Eddie, he tries to say, but his voice is all gone. His throat hurts, hurts so bad. We should have brought some astin, too, he thinks, and then tries to laugh: all the drugs for him, none for Eddie.
Eddie appears. He’s got a tin plate, one the gunslinger would know anywhere: it came, after all, from his own purse. On it are streaming chunks of whitish-pink meat.
What? he tries to ask, and nothing comes out but a squeaky little farting sound.
Eddie reads the shape of his lips. “I don’t know,” he says crossly. “All I know is it didn’t kill me. Eat it, damn you.”
He sees Eddie is very pale, Eddie is shaking, and he smells something coming from Eddie that is either shit or death, and he knows Eddie is in a bad way. He reaches out a groping hand, wanting to give comfort. Eddie strikes it away.
“I’ll feed you,” he says crossly. “Fucked if I know why. I ought to kill you. I would, if I didn’t think that if you could get through into my world once, maybe you could do it again.”
Eddie looks around.
“And if it wasn’t that I’d be alone. Except for them.”
He looks back at Roland and a fit of shuddering runs through him—it is so fierce that he almost spills the chunks of meat on the tin plate. At last it passes.
“Eat, God damn you.”
The gunslinger eats. The meat is more than not bad; the meat is delicious. He manages three pieces and then everything blurs into a new
shuffle
effort to speak, but all he can do is whisper. The cup of Eddie’s ear is pressed against his lips, except every now and then it shudders away as Eddie goes through one of his spasms. He says it again. “North. Up . . . up the beach.”
“How do you know?”
“Just know,” he whispers.
Eddie looks at him. “You’re crazy,” he says.
The gunslinger smiles and tries to black out but Eddie slaps him, slaps him hard. Roland’s blue eyes fly open and for a moment they are so alive and electric Eddie looks uneasy. Then his lips draw back in a smile that is mostly snarl.
“Yeah, you can drone off,” he said, “but first you gotta take your dope. It’s time. Sun says it is, anyway. I guess. I was never no Boy Scout, so I don’t know for sure. But I guess it’s close enough for Government work. Open wide, Roland. Open wide for Dr. Eddie, you kidnapping fuck.”
The gunslinger opens his mouth like a baby for the breast. Eddie puts two of the pills in his mouth and then slops fresh water carelessly into Roland’s mouth. Roland guesses it must be from a hill stream somewhere to the east. It might be poison; Eddie wouldn’t know fair water from foul. On the other hand, Eddie seems fine himself, and there’s really no choice, is there? No.
He swallows, coughs, and nearly strangles while Eddie looks at him indifferently.
Roland reaches for him.
Eddie tries to draw away.
The gunslinger’s bullshooter eyes command him.
Roland draws him close, so close he can smell the stink of Eddie’s sickness and Eddie can smell the stink of his; the combination sickens and compels them both.
“Only two choices here,” Roland whispers. “Don’t know how it is in your world, but only two choices here. Stand and maybe live, or die on your knees with your head down and the stink of your own armpits in your nose. Nothing . . .” He hacks out a cough. “Nothing to me.”
“Who are you?” Eddie screams at him.
“Your destiny, Eddie,” the gunslinger whispers.
“Why don’t you just eat shit and die?” Eddie asks him. The gunslinger tries to speak, but before he can he floats off as the cards