Characters in The Dark Tower VI: Song of Susannah

… plans, laid on his horn with both hands—WHEEEOOOONNNNNNK!!!—and leaned out his window, hollering “Move it, Abdul, you’re blockin the box!” Jake paid no attention. He was in a total fury. This time he brought both fists down on the hood of the taxi, like Ratso Rizzo in Midnight Cowboy—THUD! “ …

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said. “John, I’ve got—” “Don’t tell me, you got another question. Only person I know who’s got more of em is my grand-nephew Aidan. He just went three. Go on, ask.” “Could you pinpoint the center of the walk-in activity in this area over the last few years?”

First, more had been passed down to him than just Roland’s name and trade of hand. Second, he was coming around. “Of Alaric, aye,” Roland said, “him of the red hair.” “I don’t know anything about his hair, but I know why he went to Garlan. Do you?”

Thank you for your cooperation.” “This is it, people,” Scowther said. His pain and terror appeared forgotten; he sounded excited. He turned to his nurse. “It may cry, Alia. If it does, let it alone, for your father’s sake! If it doesn’t, swab out its mouth at once!” “Yes, doctor.”

“Aye, if you like.” “Once he knew a man—a bad man—named Amos Depape, brother of the Roy Depape who ran with Eldred Jonas in Mejis. Your dinh believes Amos Depape was stung to death by a snake, and in a way he was...but the snake was me.” Susannah said nothing.

It’s also—in some way she cannot understand—the voice of Andrew, her chauffeur. “Diem and Nhu are dead,” says that voice. “Now do slip the dogs of war, the tale of woe begins; from here the way to Jericho Hill is paved with blood and sin.

Tonight we had Andy Fulcher sit the big kids while Tab & I & Owen went to the Bridgton Drive-In. Tabby thought the film (The Other Side of Midnight...from lastyear , actually) was a piece of shit, but I didn’t hear her begging to be taken home.

” This time it was King’s turn to look at the clock. “If I don’t leave soon, Betty Jones is going to call to see if I forgot I have a son. And after I get Joe I’m supposed to drive a hundred and thirty miles north, there’s that.

What sort of awful lie is that to hear as you sit in a stinking southern jail with your wet underpants clinging to your crotch? Why is “Buffalo” Bob Smith of the Howdy Doody show yelling “Cowabunga, kids, Martin Luther King is dead”? And the kids all screaming back, “Commala-come-Yay!

Brown, his name had been. Life for your crop, Roland heard across an echo of years, and Life for your own. He’d forgotten Brown, and Brown’s pet raven, Zoltan, but this stranger had not. “What I liked,” King said, “was how the story seemed to be going backward.

Burt Hatlen called today. He’s talking about me maybe doing a year at the University of Maine as writer in residence. Only Burt would be ballsy enough to think of a hack like me in connection w/ a job like that. Sort of an interesting idea, though.

We’re at the Lovell house, of course, and as I was getting ready to leave on my morning walk, she showed me a story from today’s LewistonSun. It seems that a Stoneham man, Charles “Chip” McCaus-land, was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver while walking on Route 7.

… Three The next voice is that of Chet Huntley, co-anchor of The Huntley-Brinkley Report. It’s also—in some way she cannot understand—the voice of Andrew, her chauffeur. “Diem and Nhu are dead,” says that voice. “Now do slip …

… Pere Callahan had made a brief visit to the East Stoneham Post Office almost two weeks before the shootout at Chip McAvoy’s store, and there the former Jerusalem’s Lot parish priest had written a hurried note. Although addressed to both Aaron Deepneau and Calvin Tower, the note inside the envelope …

“In the Spaghetti Westerns,” Eddie said. “Jesus, of course! I watched a hundred of em at the Majestic with my brother Henry, when Henry was still at home. I went by myself or with this friend of mine, Chuggy Coter, when Henry was in the Nam. Those were guy flicks.”

