Characters in The Langoliers

“I’ll take a swing at you myself, if you don’t shut up.” Albert Kaussner mustered all his courage and said, “So will I, you putz.” Saying it was a great relief.

… it might have been the first time anyone had ever laid an angry hand upon any part of Anne Quinlan Engle’s body. Yes, he had said. You bet. And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up. You’re not going to whip me with that tongue of yours anymore …

… three hours after Flight 29 took off, a little girl named Dinah Bellman woke up and asked her Aunt Vicky if she could have a drink of water. Aunt Vicky did not answer, so Dinah asked again. When there was still no answer, she reached over to …

“My name’s Bethany Simms. What’s yours?” “Laurel Stevenson.” “Do you think we’ll be all right?” “I think so,” Laurel said, and then added reluctantly: “I hope so.”

THE LADY’S SCENT. THE DALTON GANG ARRIVES IN TOMBSTONE. THE STRANGE PLIGHT OF FLIGHT 29. 1 Brian Engle rolled the American Pride L1011 to a stop at Gate 22 and flicked off the FASTEN SEATBELT light at exactly 10:14 P.M.

“Let’s try the telephones, shall we?” While he went to the bank of telephones, Albert wandered over to the Budget Rent A Car desk. In the slots on the rear wall he saw folders for BRIGGS, HANDLEFORD, MARCHANT, FENWICK and PESTLEMAN.

… out her bottles and break them, or slap her and tell her to get hold of herself, for God’s sake, Catherine Toomy began her life’s work in earnest. She alternately smothered her son with affection and froze him with rejection, depending on how much gin …

“Bravo!” Bob cried, almost feverishly. They were all looking at him now, and no one saw Craig Toomy walking slowly toward them. The gun he had found was no longer pointed at the floor. “Bravo, Albert! You’ve put your finger on it!

“I don’t give a shit what they like and what they don’t like, Danny. We came close tonight.” Danny Keene nodded. He knew they had. Brian sighed and rubbed a hand up and down the back of his neck. His head ached like a bad tooth.

… all you need to do is look for the guy who’s floating somewhere near the ceiling . . . His name was Darren Crosby. She wouldn’t need to look at his photograph; that much was true. She had memorized his face, just as she had memorized most of his letters …

“I made something like this and pretended it was my whip. I almost broke my brother David’s arm once. I loaded an old blanket with a sashweight I found in the garage. Pretty stupid, I guess. I didn’t know how hard it would hit.

He looked like a gate agent, but Brian knew he wasn’t. It was John (or maybe it was James) Deegan, Deputy Chief of Operations for American Pride at LAX. “Captain Engle?” “Yes?”

3 About three hours after Flight 29 took off, a little girl named Dinah Bellman woke up and asked her Aunt Vicky if she could have a drink of water. Aunt Vicky did not answer, so Dinah asked again.

The Earp brothers, Wyatt and Virgil, were on his right, and Doc Holliday was on his left. He was just lifting his glass to offer a toast when a man with a peg leg ran-hopped into the Sergio Leone Saloon.

Her unseeing eyes swept them. “And it’s bad. It’s an awful sound, a scary sound.” Don Gaffney said hesitantly: “If you knew what it was, little miss, that would help, maybe.” “I don’t,” Dinah said.

Dr. Feldman had told her that children who were blind from birth often developed a high sensitivity—almost a kind of radar—to the presence or absence …

“Look what we have got here,” he sneered. “It is Wyatt Earp and his pansy brother, Virgil.” Emmett Dalton (who looked like Donald Sutherland after a month of hard nights) pulled up beside Ike. “And their faggot dentist friend, too,” he snarled.

“Let’s try the telephones, shall we?” While he went to the bank of telephones, Albert wandered over to the Budget Rent A Car desk. In the slots on the rear wall he saw folders for BRIGGS, HANDLEFORD, MARCHANT, FENWICK and PESTLEMAN.

“Christ,” Paw whispered. “It’s Ace Kaussner!” Now Frank James pulled his mount into line next to Paw. His face was the color of dirty parchment. “What the hell, boys!” Frank cried.

“Let’s try the telephones, shall we?” While he went to the bank of telephones, Albert wandered over to the Budget Rent A Car desk. In the slots on the rear wall he saw folders for BRIGGS, HANDLEFORD, MARCHANT, FENWICK and PESTLEMAN.

