Characters in Gwendy's Final Task

Is this what it feels like to lose your mind? Holding her breath, she pulls open the heavy white door. Adesh Patel and Gareth Winston are floating above the common room floor, the pair of large viewscreens lapping at the bottom of their boots like dark hungry mouths.

Gwendy was sourly amused by the portentous tones of the narrator in the TV ad. “Andrew embraced her from behind with one hand planted firmly on her bare midriff.

… was depending more and more on her assistant, Annmarie Briggs, to keep her apprised of her schedule, a thing she had always taken care of herself. Forget a roll-call? the old Gwendy would have said. Never in this life! And now this, staring back at her from the screen of …

Please. In here I’m Gwendy.” “All right, Gwendy. Is there a history of Alzheimer’s or dementia in your family?” “Not really. My Aunt Felicia went gaga, but she was in her late 90s.” “Uh-huh, good. And you lost your husband fairly recently?” “Yes.” “I’m very sorry for your loss.

“Crew, roger your visors.” They do. “Give it to Becky,” Eileen says. “Giving it to Becky, roger,” Kathy replies. “No commands, all computer. What do you say, Becky?” “That I have the bus,” the voice of Becky the computer replies. Dave says, “And what kind of bus is it, Becky?”

She looks younger and livelier than the reflection she saw in her bathroom mirror minutes ago. She’s just finished telling Kathy Lundgren and Bern Stapleton all about Boris the scorpion’s impressive display in the Bug Lab. At the conclusion of her story, she jumps to her feet, exclaiming “Maar!”

Frank and Betsy Rhineman. Nice people. It’s a shame their son died so young.” “How do you know the—” “You stripped out of the swim trunks you were wearing and slipped on a pair of Mrs. Rhineman’s panties—pale yellow with a black lace border, not too frilly—ate an ice …

After bowling, they would head over to Billy Franklin’s bachelor pad where they’d feast on catered Mexican food and watch college football on the big-screen television.

She can feel the corners of the button box inside. No, the thing called Bobby whispers in her head. Don’t do this. The Tower must not stand. Rule Discordia! Then she thinks of Richard Farris’s weary face when he said How I loathe it. “Rule my ass,” she says.

… remote control and Boris the scorpion crawls out, claws clicking, his loaded stinger arched over his back. “Pandinus imperator,” Adesh says. “Emperor scorpion. Its sting is rarely fatal to humans, but for its prey—” “There he goes!” Reggie cries. “Upsa-daisy, Boris! My man!” Claws still clicking, Boris floats upward and …

I’ve spoken with Brian Gardener at the CR Sheriff’s Department and he’s going to make sure no one gets within shouting distance of your house. I also rode out and talked to your father, so he wouldn’t have to hear about the fire on the news.

… things you just answered—and so much more; my gosh, so much more, dear girl; think of your Grandpa Charlie and your best friend Olive; think of those amazing star clusters of yours; and before you go to sleep tonight, take a good long look at …

… Station Chief in London, Munich, and New York—sixty-three-year-old Charlotte Morgan became the eighth appointee (and only the second woman) to be named as Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. She was also one of Gwendy Peterson’s closest and most trusted friends. They’d first met at a budget meeting during …

He’s traveled the world and speaks several languages. He’s happily married to a beautiful woman named Daksha, which means “The Earth” in their traditional culture, and they have twin fourteen-year-old sons. She’s seen a number of photographs, and the family is always smiling.

“Static electricity, I guess.” Dr. Dale Glen goes floating by, peering at something on his iPad. “Very likely. It’s common up here.” He says it without looking up from whatever he’s reading. “Whew, it was strong, whatever it was,” Winston says, and manages a fake comic-book laugh: Ha! Ha!

It is sending messages to the stars...and hoping for a response. Kathy Lundgren: “Mission Control, are we go for docking?” Eileen Braddock: “Go for dock, Eagle Heavy, we are green across the board.” David Graves: “Visors down, campers. We’ve got...” “Seventeen minutes,” Kathy finishes. “Crew, roger your visors.” They do.

One man—old enough to remember hearing Neil Armstrong’s crackling voice telling the world that the Eagle had landed—turns to his wife with tears in his eyes and goosebumps on his tanned, scrawny arms. The old man is Douglas “Dusty” Brigham. His wife is Sheila Brigham.

