Insomnia

by Stephen King

All he really knew was that Litchfield hadn’t been around when the final two tasks of their marriage had been set before them: her job to die, his job to watch her do it.

There was a faint cinnamony smell about him that always made Ralph think of Egyptian mummies kept behind red velvet ropes in shadowy museums.

Sitting there, not wanting to get up even long enough to use the bathroom because the deathwatch had almost run down by then, each tick was a lurch and the gap between each tick and the next was a lifetime; his long-time companion had a train to catch and he wanted to be on the platform to see her off. There would only be one chance to do it right.

“We are all bound together by the Purpose,” Dorrance said abruptly. “That’s ka-tet, which means one made of many.

Him’s name is Roland, Mama. I dream about him, sometimes. Him’s a King, too.

Sooner or later everything you thought you’d left behind comes around again. For good or ill, it comes around again.