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(
Did
he
get
out
?
)
Fifteen
minutes
later
the
silence
was
broken
by
a
hard
,
grating
,
metallic
rattle
.
There
was
a
heavy
grinding
,
then
a
mechanical
humming
.
Wendy
came
awake
with
a
cry
.
The
elevator
was
running
again
.
They
listened
to
it
,
wide
-
eyed
,
hugging
each
other
.
It
went
from
floor
to
floor
,
the
grate
rattling
back
,
the
brass
door
slamming
open
.
There
was
laughter
,
drunken
shouts
,
occasional
screams
,
and
the
sounds
of
breakage
.
The
Overlook
was
coming
to
life
around
them
,
He
sat
on
the
floor
of
the
pantry
with
his
legs
out
in
front
of
him
,
a
box
of
Triscuit
crackers
between
them
,
looking
at
the
door
.
He
was
eating
the
crackers
one
by
one
,
not
tasting
them
,
only
eating
them
because
he
had
to
eat
something
.
When
he
got
out
of
here
,
he
was
going
to
need
his
strength
.
All
of
it
.
At
this
precise
instant
,
he
thought
he
had
never
felt
quite
so
miserable
in
his
entire
life
.
His
mind
and
body
together
made
up
a
large
-
writ
scripture
of
pain
.
His
head
ached
terribly
,
the
sick
throb
of
a
hangover
.
The
attendant
symptoms
were
there
,
too
:
his
mouth
tasted
like
a
manure
rake
had
taken
a
swing
through
it
,
his
ears
rung
,
his
heart
had
an
extra
-
heavy
,
thudding
beat
,
like
a
tom
-
tom
.
In
addition
,
both
shoulders
ached
fiercely
from
throwing
himself
against
the
door
and
his
throat
felt
raw
and
peeled
from
useless
shouting
.
He
had
cut
his
right
hand
on
the
doorlatch
.
And
when
he
got
out
of
here
,
he
was
going
to
kick
some
ass
.
He
munched
the
Triscuits
one
by
one
,
refusing
to
give
in
to
his
wretched
stomach
,
which
wanted
to
vomit
up
everything
.
He
thought
of
the
Excedrins
in
his
pocket
and
decided
to
wait
until
his
stomach
had
quieted
a
bit
.
No
sense
swallowing
a
painkiller
if
you
were
going
to
throw
it
right
back
up
.
Have
to
use
your
brain
.
The
celebrated
Jack
Torrance
brain
.
Aren
’
t
you
the
fellow
who
once
was
going
to
live
by
his
wits
?
Jack
Torrance
,
best
-
selling
author
.
Jack
Torrance
,
acclaimed
playwright
and
winner
of
the
New
York
Critics
Circle
Award
.
John
Torrance
,
man
of
letters
,
esteemed
thinker
,
winner
of
the
Pulitzer
Prize
at
seventy
for
his
trenchant
book
of
memoirs
,
My
Life
in
the
Twentieth
Century
.
All
any
of
that
shit
boiled
down
to
was
living
by
your
wits
.
