They rush forward and down toward Grissom’s blue-faced horde, he and Cuthbert in the lead, and as they pass the first of the great gray-black faces leaning in the high grass, spears and bolts and bullets flying all around them, the chimes begin. It is a melody far beyond beautiful; it threatens to tear him to pieces with its stark loveliness.

Not now, he thinks, ah, gods, not now—let me finish it. Let me finish it with my friend at my side and have peace at last. Please.

He reaches for Cuthbert’s hand. For one moment he feels the touch of his friend’s blood-sticky fingers, there on Jericho Hill where his brave and laughing existence was snuffed out…and then the fingers touching his are gone. Or rather, his have melted clean through Bert’s. He is falling, he is falling, the world is darkening, he is falling, the chimes are playing, thekammen are playing (“Sounds Hawaiian, doesn’t it?”) and he is falling, Jericho Hill is gone, Eld’s Horn is gone, there’s darkness and red letters in the darkness, some are Great Letters, enough so he can read what they say, the words say —

Five

They said DON’T WALK . Although, Roland saw, people were crossing the street in spite of the sign. They would take a quick look in the direction of the flowing traffic, and then go for it. One fellow crossed in spite of an oncoming yellow tack-see. The tack-see swerved and blared its horn. The walking man yelled fearlessly at it, then shot up the middle finger of his right hand and shook it after the departing vehicle. Roland had an idea that this gesture probably did not mean long days and pleasant nights.

It was night in New York City, and although there were people moving everywhere, none were of his ka-tet. Here, Roland admitted to himself, was one contingency he had hardly expected: that the one person to show up would be him. Not Eddie, but him. Where in the name of all the gods was he supposed to go? And what was he supposed to do when he got there?

Remember your own advice,he thought. “If you show up alone,” you told them, “stay where you are.”

But did that mean to just roost on…he looked up at the green street-sign…on the corner of Second Avenue and Fifty-fourth Street, doing nothing but watching a sign change from DON’T WALK in red to WALK in white?

While he was pondering this, a voice called out from behind him, high and delirious with joy. “Roland! Sugarbunch! Turn around and see me! See me very well!”

Six

Roland turned, already knowing what he would see, but smiling all the same. How terrible to relive that day at Jericho Hill, but what an antidote was this—Susannah Dean, flying down Fifty-fourth Street toward him, laughing and weeping with joy, her arms held out.