Also, her neighbors—Ed and Lorraine Henderson—promise to keep a close watch. The insurance company doesn’t expect to hear back from Ms. Peterson until her return from outer space (Mr.

No telephone numbers, her iPhone won’t work up here (although Eileen Braddock assured her such service was only a year or two away), but a complete list of her phone’s functions, plus a list of her duties as Eagle’s Weather Officer.

Frank and Betsy Rhineman. Nice people. It’s a shame their son died so young.” “How do you know the—” “You stripped out of the swim trunks you were wearing and slipped on a pair of Mrs. Rhineman’s panties—pale yellow with a black lace border, not too frilly—ate an ice cream …

She opens it. The email is two pages long and is signed (electronically, of course) by a Progressive Representative by the name of Frederick Lynn. She skims its contents. The insurance company is currently working on an estimate of the damage to her house.

She looks around and sees three other helmets floating. Gareth Winston snatches his down. “What the hell do I do with it?” He sounds shaky. Gwendy remembers this, and Winston should; God knows they had enough dress rehearsals. Reggie Black says, “Under your seat. Your compartment, remember?”

This guy was named Gerald “Gerry” Keele, an oldtimer who was sort of refreshing because he didn’t have any of that (excuse the language) “fuck you and the horse you rode in on” Derry attitude. I asked my questions, showed him Ryan’s picture, and right away he said yeah.

I figured it was because you’re...well...” “Because I’m old? It’s okay, it’s true. And not a dirty word.” Adesh shakes his head. “No’ ma’am. You might be older than the rest of us, but you’re not old. Now my Grandma Aanya, she’s old.” “Point taken,” Gwendy says.

“Are you thinking about Grandma Helen right now?” Mrs. Peterson’s mother had passed away earlier in the spring as a result of complications from early onset diabetes. She was only sixty-one. The entire family had taken it hard, especially Gwendy.

… playing Hearts with Ralph Mirarchi, Mick Meredith, and Homer Baliko. He introduced the tall blonde lady towering over his shoulder as Deputy Director Charlotte Morgan of the Central Intelligence Agency. He quickly shooed the other men out of the room, and after offering their guest a ridiculous half-bow, left them …

Adesh has pulled himself over to look out of Winston’s porthole, and Jafari Bankole is looking over his shoulder. There’s currently no Earth to look at from that one, but Dr. Glen has pulled himself down to look out the other side. “Amazing. Amazing.

“Only if you don’t want the world to stick around long enough for Jenny to graduate from high school and go to an Ivy League college and have babies of her own one day.” “You’re serious?” “Unfortunately, yes.” The Deputy Director, never once breaking eye contact, was silent then.

Kathy Lundgren, sounding as cool as the other side of the pillow: “Flight termination armed. T-minus one minute. Are we go for launch?” Sam Drinkwater and Eileen Braddock answer together: “Go for launch.” With the hand not holding Jafari’s, Gwendy feels for the steel box. It’s there, it’s safe.

… about who was and who wasn’t invited to Katy Sharrett’s end-of-year pool party, and making fart sounds by stuffing their hands into their armpits. Not Gwendy. She had been fascinated. When she got home from school later that afternoon, she’d immediately begged her parents to buy her a telescope. After …

“Are there other members of the Derry Police Department involved in this conspiracy?” “Yup.” “And who might they be?” “Officers Ronald Freeman and Kevin Malerman.” Mitchell raises a fist. “My bros!” “What can you tell us about the man who bribed you?” “Tall. Thin. White. Wearing a long yellow coat.

Lawrence Winston III, also known as dear old Dad, made his piddling fortune selling commercial real estate and collecting rent checks on almost five hundred two- and three-bedroom apartments in a string of downtown high-rises.

Also, her neighbors—Ed and Lorraine Henderson—promise to keep a close watch. The insurance company doesn’t expect to hear back from Ms. Peterson until her return from outer space (Mr.

The girl in the video is five years old. Her name is Mallory and she’s from Atlanta, Georgia. The Senator watches the ninety-second video three times from start to finish, murmuring the words to the accompanying song, which she now remembers perfectly: Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree.

