SLEEP DIDN’T COME AS soon as Jake had hoped. The voices began to argue again about whether he was alive or dead, and they kept him awake. At last he sat up in bed with his eyes closed and his fisted hands planted against his temples. Quit! he screamed at them. Just quit! You were gone all day, be gone again! I would if he’d just admit I’m dead, one of the voices said sulkily. I would if he’d just take a for God’s sake look around and admit I’m clearly alive, the other snapped back.
He was going to scream right out loud. There was no way to hold it back; he could feel it coming up his throat like vomit. He opened his eyes, saw his pants lying over the seat of his desk chair, and an idea occurred to him. He got out of bed, went to the chair, and felt in the right front pocket of the pants. The silver key was still there, and the moment his fingers closed around it, the voices ceased.
Tell him, he thought, with no idea who the thought was for. Tell him to grab the key. The key makes the voices go.
He went back to bed and was asleep with the key clasped loosely in his hand three minutes after his head hit the pillow.
III • DOOR AND DEMON
•Ill•
DOOR AND DEMON
EDDIE WAS ALMOST ASLEEP when a voice spoke clearly in his ear: Tell him to grab the key. The key makes the voices go.
He sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. Susannah was sound asleep beside him; that voice had not been hers.
Nor anyone else’s, it seemed. They had been moving through the woods and along the path of the Beam for eight days now, and this evening they had camped in the deep cleft of a pocket valley. Close by on the left, a large stream roared brashly past, headed in the same direc-tion as they were: southeast. To the right, firs rose up a steep slope of land. There were no intruders here; only Susannah asleep and Roland awake. He sat huddled beneath his blanket at the edge of the stream’s cut, staring out into the darkness. Tell him to grab the key. The key makes the voices go. Eddie hesitated for only a moment. Roland’s sanity was in the bal-ance now, the balance was tipping the wrong way, and the worst part of it was this: no one knew it better than the man himself. At this point, Eddie was prepared to clutch at any straw.
He had been using a folded square of deerskin as a pillow. He reached beneath it and removed a bundle wrapped in a piece of hide. He walked over to Roland, and was disturbed to see that the gunslinger did not notice him until he was less than four steps from his unprotected back. There had been a time—and it was not so long ago—when Roland would have known Eddie was awake even before Eddie sat up. He would have heard the change in his breathing. He was more alert than this back on the beach, when he was half-dead from the lobster-thing’s bite, Eddie thought grimly. Roland at last turned his head and glanced at him. His eyes were bright with pain and weariness, but Eddie recognized these things as no more than a surface glitter. Beneath it, he sensed a growing confusion that would almost surely become madness if it continued to develop unchecked. Pity tugged at Eddie’s heart.
“Can’t sleep?” Roland asked. His voice was slow, almost drugged. “I almost was, and then I woke up,” Eddie said. “Listen—” “I think I’m getting ready to die.” Roland looked at Eddie. The bright shine left his eyes, and now looking into them was like staring into a pair of deep, dark wells that seemed to have no bottom. Eddie shud-dered, more because of that empty stare than because of what Roland had said. “And do you know what I hope lies in the clearing where the path ends, Eddie?”
“Roland—“
“Silence,” Roland said. He exhaled a dusty sigh. “Just silence. That will be enough. An end to … this.”
He planted his fists against his temples, and Eddie thought: I’ve seen someone else do that, and not long ago. But who? Where? It was ridiculous of course; he had seen no one but Roland and Susannah for almost two months now. But it felt true, all the same. “Roland, I’ve been making something,” Eddie said. Roland nodded. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I know. What is it? Are you finally ready to tell?”
“I think it might be part of this ka-tet thing.” The vacant look left Roland’s eyes. He gazed at Eddie thoughtfully but said nothing.
“Look.” Eddie began to unfold the piece of hide. That won’t do any good! Henry’s voice suddenly brayed. It was so loud that Eddie actually flinched a little. It’s just a stupid piece of wood-carving! He’ll take one look and laugh at it! He’ll laugh at you! “Oh, lookit this!” he’ll say. “Did the sissy carve something?”
“Shut up,” Eddie muttered.
The gunslinger raised his eyebrows.
“Not you.”
Roland nodded, unsurprised. “Your brother comes to you often, doesn’t he, Eddie?”
For a moment Eddie only stared at him, his carving still hidden in the hide square. Then he smiled. It was not a very pleasant smile. “Not as often as he used to, Roland. Thank Christ for small favors.” “Yes,” Roland said. “Too many voices weigh heavy on a man’s heart . . . What is it, Eddie? Show me, please.”
Eddie held up the chunk of ash. The key, almost complete, emerged from it like the head of a woman from the prow of a sailing ship … or the hilt of a sword from a chunk of stone. Eddie didn’t know how close he had come to duplicating the key-shape he had seen in the fire (and never would, he supposed, unless he found the right lock in which to try it), but he thought it was close. Of one thing he was quite sure: it was the best carving he had ever done. By far. “By the gods, Eddie, it’s beautiful!” Roland said. The apathy was gone from his voice; he spoke in a tone of surprised reverence Eddie had never heard before. “Is it done? It’s not, is it?”