And if so what they find there? I promise not to tell a soul and you will be making a dying woman very happy. Sincerely, Coretta Vele Stowe, Vt. I feel like such a shit when I think of how blithe I was concerning the ending ofWaste Lands.

… boy named Darryl, and at first he couldn’t, he was limp and he couldn’t, and then later on he could and Odetta’s secret other—the screaming, laughing, ugly other—never came near. Darryl and Det lay together until morning, slept spoons until morning beneath the Mississippi moon. Listening to the crickets. Listening …

The card readHappy Birthday from the Mansfields—Dave, Sandy, and Megan. I had totally forgotten, but today I’m the Big Four-Two. Anyway, I took one of the roses out, and I kind of got lost in it. I know how strange that sounds, believe me, but I did.

Or some ghoul’s idea of a joke. Why else would Frank McGee be saying President Kennedy’s brother, Bobby, is dead? Why would Dave Garroway from the Today show be saying that the President’s little boy is dead, that John-John has been killed in a plane crash?

I can’t remember, only that it first came to me a long, long time ago. Driving back from up north, with my entire family snoozing, I got thinking about that time David and I ran away from Aunt Ethelyn’s. We were planning to go back to Connecticut, I think.

… Four Now it’s the voice of David Brinkley, saying that someone named Stephen King was struck and killed by a minivan while walking near his home in Lovell, a small town in western Maine. King was fifty-two, he says, the …

And some of them have gone home, praise God, but Odetta Holmes and eighteen others stay. Yes. They stay at the Blue Moon Motor Hotel. And sometimes at night they go out back, and Delbert Anderson brings his guitar and they sing.

Almost aVault of Horror type of thing. June 19th, 1980 Just got off the phone with Kirby McCauley.He got a call from Donald Grant, who publishes lots of fantasy stuff under his own imprint (Kirby likes to joke that Don Grant is “the man who made Robert E. Howard infamous”).

Donnie Russert called someone he knew at Duke University, and that fella called someone in their Department of Psychic Studies—amazin they’ve got such a thing as that in a real college, but it appears they do—and the Psychic Studies woman said that’s what such folks are called: walk-ins.

Kirby sez he thinks Ed Ferman (the Ed-in-chief there) will probably run everything of theDT story that I’ve got. He’s going to call the first bit (“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed,” etc., etc., blah-blah, bang-bang) “The Gunslinger,” which makes sense.

The age of reason! I can hardly believe my youngest is seven and my daughter is thirteen, a lovely young woman. August 14th, 1984 (NYC) Just got back from a meeting with Elaine Koster from NAL and my agent, the ole Kirboo.

As for my grandson, the beautiful Ethan? He just tugs on the balloon tied to his toe and laughs. Daughter Naomi and son Owen got here late last night.

I can’t remember, only that it first came to me a long, long time ago. Driving back from up north, with my entire family snoozing, I got thinking about that time David and I ran away from Aunt Ethelyn’s. We were planning to go back to Connecticut, I think.

The Steve in the mirror knows I’m still a college sophomore, going to classes and protesting the war in Viet Nam by day, drinking beer down at Pat’s Pizza with Flip Thompson and George McLeod by night. As for my grandson, the beautiful Ethan?

“Is it something Mac McCutcheon and Floyd Calderwood dreamed up?” “I don’t know those men, and it’s no joke.” “Maybe not, but that man can’t be real.” King stepped into the jeans. He spoke to Eddie in a reasonable tone of voice. “I mean, I wrote about him!” Eddie nodded.

She’s supposed to think they’re coming from a TV out in the jail’s office, she assumes, but it’s got to be a trick. Or some ghoul’s idea of a joke. Why else would Frank McGee be saying President Kennedy’s brother, Bobby, is dead?

In any case, his thoughts seemed very clear as he lowered the bowling bag to the folded dry-cleaning bags on top of the safe. Remembering a conversation in the alley behind Home. He and Frankie Chase and Magruder, out on a smoke-break.

