'…you'll splash the coffee right out of the cups； and you'll piss yourself just like she did…'
'STOP IT！' Barry Newman shrieks。 'STOP IT； YOU MONSTER！'
But Henry can't。 Henry can't。 He sees the line and when you see it； you can't unsee it。
'…unless you wake up from this poisoned dream you're having。 You see； Barry…'
But Barry doesn't want to see； absolutely will not see。 Out the door he runs； vast buttocks jiggling； and he is gone。
At first Henry sits where he is； not moving； listening to the departing thunder of the one…man buffalo herd that is Barry Newman。
The outer room is empty； he has no receptionist； and with Barry gone； the week is over。 Just as well。 That was a mess。 He goes to the couch and lies down on it。
'Doctor；' he says； 'I just fucked up。 'How did you do that； Henry？
'I told a patient the truth。
'lf we know the truth； Henry； does it not set us free？
'No；' he replies to himself； looking up at the ceiling。 'Not in the slightest。
'Close your eyes； Henry。
'All right； doctor。'
He closes his eyes。 The room is replaced by darkness； and that is good。 Darkness has bee his friend。 Tomorrow he will see his other friends （three of them； anyway）； and the light will once more seem good。 But now 。 。 。 now 。。。
'Doctor？
'Yes； Henry。
'This is a bona fide case of same shit； different day。 Do you know that？
'What does that mean； Henry？ What does that mean to you？
'Everything；' he says； eyes closed； and then adds： 'Nothing。' But that's a lie。 Not the first one that was ever told in here。
He lies on the couch； eyes closed and hands folded on his chest； and after a little while he sleeps。
The next day the four of them drive up to Hole in the Wall； and it is a great eight days。 The great hunting trips are ing to an end； only a few left； although they of course do not know this。 The real darkness is still a few years away； but it is ing。
The darkness is ing。
2001： Jonesy's Student…Teacher Conference
We don't know the days that will change our lives。 Probably just as well。 On the day that will change his； Jonesy is in his third…floor John Jay College office； looking out at his little slice of Boston and thinking how wrong T。S。 Eliot had been to call April the cruelest month just because an itinerant carpenter from Nazareth supposedly got himself crucified then for fomenting rebellion。 Anyone who lives in Boston knows that it's March that's the cruelest； holding out a few clays of false hope and then gleefully hitting you with the shit。 Today is one of the untrustworthy ones when it looks as if spring might really be ing； and he's thinking about taking a walk when the bit of impending nastiness just ahead is over。 Of course at this point； Jonesy has no idea how nasty a day can get； no idea that he is going to finish this one in a hospital room； smashed up and fighting for his goddam life。
Same shit； different day； he thinks； but this will be different shit indeed。
That's when the phone rings； and he grabs it at once； filled with a hopeful premonition： it'll be the Defuniak kid； calling to cancel his eleven…o'clock。 He's gotten a whiff of what's in the wind； Jonesy thinks； and that is very possible。 Usually it's the students who make appointments to see the teacher。 When a kid gets a message saying that one of his teachers wants to see him 。 。 。 well； you don't have to be a rocket…scientist； as the saying goes。
'Hello； it's Jones；' he says。
'Hey； Jonesy； how's life treating you？'
He'd know that voice anywhere。 'Henry！ Hey！ Good； life's good！'
Life does not； in fact； seem all that great； not with Defuniak due in a quarter of an hour； but it's all relative； isn't it？ pared to where he's going to be twelve hours from now； hooked up to all those beeping machines； one operation behind him and three more ahead of him； Jonesy is； as they say； farting through silk。
'Glad to hear it。'
Jonesy might have heard the heaviness in Henry's voice； but more likely it's a thing he senses。
'Henry？ What's wrong？'
Silence。 Jonesy is about to ask again when Henry answers。
'A patient of mine died yesterday。 I happened to see the obit in the paper。 Barry Newman； his name was。' Henry pauses。 'He was a couch man。'
Jonesy doesn't know what that means； but his old friend is hurting。 He knows that。
'Suicide？'
'Heart attack。 At the age of twenty…nine。 Dug his grave with his own fork and spoon。'
'I'm sorry。'
'He hasn't been my patient for almost three years。 I scared him away。 I had one of those things。 Do you know what I'm talking about？'
