Doctor Sleep (The Shining, #2)

by Stephen King

“I won’t. I’m with you.” So he was. It was his terrible privilege. Charlie’s eyes closed again. Dan closed his own and saw a slow blue pulse in the darkness. Once… twice… stop. Once… twice… stop. Outside the wind was blowing. “Sleep, Charlie. You’re doing fine, but you’re tired and you need to sleep.” “I see my wife.” The faintest of whispers. “Do you?” “She says…” There was no more, just a final blue pulse behind Dan’s eyes and a final exhalation from the man on the bed. Dan opened his eyes, listened to the wind, and waited for the last thing. It came a few seconds later: a dull red mist that rose from Charlie’s nose, mouth, and eyes. This was what an old nurse in Tampa—one who had about the same twinkle as Billy Freeman—called “the gasp.” She said she had seen it many times. Dan saw it every time. It rose and hung above the old man’s body. Then it faded. Dan slid up the right sleeve of Charlie’s pajamas, and felt for a pulse. It was just a formality.