Maybe retire completely. August 7, 1998 Took my usual walk this afternoon, and tonight I took Fred Hauser with me to the AA meeting in Fryeburg. On the way home he asked me to sponsor him and I said yes; I think he’s finally getting serious about sobering up.

The Steve in the mirror knows I’m still a college sophomore, going to classes and protesting the war in Viet Nam by day, drinking beer down at Pat’s Pizza with Flip Thompson and George McLeod by night. As for my grandson, the beautiful Ethan?

“Christ,” said one of Susannah’s guards—whether vampire or low man she didn’t know. “Are my ears bleeding? They feel like they must be—” “Pick her up, Haber!” Sayre snarled. “Jey! Grab hold! Get her off the floor, for your fathers’ sakes!”

Feel for something between you and the door...something like a hook...or a thorn...” As he spoke, Henchick nodded at the Manni heading the line of reinforcements. “Hedron, come forward. Thonnie, take hold of Hedron’s shoulders. Lewis, take hold of Thonnie’s. And on back! Do it!” The line shuffled forward.

In a lively lecture last night at the North Conway Public Library, local sociologist Henry K. Verdon, author ofPeer Groups and Myth-Making, used the Walk-In phenomenon as an illustration of just how myths are created and how they grow.

Into the clearing at the end of the path along with Gasher and Hoots, Benny Slightman, Susan Delgado (Calla, Callahan, Susan, Susannah) and the Tick-Tock Man, even Blaine and Patricia. Roland and his ka-tet would also pass into that clearing, be it early or late.

“Only that he collects em, because he told Jane Sargus. Jane’s got a little shop right where Dimity Road branches off from Route 5. That’s about a mile south of here. Dimity Road’s actually where that fella and his friend are stayin, if we’re talking about the right ones.

Sayre snarled. “Jey! Grab hold! Get her off the floor, for your fathers’ sakes!” Bulldog and Hawkman—or Haber and Jey, if you liked that better—grabbed her beneath the arms and quickly carried her down the aisle of the ward that way, past the rows of empty beds.

Was it possible that, in some of the deeper ranges of his mind and heart, King had expected their visit? Had been waiting for them? “You have a wife and children,” Roland said. “Where are they?” “Tabby’s folks live up north, near Bangor.

Three days after they disappeared somewhere around Philadelphia there was a meeting at John Bambry’s church and the local Negro activists told the three dozen or so remaining white northerners that in light of what was now happening, they were of course free to go home.

November 27th, 1991 Remember me saying that I’d get bitched at about the ending ofWaste Lands? Look at this! Letter follows from John T. Spier, of Lawrence, Kansas: November 16, 91 Dear Mr. King, Or should I just cut to the chase and say “Dear Asshole”?

“Sometimes they’re dressed in old-fashioned clothes, as if they came from...ago, I guess you’d say. One was nekkid as a jay-bird, walkin right up the middle of Route 5. Junior Angstrom seen im. Last November this was. Sometimes they talk other languages.

Almost aVault of Horror type of thing. June 19th, 1980 Just got off the phone with Kirby McCauley.He got a call from Donald Grant, who publishes lots of fantasy stuff under his own imprint (Kirby likes to joke that Don Grant is “the man who made Robert E. Howard infamous”).

The Blue Moon is owned by Lester Bambry, whose brother John is pastor of the First Afro-American Methodist Church of Oxford, can you give me hallelujah, can you say amen. It is July 19th of 1964, a month to the day after the disappearance of Cheney, Goodman, and Schwerner.

He supposed it took a few years to become fully invested in the Manni brand of extravagant weirdness; in time Lewis and Thonnie would get there, but they hadn’t made it much past peculiar as yet. Henchick nodded, a little impatiently. Eddie bent and opened the box. It was easy.

