Page 45 of The Gunslinger

“No.”

Then half-sleep.

What she asked was dangerous, but also probably necessary. The gunslinger turned his eyes up to the faces in the leaves. A play was being enacted there for his amusement. Worlds rose and fell before him. Empires were built across shining sands where forever machines toiled in abstract electronic frenzies. Empires declined, fell, rose again. Wheels that had spun like silent liquid moved more slowly, began to squeak, began to scream, stopped. Sand choked the stainless steel gutters of concentric streets below dark skies full of stars like beds of cold jewels. And through it all, a dying wind of change blew, bringing with it the cinnamon smell of late October. The gunslinger watched as the world moved on.

And half-slept.

Three. This is the number of your fate.

Three?

Yes, three is mystic. Three stands at the heart of your quest. Another number comes later. Now the number is three.

Which three?

“We see in part, and thus is the mirror of prophecy darkened.”

Tell me what you can.

The first is young, dark-haired. He stands on the brink of robbery and murder. A demon has infested him. The name of the demon is HEROIN.

Which demon is that? I know it not, even from my tutor’s lessons.

“We see in part, and thus is the mirror of prophecy darkened.” There are other worlds, gunslinger, and other demons. These waters are deep. Watch for the doorways. Watch for the roses and the unfound doorways.

The second?

She comes on wheels. I see no more.

The third?

Death... but not for you.

The man in black? Where is he?

Near. You will speak with him soon.

Of what will we speak?

The Tower.

The boy? Jake?

...

Tell me of the boy!

The boy is your gate to the man in black. The man in black is your gate to the three. The three are your way to the Dark Tower.

How? How can that be? Why must it be?

“We see in part, and thus is the mirror—”

God damn you.

No God damned me.

Don’t patronize me, Thing.