… where Alan was playing Hearts with Ralph Mirarchi, Mick Meredith, and Homer Baliko. He introduced the tall blonde lady towering over his shoulder as Deputy Director Charlotte Morgan of the Central Intelligence Agency. He quickly shooed the other men out of the room, and after offering their guest a ridiculous …

… in attendance, plus bloggers and even a national guy, who probably just happened to be in the area: Miguel Almaguer, from NBC News. There was also an excellent turnout of locals, who cheered their fannies off. Gwendy even spotted some homemade signs. Her …

After some thought she called one of her new friends: Mike DeWine at the NSA. She told him she needed to make an appointment with a psychiatrist who was completely trustworthy.

A month earlier, just before the end of the school year, Gwendy’s fifth grade science teacher, Mr. Loggins—who more often than not taught his daily lessons with a big green crusty booger visible in one or both nostrils—had taken the class on a field trip to the planetarium.

… a pencil-thin mustache who insisted the residents address him as Mr. Winchester—sauntered into the sunroom where Alan was playing Hearts with Ralph Mirarchi, Mick Meredith, and Homer Baliko. He introduced the tall blonde lady towering over his shoulder as Deputy Director Charlotte Morgan of the Central Intelligence Agency. He quickly …

Or would, if a box that could destroy the world wasn’t involved. “Okay, here it is. Norman Ambrose is our top go-to shrink. He’s on Michigan Avenue.” Gwendy wrote down the address, plus Ambrose’s office number and personal cell. Thank God for NSA info, Gwendy thought.

They step in. Gwendy sees a row of plexiglass cases with beetles and bugs in some of them, spiders in others. Including Olivia the tarantula. Ugh, Gwendy thinks. The far end of the room has been sealed off with floor-to-ceiling plexi, creating a larger cage with smaller cages inside it.

Gwendy thought that the effect of the pills he’d taken was beginning to wear off. “Never mind. The last proprietor was a woman named Patricia Vachon, from Vancouver. She was a schoolteacher working with mentally disabled children, and like you in many ways, Gwendy.

SENDY GWENDY! The coverage of her speech was good (local NPR stations ran the whole ten minutes that night). Paul Magowan’s comment on the late news was typically condescending: “Welcome to the race, little lady—at least you’ll have your books to fall back on when it’s over.”

1223 Carbine Street. Her address. Pippa, the name of her father’s ageing dachshund. Homeland Cemetery, where her mother is buried. A list of her medications, presumably now stored in her tiny cabin along with the scant wardrobe she was allowed to bring.

… the sunroom where Alan was playing Hearts with Ralph Mirarchi, Mick Meredith, and Homer Baliko. He introduced the tall blonde lady towering over his shoulder as Deputy Director Charlotte Morgan of the Central Intelligence Agency. He quickly shooed the other men out of the room, and after offering their guest …

“What the hell do I do with it?” He sounds shaky. Gwendy remembers this, and Winston should; God knows they had enough dress rehearsals. Reggie Black says, “Under your seat. Your compartment, remember?” “Right,” Winston says, but doesn’t add a thank you; that doesn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.

“Are there other members of the Derry Police Department involved in this conspiracy?” “Yup.” “And who might they be?” “Officers Ronald Freeman and Kevin Malerman.” Mitchell raises a fist. “My bros!” “What can you tell us about the man who bribed you?” “Tall. Thin. White. Wearing a long yellow coat.

“That’s the Pacific Ocean,” the second in command says quietly, and now that she’s not trying, she can remember his name: Sam Drinkwater. “How can America be gone so fast, Sam?” “Speed will do that. Hawaii just passing below us. Japan coming up.”

To his immediate right is the agent in charge, whose unblurred face instantly reminds Gwendy of her father’s youngest brother, Uncle Harvey.

In the interim, cameraman Vernon Beeson has given up on the close-up, and is pulling back to the original wide-angle view. As the row of houses reappears on the right side of the screen, the abandoned gas station and Bassey Park creep back into view on the left.

No one’s called me that since I was a snot-nose kid at Derry Elementary.” “Anything else?” Ward Thomas Mitchell, aka Warthog, laughs. But there’s no laughter in his eyes. “There’s the clown.” “Want to see a clown, Ward, look in the mirror,” one of the others says. He sounds disgusted.