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She
tried
to
stop
the
thought
but
it
was
too
late
.
(
and
the
voices
.
)
Because
from
time
to
time
it
had
not
seemed
that
there
was
a
solitary
crazy
man
below
them
,
shouting
at
and
holding
conversations
with
the
phantoms
in
his
own
crumbling
mind
.
From
time
to
time
,
like
a
radio
signal
fading
in
and
out
,
she
had
heard
-
or
thought
she
had
-
other
voices
,
and
music
,
and
laughter
.
At
one
moment
she
would
hear
Jack
holding
a
conversation
with
someone
named
Grady
(
the
name
was
vaguely
familiar
to
her
but
she
made
no
actual
connection
)
,
making
statements
and
asking
questions
into
silence
,
yet
speaking
loudly
,
as
if
to
make
himself
heard
over
a
steady
background
racket
.
And
then
,
eerily
,
other
sounds
would
be
there
,
seeming
to
slip
into
places
-
a
dance
band
,
people
clapping
,
a
man
with
an
amused
yet
authoritative
voice
who
seemed
to
be
trying
to
persuade
somebody
to
make
a
speech
.
For
a
period
of
thirty
seconds
to
a
minute
she
would
hear
this
,
long
enough
to
grow
faint
with
terror
,
and
then
it
would
be
gone
again
and
she
would
only
hear
Jack
,
talking
in
that
commanding
yet
slightly
slurred
way
she
remembered
as
his
drunk
-
speak
voice
.
But
there
was
nothing
in
the
hotel
to
drink
except
cooking
sherry
.
Wasn
’
t
that
right
?
Yes
,
but
if
she
could
imagine
that
the
hotel
was
full
of
voices
and
music
,
couldn
’
t
Jack
imagine
that
he
was
drunk
?
She
didn
’
t
like
that
thought
.
Not
at
all
.
Wendy
reached
the
lobby
and
looked
around
.
The
velvet
rope
that
had
cordoned
off
the
ballroom
had
been
taken
down
;
the
steel
post
it
had
been
clipped
to
had
been
knocked
over
,
as
if
someone
had
carelessly
bumped
it
going
by
.
Mellow
white
light
fell
through
the
open
door
onto
the
lobby
rug
from
the
ballroom
’
s
high
,
narrow
windows
.
Heart
thumping
,
she
went
to
the
open
ballroom
doors
and
looked
in
.
It
was
empty
and
silent
,
the
only
sound
that
curious
subaural
echo
that
seems
to
linger
in
all
large
rooms
,
from
the
largest
cathedral
to
the
smallest
hometown
bingo
parlor
.
She
went
back
to
the
registration
desk
and
stood
undecided
for
a
moment
,
listening
to
the
wind
howl
outside
.
It
was
the
worst
storm
so
far
,
and
it
was
still
building
up
force
.
Somewhere
on
the
west
side
a
shutter
latch
had
broken
and
the
shutter
banged
back
and
forth
with
a
steady
flat
cracking
sound
,
like
a
shooting
gallery
with
only
one
customer
.
(
Jack
,
you
really
should
take
care
of
that
.
Before
something
gets
in
.
)
What
would
she
do
if
he
came
at
her
right
now
,
she
wondered
.
If
he
should
pop
up
from
behind
the
dark
,
varnished
registration
desk
with
its
pile
of
triplicate
forms
and
its
little
silver
-
plated
bell
,
like
some
murderous
jack
-
in
-
the
-
box
,
pun
intended
,
a
grinning
jack
-
in
-
the
-
box
with
a
cleaver
in
one
hand
and
no
sense
at
all
left
behind
his
eyes
.
Would
she
stand
frozen
with
terror
,
or
was
there
enough
of
the
primal
mother
in
her
to
fight
him
for
her
son
until
one
of
them
was
dead
?
She
didn
’
t
know
.
The
very
thought
made
her
sickmade
her
feel
that
her
whole
life
had
been
a
long
and
easy
dream
to
lull
her
helplessly
into
this
waking
nightmare
.
She
was
soft
.
When
trouble
came
,
she
slept
.
Her
past
was
unremarkable
.
She
had
never
been
tried
in
fire
.
Now
the
trial
was
upon
her
,
not
fire
but
ice
,
and
she
would
not
be
allowed
to
sleep
through
this
.
Her
son
was
waiting
for
her
upstairs
.