Jonesy thinks he does。 'Was it the line？'
Henry sighs。 It doesn't sound like regret to Jonesy。 It sounds like relief 'Yeah。 I kind of socked it to him。 He took off like his ass was on fire。'
'That doesn't make you responsible for his coronary。'
'Maybe you're right。 But that's not the way it feels。' A pause。 And then； with a shade of amusement： 'Isn't that a line from a Jim Croce song？ Are you all right； Jonesy？'
'Me？ Yeah。 Why do you ask？'
'I don't know；' Henry says。 'Only 。 。 。 I've been thinking about you ever since I opened the paper and saw Barry's picture on the obituary page。 I want you to be careful。'
Around his bones （many of which will soon be broken）； Jonesy feels a slight coldness。 'What exactly are you talking about？'
'I don't know；' Henry says。 'Maybe nothing。 But 。 。 。'
'Is it the line now？' Jonesy is alarmed。 He swings around in his chair and looks out the window at the chancy spring sunlight。 It crosses his mind that maybe the Defuniak kid is disturbed； maybe he's carrying a gun （packing heat； as they say in the mystery and suspense novels Jonesy likes to read in his spare time） and Henry has somehow picked this up。
'I don't know。 The most likely thing is that I'm just having a displaced reaction from seeing Barry's picture on the all…done page。 But watch yourself the next little while； would you？'
'Well 。 。 。 yeah。 I can do that。'
'Good。'
'And you're okay？'
'I'm fine。'
But Jonesy doesn't think Henry is fine at all。 He's about to say something else when someone clears his throat behind him and he realizes that Defuniak has probably arrived。
'Well； that's good；' he says； and swivels around in his chair。 Yep； there's his eleven…o'clock in the doorway； not looking dangerous at all： just a kid bundled into a big old duffel coat that's too heavy for the day； looking thin and underfed； wearing one earring and a punky haircut that spikes over his worried eyes。 'Henry； I've got an appointment。 I'll call you back…'
'No； that's not necessary。 Really。'
'You're sure？'
'I am。 But there's one other thing。 Got thirty more seconds？'
'Sure； you bet。' He holds up a finger to Defuniak and Defuniak nods。 But he just goes on standing there until Jonesy points to the one chair in the little office besides his own that isn't stacked with books。 Defuniak goes to it reluctantly。 Into the phone； Jonesy says； 'Shoot。'
'I think we ought to go back to Derry。 Just a quick trip； just you and me。 See our old friend。'
'You mean…？' But he doesn't want to say that name； that baby…sounding name； with a stranger in the room。
He doesn't have to； Henry says it for him。 Once they were a quartet； then for a little while they were five； and then they were four again。 But the fifth one has never exactly left them。 Henry says that name； the name of a boy who is magically still a boy。 About him； Henry's worries are more clear； more easily expressed。 It isn't anything he knows； he tells Jonesy； just a feeling that their old pal might need a visit。
'Have you talked to his mother？' Jonesy asked。
'I think；' Henry says； 'it might be better if we just 。 。 。 you know； orbited on in there。 How's your calendar look for this weekend？ Or the one after？'
Jonesy doesn't need to check。 The weekend starts day after tomorrow。 There's a faculty thing Saturday afternoon； but he can easily get clear of that。
'I'm fine both days this weekend；' he says。 'If I was to e by Saturday？ At ten？'
'That'd be fine。' Henry sounds relieved； more like himself。 Jonesy relaxes a little。 'You're sure？'
'If you think we ought to go see 。 。 。' Jonesy hesitates。 ' 。 。 。 see Douglas； then probably we should。 It's been too long。'
'Your appointment's there； isn't he？'
'Uh…huh。'
'Okay。 I'll look for you at ten on Saturday。 Hey； maybe we'll take the Scout。 Give it a run。 How would that be？'
'That would be terrific。'
Henry laughs。 'Carla still makin your lunch； Jonesy？'
'She is。 'Jonesy looks toward his briefcase。
'What you got today？ Tuna fish？'
'Egg salad。'
'Mmm…mmm。 Okay； I'm out of here。 SSDD； right？'
'SSDD；' Jonesy agrees。 He can't call their old friend by his right name in front of a student； but SSDD is all right。 'Talk to you I…'
'Arid take care of yourself I mean it。' The emphasis in Henry's voice is unmistakable； and a little scary。 But before Jonesy can respond （and what he would say with Defuniak sitting in the corner； watching and listening； he doesn't know）； Henry is gone。
Jonesy looks at the phone thoug