Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [293]
Callahan grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “What? I don’t understand you!” Nor did he much want to, but he had to make some kind of contact, had to bring Eddie back from wherever the accursed thing in the box had taken him. “I don’t…understand you!”
This time the response was clearer: “It says I can fly to the Tower. You can let me go. I want to go!”
“You can’t fly, Eddie.” He wasn’t sure that got through, so he put his head down—all the way, until he and Eddie were resting brow to brow, like lovers. “It was trying to kill you.”
“No…” Eddie began, and then awareness came all the way back into his eyes. An inch from Callahan’s own, they widened in understanding. “Yes.”
Callahan lifted his head, but still kept a prudent grip on Eddie’s shoulders. “Are you all right now?”
“Yeah. I guess so, at least. I was going along good, Father. Swear I was. I mean, the chimes were doing a number on me, but otherwise I was fine. I even grabbed a book and started to read.” He looked around. “Jesus, I hope I didn’t lose it. Tower’ll scalp me.”
“You didn’t lose it. You stuck it partway into the box, and it’s a damned good thing you did. Otherwise the door would have shut and you’d be strawberry jam about seven hundred feet down.”
Eddie looked over the edge and went completely pale. Callahan had just time enough to regret his frankness before Eddie vomited on his new shor’boots.
Seven
“It crept up on me, Father,” he said when he could talk. “Lulled me and then jumped.”
“Yes.”
“Did you get anything at all out of your time over there?”
“If they get my letter and do what it says, a great deal. You were right. Deepneau at least signed up for General Delivery. About Tower, I don’t know.” Callahan shook his head angrily.
“I think we’re gonna find that Tower talked Deepneau into it,” Eddie said. “Cal Tower still can’t believe what he’s gotten himself into, and after what just happened to me—almost happened to me—I’ve got some sympathy for that kind of thinking.” He looked at what Callahan still had clamped under one arm. “What’s that?”
“The newspaper,” Callahan said, and offered it to Eddie. “Care to read about Golda Meir?”
Eight
Roland listened carefully that evening as Eddie and Callahan recounted their adventures in the Doorway Cave and beyond. The gunslinger seemed less interested in Eddie’s near-death experience than he was in the similarities between Calla Bryn Sturgis and East Stoneham. He even asked Callahan to imitate the accent of the storekeeper and the postlady. This Callahan (a former Maine resident, after all) was able to do quite well.
“Do ya,” said Roland, and then: “Ayuh. Do ya, ayuh.” He sat thinking, one bootheel cocked up on the rail of the rectory porch.
“Will they be okay for awhile, do you think?” Eddie asked.
“I hope so,” Roland replied. “If you want to worry about someone’s life, worry about Deepneau’s. If Balazar hasn’t given up on the vacant lot, he has to keep Tower alive. Deepneau’s nothing but a Watch Me chip now.”
“Can we leave them until after the Wolves?”
“I don’t see what choice we have.”
“We could drop this whole business and go over there to East Overshoe and protect him!” Eddie said heatedly. “How about that? Listen, Roland, I’ll tell you exactly why Tower talked his friend into signing up for General Delivery: somebody’s got a book he wants, that’s why. He was dickering for it and negotiations had reached the delicate stage when I showed up and persuaded him to head for the hills. But Tower…man, he’s like a chimp with a handful of grain. He won’t let go. If Balazar knows that, and he probably does, he won’t need a zip code to find his man, just a list of the people Tower did business with. I hope to Christ that if there was a list, it burned up in the fire.”
Roland was nodding. “I understand, but we can’t leave here. We’re promised.”
Eddie thought it over, sighed, and shook his head. “What the hell, three and a half more days over here,