“Is it something Mac McCutcheon and Floyd Calderwood dreamed up?” “I don’t know those men, and it’s no joke.” “Maybe not, but that man can’t be real.” King stepped into the jeans. He spoke to Eddie in a reasonable tone of voice. “I mean, I wrote about him!” Eddie nodded.

In any case, his thoughts seemed very clear as he lowered the bowling bag to the folded dry-cleaning bags on top of the safe. Remembering a conversation in the alley behind Home. He and Frankie Chase and Magruder, out on a smoke-break.

Joking, I suppose, but anodd joke for T. Not much like her. June 17, 1999 Talked with Rand Holston and Mark Carliner tonight. They both sound excited about moving on fromStorm of the Century toRose Red (orKingdom Hospital ), but either one would fill my plate up again.

The card readHappy Birthday from the Mansfields—Dave, Sandy, and Megan. I had totally forgotten, but today I’m the Big Four-Two. Anyway, I took one of the roses out, and I kind of got lost in it. I know how strange that sounds, believe me, but I did.

I wasn’t fucking for the sex of it, or because in coitus I was almost mortal, or because it brought death to most of my partners, but to have a baby like theirs. Like their Michael.” She lowered her head slightly and said, “I would have taken him, you know.

In fact, she threw him out of her office. Mitch Guttenberg poked his head in shortly thereafter. “Do they think they’ll be able to get your bag back, Tru—” “Get lost,” Trudy said without looking up. “Right now.” Guttenberg assessed her pallid cheeks and set jaw.

“In a minute. Roland, do you remember Susannah mentioning a man named Moses Carver?” “A stem...which is to say a man of affairs. He took over her father’s business when sai Holmes died, am I correct?” “Yeah. He was also Suze’s godfather. She said he could be trusted completely.

“Sorry. It’s a prime number, but that’s all I can come up with. Primes sort of fascinate me, have ever since Mr. Soychak’s Algebra I class at Lisbon High. And I think it’s how old I was when I met my wife, but she might dispute that.

Oh well, who remembers all the nasty little nooks of their childhood? Whowants to? Not much else happening. Joe and Naomi made Playground, and Tabby’s plans for her trip to England are pretty much complete. Boy, that story about the gunslingerwon’t get out of my head!

For the moment this memory held, she could smell White Shoulders perfume and Pond’s Beauty Bar, her mother’s soap and her mother’s borrowed perfume, so grown-up to be allowed perfume, and she thought: It’s the Spring Hop! I’m going with Nathan Freeman! Then it was gone.

“I’m gonna have to give you a ticket, Rev.” “Do what you need to do, Officer Benzyck. God loves you.” “Good. Delighted to hear it. As for the ticket, you’ll tear it up. Right?” “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; render unto God those things that are God’s.

… she would read to him and point out Old Star and Old Mother in the sky and tell him the story of how Rustie Sam stole the widow’s best loaf of bread; how she would hug him to her and bathe his cheek with her grateful tears when he spoke …

Punishment Detail, Uncle Oren called it. It seems to me that something scary happened to me out there, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was, only that it wasred. And I thought up a hero, a magic gunslinger, to keep me safe from it.

Was it possible that, in some of the deeper ranges of his mind and heart, King had expected their visit? Had been waiting for them? “You have a wife and children,” Roland said. “Where are they?” “Tabby’s folks live up north, near Bangor.

The cop who took her report turned out to be Officer Paul Antassi. “My name is Trudy Damascus,” she said, “and I was just mugged on Second Avenue.” Officer Antassi was extremely sympathetic on the phone, and Trudy found herself imagining an Italian George Clooney.

Why not? ’Tis a good name, and fair.” Professor Murray’s Introduction to Medieval History, that’s what she’s talking about. “I will name him Mordred,” said she.

So what had she done? You used this stuff, that’s what you did. It’s only in your head, anyway—what Professor Overmeyer called “a visualization technique” back in Psych One. Close your eyes. Susannah did so.

