple more questions. "
Cullum shrugged and put the Yaz ball back into the case. "It's your nickel. "
"I know," Eddie said. . . and suddenly, for the second time since he'd come through the door, Susannah seemed weirdly close. He saw her sitting in a room filled with antiquey-looking science and surveillance equipment. Jake's Dogan, for sure. . . only as Susannah must have imagined it. He saw her speaking into a mike, and although he couldn't hear her, he could see her swollen belly and her frightened face. Nowvery pregnant, wherever she was. Pregnant and ready to pop. He knew well enough what she was saying:Come, Eddie, save me, Eddie, save both of us, do it before it's too late.
"Eddie?" Roland said. "You've come over all gray. Is it your leg?"
"Yeah," Eddie said, although right now his leg didn't hurt at all. He thought again of whittling the key. The dreadful responsibility of knowing it had to be just right. And here he was again, in much the same situation. He had hold of something, he knew he did. . . but what? "Yeah, my leg. "
He armed sweat from his forehead.
"John, about the name of the book. 'Salem's Lot. That's actually Jerusalem's Lot, right?"
"Ayuh. "
"It's the name of the town in the book. "
"Ayuh. "
"Stephen King's second book. "
"Ayuh. "
"His secondnovel. "
"Eddie," Roland said, "surely that's enough. "
Eddie waved him aside, then winced at the pain in his arm. His attention was fixed on John Cullum. "Thereis no Jerusalem's Lot, right?"
Cullum looked at Eddie as if he were crazy. "Course not," he said. "It's a made-up story about made-up folks in a made-up town. It's aboutvampires. "
Yes,Eddie thought,and if I told you I have reason to believe that vampires are real. . . not to mention invisible demons, magic balls, and witches. . . you'd be absolutely positive I was nuts, wouldn't you?
"Do you happen to know if Stephen King has been living in this Bridgton town his whole life?"
"No, he hasn't. He 'n his family moved down here two, maybe three years ago. I b'lieve they lived in Windham first when they got down from the northern part of the state. Or maybe 'twas Raymond. One of the towns on Big Sebago, anyway. "
"Would it be fair to say that these walk-ins you mentioned have been turning up since the guy moved into the area?"
Cullum's bushy eyebrows went up, then knitted together. A loud and rhythmic hooting began to come to them from over the water, a sound like a foghorn.
"You know," Cullum said, "you might have somethin there, son. It might only be coincidence, but maybe not. "
Eddie nodded. He felt emotionally wrung out, like a lawyer at the end of a long and difficult cross-examination. "Let's blow this pop-shop," he said to Roland.
"Might be a good idea," Cullum said, and tipped his head in the direction of the rhythmic foghorn blasts. "That's Teddy Wilson's boat. He's the county constable. Also a game warden. " This time he tossed Eddie a set of car-keys instead of a baseball. "I'm givin you the automatic transmission," he said. "Just in case you're a little rusty. The truck's a stick shift. You follow me, and if you get in trouble, honk the horn. "
"I will, believe me," Eddie said.
As they followed Cullum out, Roland said: "Was it Susannah again? Is that why you lost all the color out of your face?"
Eddie nodded.
"We'll help her if we can," Roland said, "but this may be our only way back to her. "
Eddie knew that. He also knew that by the time they got to her, it might be too late.
STAVE: Commala-ka-kate
You're in the hands of fate.
No matter if you're real or not,
The hour groweth late.
RESPONSE: Commala-come-eight!
The hour groweth late!
No matter what the shade ya cast
You're in the hands of fate.