Epilogue;

Johnny felt as the bullet drove into his hand. A sledgehammer, like he had felt so many years ago.. That day was merely a haze in his head now, which had grown even more weary than anyone could have thought. Blood sprayed, the shotgun was knocked from his hand.
No, he thought. I can't fail.. Stillson must die.
The laughing tiger came into his mind now, only it was Stillson without the suit on. It was a human skin with a tiger beneath it, snarling and growling and thrashing out it's claws. Stillson would cause World War Three if he wasn't destroyed..
Stillson held Sarah's baby in front of him, like a shield from Johnny's bullet. But now the baby was pulled away, back and safe in Sarah's arms. He stared up at Johnny with wide eyes, awaiting his death until Sonny shot and knocked John's gun away from him. It was over..
Another shot rang, and Johnny felt as it drove itself into his gut as he stumbled forward blindly. Suddenly he was in the air, flying.. Flying again, like the night of the crash when he had flown out of the windshield.
Then he hit the ground.. A wooden pew collapsing under his dead weight with a loud crashing noise. The pain was almost unbearable, and he could feel the blood soaking through his shirt. His hand screamed no matter what way he tried to move it -- then hands were on his collar, yanking him forward off the ground. Johnny winced loudly, and he looked up into the eyes of Greg Stillson. The politician's eyes were wide and a dark blue, almost violet as he glared down at John Smith with a disgusted sneer,
"Who are you, you sonovabitch who sent you? HUH?"
John smirked, grabbing the man's hand and smearing it with his own blood.
A motel room.. Stillson sat on the edge of the bed, the television humming somewhere in the distance. He hadn't shaved, and his face was pale and clammy with a cold sweat. Smoke rose slowly out of the unfinished cigarette, burning away in the ash tray.
I'm finished, he thought. My destiny is gone.. My dad was right. I'm a runt. Just a damn runt, with no future. It wasn't supposed to end like this..
He drew the gun from the end table next to him. It was loaded, and heavy in his weak arm -- his veins were black with the numerous heroine doses he injected himself with over the past days. It was really over..
Stillson rested his head on the point of the gun, pushing it up under his chin until his skin stretched..
Then he pulled the trigger, and blood splattered about the room -- across the cover of Newsweek, with the cover picture being him, holding the baby child in front of him as a shield. On the cover, it read NO FUTURE FOR STILLSON. It was over.
Johnny smirked up at him, his eyes glowing in satisfaction.
"It's over," He whispered. Stillson searched his eyes, but still he found nothing."You're finished."
Stillson scoffed, throwing Johnny back against the wooden floors and grabbing Sonny Elliman, his henchman, by the collar of his leather jacket. "Who was that kid with the camera? He was taking pictures! Who was he? Huh?"
Sonny stared down at him, disgusted. "I didn't see him,"
Greg yanked Sonny to the side, out of his way strongly. "You a*****e!" He shouted, charging out of the church in search of the photographer. He never found him.
Sonny glanced down at his bloody victim, and for a long moment he stared at him before turning away and following Stillson out of the church. It was over.
Johnny lay down against the wooden floors, letting out a struggled breath followed by a gentle wince.. Slowly he awaited death, until Sarah came into his view. He longed for her, to hold her. He forced himself upward, but the pain shooting through his gut stopped him half way, and he held his arms out towards her in a childish manner.. Sarah..
She met him, getting down onto her knees next to him, "Oh, Johnny, why?" She was crying, "Why?"
Don't cry, Sarah.. I did it. He thought, though he could have sworn he had said the words aloud.
She was wrapping her arms around him, one under his neck to hold him to her, the other one joining it. Slowly, he reached an arm around her back and held her to him while she cried. He whispered softly into her ear as tears began to form in his eyes.
"Goodbye.."
She whimpered, blubbering as she held him tightly to her, burying her head in his shoulder. "Oh Johnny.. I love you."
That was it. It was over. Slowly, his arms became too weak to hold onto her and they fell from her limply. She lie him down against the wood and buried her head in his chest.. The smell of him was faint under the smell of his own blood. But it was there. She engulfed herself in it, no matter how faint, and she cried hysterically into his chest as he slipped away from her.. A tear fell from his eye as everything went black. Sounds faded from him slowly, the sound of Sarah's tears. They faded until they were nothing.. Nothing.

II.

Silence now. Darkness. A voice? He opened his eyes, it was bright.. A bright room with nothing but white, the ceiling was too high to see, and the walls were a bright, eye-piercing white that beamed out and made everything seem blurry. It was so bright.. Quickly, he tried to shield himself, but a hand was on his chest. The pain in his gut was gone.
"Shh," The voice cooed, very quietly and gentle. A familiar voice? He opened his eyes again.
There she was.. Her milky skin, and her bright blue eyes. Her golden-blond hair was in perfect curls, and he could have sworn it shined so elegantly that it sparkled. As he looked closer to her eyes, he noticed that her blue pools were made out of stars.. The night sky.
He tried to mouth her name, but all at once he was mute.
She loomed above him, rubbing his chest gently.
Dawn.
She smiled down at him, kindly and beautifully. A gentle laugh escaped from her as she stroked his cheek, repeating him from so long ago, when he sat by her after she was beaten by the brute of a man.. When she too was helpless. "You look a whole hot mess, darlin'"
He was breathless.. He let out a breath, and it whooshed from his chest but she shook her head, her voice reassuring and calming. "It's okay, Johnny. Let go.. Let go."
John stared up at her with wide eyes. She had no scars, not a part of her was marked or disfigured in anyway.. She was perfect. Flawless. All he could do was stare. Powerless.
"Let go,"
Slowly, he nodded his head at her.
Okay, he thought. Okay, Dawn. Whatever you want..
She smiled warmly down at him, before moving a hand over his eyes and pulling down his eyelids with her fingers. "Close your eyes.. It'll be okay. I'm here now."
He couldn't move, he was paralyzed..
Darkness. Her silken touch was gone.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was dark but a light. A hallway, perhaps? Of some sort, a hallway.. Yes.. His brain ordered him to walk, and slowly he did.. He didn't limp. His knees didn't ache, and his thighs weren't sore. He walked.. Perfectly, he walked. But he could not run. Something forbid him to. Walk.. Keep walking.
The voices started then, started to circle and dance around him. His mother, whispering to him quietly. A girl, Alma Frechette, perhaps? Yes, that was it. Others.. Ghosts. They danced and spoke to him, some in tongues he couldn't place.. Where was he? He couldn't ask. He was still mute. The only think he could move was his legs.. Get to the light. Something told him it was safe there.
It was then, suddenly that he was there. Dawn's voice met him almost instantly, but at first he couldn't see her, or understand what she was saying.
He found his tongue."..Dawn?"
The girl stepped from the light, her eyes gentle and her smile warm as she looked at him. "Hey.."
Briefly, it seemed he couldn't get to her.. A barrier. Then it faded, and her hand was taking his from his side.
"I always knew you'd come around, Johnny." she said, "I always knew."
His mother.. Behind Dawn, she stood with a smile on her face. The look of insanity that had claimed her eyes the last few years of her life was gone, leaving her with a content motherly gaze. She was young again, beautiful. Slowly, Dawn lead him into the light. He could walk, move freely now.
In a slow and tender manner, Johnny took her hand and her waist -- Slowly, they began to dance.