The Black Tower Read Free Page B

Nurse Wegman?”
    Yes.
    â€œIs she—?”
    From the doorway Nurse Wegman said, “If you came to read, read!” It was a command.
    â€œI’d better read,” Herculeah said. “Don’t you think?”
    Yes.
    â€œAnd I’ll be sitting right out here to make sure everything’s” —Nurse Wegman paused as if trying to find the right words—“all right.”
    Herculeah picked up the book, opened it, and glanced down at the page.
    â€œAh, yes,” she said. Herculeah was smiling, but there was a false cheer in her voice. “The girl is still on the stairs. You know, people have climbed Everest in the time it’s taken this girl to get to the top of the tower.”
    Although the man on the bed could not move or speak, he seemed on occasion to send off signals—brain waves, maybe. At any rate, sometimes Herculeah seemed to know what he was thinking. Maybe, as the nurse suggested yesterday, Mr. Hunt had developed special powers.
    â€œYes,” she agreed, “that’s true. People want to get to the top of Everest, and this girl definitely does not want to get to the top of the tower.” She lifted the book to the light. “But I do admit I wish she’d hurry up.” She began to read.
    She took two more steps. The noise above her was unlike anything she had heard before. It was not a human sound, and it was not the sound of an animal—at least not any animal she had ever heard before.
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    Herculeah glanced up at the man on the bed. She grinned. “Man or beast?” she asked, trying to turn his attention to the book.
    And the silent answer that seemed to come from the man on the bed was, “Beast.”

5
    A PREMONITION
    â€œYou’re awfully quiet,” Meat said.
    He and Herculeah had left the grounds of Hunt House and were entering their own neighborhood. Now, in familiar surroundings, seeing familiar signs—BERNIE HOLDEN:
    ACCOUNTANT, BESSIE FLOWER: ALTERATIONS, CAKES BY CHERI,
    ONE-DAY DENTURES—Meat felt he was capable of holding an intelligent conversation.
    â€œI’m thinking,” she said.
    â€œAbout the book? Is it getting better?”
    â€œThe book couldn’t get any better. It started strong and scary. That’s my kind of book.”
    Meat glanced at her quickly. “But why would you choose a book like that to read to someone who’s sick?”
    â€œI didn’t have any choice.”
    â€œYou always have a choice.”
    â€œNot this time. The book was chosen for me. Mr. Hunt picked it out himself.”
    â€œHow could he? I thought he could only blink.”
    â€œThe nurse—this was the other nurse, the one I liked, not Nurse Wegman—brought in hundreds of books, and he blinked at this one.”
    â€œI wonder why.”
    â€œWho knows. I tried to figure it out. It could be that he read the book a long time ago when he was a boy. And—this just occurred to me—in the book, there’s somebody up in the tower, a prisoner maybe, and since Mr. Hunt probably feels like a prisoner himself ... he’s identifying with the prisoner.”
    â€œYes, but you’d think, if he does feel like a prisoner, he’d want to hear a story about people outside doing things—climbing mountains and forging streams, looking for buried treasure.”
    â€œOr maybe,” she said thoughtfully, “he’s trying to warn us about the tower. The nurse said she’d had patients in Mr. Hunt’s condition who got premonitions about the future. I hope that’s not the case, because something terrible is going to happen and—”
    She broke off and lifted her head. “That’s strange,” she said.
    They were now at the front steps of Herculeah’s house. Her face was lifted to the window.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe phone.”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œIt’s ringing.”
    â€œWhat’s strange about