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he should e back creeping through this hotel two thousand miles from the New

England town where his father had lived and died。

He raised the radio up and brought it down; and it smashed on the floor

spilling old clocksprings and tubes like the result of some crazy elevator game

gone awry; making his father's voice gone; leaving only his voice; Jack's voice;

Jacky's voice; chanting in the cold reality of the office:

〃 — dead; you're dead; you're dead!〃

And the startled sound of Wendy's feet hitting the floor over his head; and

Wendy's startled; frightened voice: 〃Jack? Jack!〃

He stood; blinking down at the shattered radio。 Now there was only the

snowmobile in the equipment shed to link them to the outside world。

He put his hands over his eyes and clutched at his temples。 He was getting a

headache。

CATATONIC

Wendy ran down the hall in her stocking feet and ran down the main stairs to

the lobby two at a time。 She didn't look up at the carpeted flight that led to

the second floor; but if she had; she would have seen Danny standing at the top

of them; still and silent; his unfocused eyes directed out into indifferent

space; his thumb in his mouth; the collar and shoulders of his shirt damp。 There

were puffy bruises on his neck and just below his chin。

Jack's cries had ceased; but that did nothing to ease her fear。 Ripped out of

her sleep by his voice; raised in that old hectoring pitch she remembered so

well; she still felt that she was dreaming — but another part knew she was awake;

and that terrified her more。 She half…expected to burst into the office and find

him standing over Danny's sprawled

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