Ike Dalton was the first to see the four men standing in the dusty street, their frock coats pulled back to free the handles of their guns.

What’s your name?” “Laurel Stevenson,” the dark-haired woman said. Her eyes were still conning the main cabin, and her face seemed unable to break out of its initial expression: dazed disbelief. “Laurel, that’s a flower, isn’t it?” Dinah asked. She spoke with feverish vivacity. “Uh-huh,” Laurel said.

“Let’s try the telephones, shall we?” While he went to the bank of telephones, Albert wandered over to the Budget Rent A Car desk. In the slots on the rear wall he saw folders for BRIGGS, HANDLEFORD, MARCHANT, FENWICK and PESTLEMAN.

… in first class, where, a thousand years ago and on the other side of the continent, a woman named Melanie Trevor had supervised a carton of orange juice and two bottles of champagne. Brian watched closely as Albert put down a book of matches, a bottle …

… vague sensory input and which sometimes did seem to see through the eyes of others (no matter what Miss Lee said)—was adding to her fear rather than alleviating it. Because that sense was telling her there was nobody within its circle of …

Mr. Markey’s lunch—a sub sandwich poking out of a brown paper bag—was on the top shelf. Mr. Markey’s street shoes were placed neatly side by side on the bottom shelf.

I suppose I might end up going after Mr. O’Banion after all. As I see it, he’s not all that much different from our friend Toomy.” “Dinah asked you to spare Mr. Toomy,” Brian pointed out.

Craig felt momentary surprise—Mr. Parker hadn’t been scheduled to attend this meeting—and then the feeling was overwhelmed by happiness. “No procedures at all!”

He looked a great deal like Hugh O’Brian. “This here is Tombstone, Muffin,” he said. “You got to get yore stinky ole shit together.” “Well, they’re ridin in, wherever we are!” Muffin exclaimed.

How bad am I hit? I can’t feel anything yet. Were you able to stop the bleeding?” Nick Hopewell squatted beside Bethany. His face wore a bemused, unbelieving smile. “I think you’ll live, matey.

“Who else wants—” Then he looked at Albert and paled. The thin sneer faltered on his lips. Paw Dalton pulled up beside his two sons. Paw bore a strong resemblance to Slim Pickens. “Christ,” Paw whispered. “It’s Ace Kaussner!”

“Let’s try the telephones, shall we?” While he went to the bank of telephones, Albert wandered over to the Budget Rent A Car desk. In the slots on the rear wall he saw folders for BRIGGS, HANDLEFORD, MARCHANT, FENWICK and PESTLEMAN.

… Kaussner, Laurel Stevenson, and the man in the ratty sport-coat, who had introduced himself as Robert Jenkins. He was, he said, the author of more than forty mystery novels, and had been on his way to Boston to address a convention of mystery fans.

Once Roger Toomy was safely in the ground, where he could no longer search out her bottles and break them, or slap her and tell her to get hold of herself, …

The bald man looked at him from beneath one raised eyebrow. “First, the name is Rudy Warwick, not mister,” he replied. “Second, people think better when their stomachs are full.” He shrugged. “It’s just a law of nature.”

… all at once decided how it would be a great idea if I spent a couple of weeks with my Aunt Shawna, even though school starts again in ten days. I think the idea was for me to get off the plane, just like Mary’s little lamb, and then Aunt …

He preferred Scotch (although not to excess), he had a cat named Stanley, he was a dedicated heterosexual, he was a perfect gentleman (or so he claimed), and he thought Laurel was the most beautiful name he had …

God, he was tired. There was a knock at the compartment door; Steve Searles, the navigator, turned in his seat and opened it without standing up. A man in a green American Pride blazer was standing there.

Tom Holby, a senior vice-president, had drawn Craig aside after the meeting to offer congratulations . . . and a word of warning.

“What do you say, boys?” Virgil Earp asked, looking around. Virgil didn’t look like much of anyone. “Let’s go,” Wyatt said.

Ike reined his horse in savagely and it rose on its rear legs, squealing, foam splattering in thick curds around the bit. Ike Dalton looked quite a bit like Rutger Hauer. “Look what we have got here,” he sneered. “It is Wyatt Earp and his pansy brother, Virgil.”