The Waste Lands (Page 60)

Eddie hesitated. “A little, but they’re confused. I’m a kid again, I know that much. It’s after school. Henry and I are shooting hoops at the old Markey Avenue playground, where the Juvenile Court Building is now. I want Henry to take me to see a place over in Dutch Hill. An old house. The kids used to call it The Mansion, and everyone said it was haunted. Maybe it even was. It was creepy, I know that much. Real creepy.”

Eddie shook his head, remembering.

“I thought of The Mansion for the first time in years when we were in the bear’s clearing, and I put my head close to that weird box. I dunno—maybe that’s why I’m having the dream.”

“But you don’t think so,” Susannah said. “No. I think whatever’s happening is a lot more complicated than just remembering stuff.”

“Did you and your brother actually go to this place?” Roland asked. “Yeah—I talked him into it.”

“And did something happen?”

“No. But it was scary. We stood there and looked at it for a little while, and Henry teased me—saving he was going to make me go in and pick up a souvenir, stuff like that—but I knew he didn’t really mean it. He was as scared of the place as I was.”

“And that’s it?” Susannah asked. “You just dream of going to this place? The Mansion?”

“There’s a little more than that. Someone comes . . . and then just land of hangs out. I notice him in the dream, but just a little . . . like out of the corner of my eye, you know? Only I know we’re supposed to pretend we don’t know each other.”

“Was this someone really there that day?” Roland asked. He was watching Eddie intently, “Or is he only a player in this dream?” “That was a long time ago. I couldn’t have been more than thirteen. How could I remember a thing like that for sure?”

Roland said nothing.

“Okay,” Eddie said at last. “Yeah. I think he was there that day. A kid who was either carrying a gym-bag or wearing a backpack, I can’t remember which. And sunglasses that were too big for his face. The ones with the mirror lenses.” “Who was this person?” Roland asked.

Eddie was silent for a long time. He was holding the last of his burritos a la Roland in one hand, but he had lost his appetite. “I think it’s the kid you met at the way station,” he said at last. “I think your old friend Jake was hanging around, watching me and Henry on the afternoon we went over to Dutch Hill. I think he followed us. Because he hears the voices, just like you, Roland. And because he’s sharing my dreams, and I’m sharing his. I think that what I remember is what’s happening now, in Jake’s when. The kid is trying to come back here. And if the key isn’t done when he makes his move—or if it’s done wrong—he’s probably going to die.”

Roland said, “Maybe he has a key of his own. Is that possible?” “Yeah, I think it is,” Eddie said, “but it isn’t enough.” He sighed and stuck the last burrito in his pocket for later. “And I don’t think he knows that.”

THEY MOVED ALONG, ROLAND and Eddie trading off on Susannah’s wheelchair. They picked the left-hand wheelrut. The chair bumped and pitched, and every now and then Eddie and Roland had to lift it over the cobbles which stuck out of the dirt here and there like old teeth. They were still making faster, easier time than they had in a week, how-ever. The ground was rising, and when Eddie looked over his shoulder he could see the forest sloping away in what looked like a series of gentle steps. Far to the northwest, he could see a ribbon of water spilling over a fractured rock face. It was, he realized with wonder, the place they had dubbed “the shooting gallery.” Now it was almost lost behind them in the haze of this dreaming summer afternoon. “Whoa down, boy!” Susannah called sharply. Eddie faced forward again just in time to keep from pushing the wheelchair into Roland. The gunslinger had stopped and was peering into the tangled bushes at the left of the road. “You keep that up, I’m gonna revoke your driver’s license,” Susannah said waspily.

Eddie ignored her. He was following Roland’s gaze. “What is it?” “One way to find out.” He turned, hoisted Susannah from her chair, ~and planted her on his hip. “Let’s all take a look.” “Put me down, big boy—I can make my way. Easier’n you boys, if you really want to know.”

As Roland gently lowered her to the grassy wheelrut, Eddie peered into the woods. The late light threw overlapping crosses of shadow, but he thought he saw what had caught Roland’s eye. It was a tall gray stone, almost completely hidden in a shag of vines and creepers.

Susannah slipped into the woods at the side of the road with eely sinuousness. Roland and Eddie followed.

“It’s a marker, isn’t it?” Susannah was propped on her hands study-ing die rectangular chunk of rock. It had once been straight, but now it leaned drunkenly to the right, like an old gravestone. “Yes. Give me my knife, Eddie.”

Eddie handed it over, then hunkered next to Susannah as the gun-slinger cut away the vines. As they fell, he could see eroded letters carved into the stone, and he knew what they said before Roland had uncovered even half of the inscription: TRAVELLER, BEYOND LIES MID-WORLD.

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN?” Susannah asked at last. Her voice was soft and awestruck; her eyes ceaselessly measured the gray stone plinth. “It means that we’re nearing the end of this first stage.” Roland’s face was solemn and thoughtful as he handed his knife back to Eddie. “I think that we’ll keep to this old coach-road now—or rather, it will keep to us. It has taken up the path of the Beam. The woods will end soon. I expect a great change.” “What is Mid-World?” Eddie asked.