"No. No, they don't." He could have lied. He tried to lie to himself some years. Nothing ever covered their nightmares because they sensed so much. Abra had hers and Dan had his. The number of boxes that held the ghosts of the Overlook that resided in his head spoke enough of it.
"I know," he echoed back. All those he helped at the hospice still lived in his dreams, the long hallway and the cat scratching at doors, only to open them into some other place and time. He wished he had the memories of Rose's death to be gleeful over, the triumph over the True Knot would have settled him. His mind felt broken open by necessity.
Dan laughed at the cartoon, sending her back an image of him in a rocking chair with coke bottle glasses. Dan blushed. "I haven't sang to anyone but myself in a long time. Was I any good?"