Joking, I suppose, but anodd joke for T. Not much like her. June 17, 1999 Talked with Rand Holston and Mark Carliner tonight. They both sound excited about moving on fromStorm of the Century toRose Red (orKingdom Hospital ), but either one would fill my plate up again.

… CLAIMS MAN DRIVING LETHAL VAN “TOOK EYES OFF THE ROAD” AS HE APPROACHED KING ON ROUTE 7 By Ray Routhier LOVELL, ME.(Exclusive) Maine’s most popular author was struck and killed by a van while walking near his summer home yesterday afternoon. The van was driven by Bryan Smith of Fryeburg.

She was thinking about Richard Goldman, the asshole CEO of a certain toy company, and how— But that was when Trudy’s life changed. At 1:19 P.M., EDT, to be exact.

… Star and Old Mother in the sky and tell him the story of how Rustie Sam stole the widow’s best loaf of bread; how she would hug him to her and bathe his cheek with her grateful tears when he spoke his first word, which would, of course, be Mama.

He was currently asking Eddie what had happened to Ruth Beemer and her sister. If he meant the two women who’d been in the store (Eddie was pretty sure he did), Eddie hoped that Chip wouldn’t suddenly regain his memory. There was another door at the back.

I don’t suppose I’ll ever go back to ole Roland the Gun-Toting Knight Errant, but yes, I’m proud of that book. Good thing I remembered the beer run. February 21st, 1984 Man, I got thiscrazy call from Sam Vaughn at Doubleday this afternoon (he editedPet Sem, you will remember).

The card readHappy Birthday from the Mansfields—Dave, Sandy, and Megan. I had totally forgotten, but today I’m the Big Four-Two. Anyway, I took one of the roses out, and I kind of got lost in it. I know how strange that sounds, believe me, but I did.

Probably not surprising. I wrote for awhile this morning on my Vietnam story, switching over from longhand to my PowerBook, so I guess I’m serious about it. I like the way Sully John reappeared. Question: Will Roland Deschain and his friends ever meet Bobby Garfield’s pal, Ted Brautigan?

Eddie thought Sylvia Goldover was a Skank El Supremo (smelly armpits and dragon breath wafting out from between a pair of Mick Jagger lips), but kept his mouth shut because Henry thought she was beautiful, and Eddie didn’t want to hurt Henry’s feelings.

Had been waiting for them? “You have a wife and children,” Roland said. “Where are they?” “Tabby’s folks live up north, near Bangor. My daughter’s been spending the last week with her nanna and poppa. Tabby took our youngest—Owen, he’s just a baby—and headed that way about an hour ago.

“Might be a good idea,” Cullum said, and tipped his head in the direction of the rhythmic foghorn blasts. “That’s Teddy Wilson’s boat. He’s the county constable. Also a game warden.” This time he tossed Eddie a set of car-keys instead of a baseball.

There were shocked gasps at this, but Henchick looked at Eddie with eyes that almost seemed to twinkle. “Lewis, Thonnie!” he said, almost jovially. “Bring me the Branni coff.” Two strapping young men with short beards and hair pulled back in long braids stepped forward.

The truck’s horseless front end ran over the first of the bodies. Guts flew in red ropes and splashed the dirt of the shoulder. Legs and arms were torn off. A wheel squashed Tricks Postino’s head, the sound of his imploding skull like a chestnut bursting in a hot fire.

… One Until June first of 1999, Trudy Damascus was the sort of hard-headed woman who’d tell you that most UFOs were weather balloons (and those that weren’t were probably the fabrications of people who wanted to get on TV), the Shroud of Turin was some fourteenth-century con man’s trick, and …

She falls forward into the darkness and the soft beeping of machinery and the last voice she hears is that of Walter Cronkite, telling her that Diem and Nhu are dead, astronaut Alan Shepard is dead, Lyndon Johnson is dead, Richard Nixon is dead, Elvis Presley is dead, Rock Hudson …