

The Broken

The Skia Chronicles

Book 1

by Sean Michael Frawley

Copyright © 2014 by Sean Frawley. Published by Garden Shed Publishing at Smashwords. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Book design and cover art by Dale Johnson Camera Photo: © Stockbyte/Thinkstock

Editing by Sheila Tait, Kim Sheard, and Jane Till
Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Cookies and Arson

Chapter 2: Shadows Don't Tear, They Blend

Chapter 3: An Empty Wall

Chapter 4: A Cut, a Noise, an Omen

Chapter 5: The Night I Killed My Mother

Chapter 6: The Drive By

Chapter 7: The Visitor

Chapter 8: Behind the Wall

Chapter 9: Crap Bucket

Chapter 10: You've Got Mail

Chapter 11: Down the Rabbit Hole

Chapter 12: Why Does the Dark Move?

Chapter 13: Tittywinks

Chapter 14: The Hatch

Chapter 15: Twins

Chapter 16: The Pedestrian

Chapter 17: Sending Up the Fuzz

Chapter 18: Panch

Chapter 19: A Cruel Twist of Fade

Chapter 20: Who Let the Dog Out?

Chapter 21: The Woodpecker

Chapter 22: A Pile of Death

Chapter 23: Psycho Path and Presidential

Chapter 24: Apology and a Monster

Chapter 25: The Fortune Cookie

Chapter 26: A New Development

Chapter 27: Moving Dark

Chapter 28: A Picture of What's to Come

Chapter 29: A Four-Year-Old Prophet

Chapter 30: You Will Bleed

Chapter 31: I Never Said It Was Magical

Chapter 32: The Broken Man

Chapter 33: Fangs in the Shadows

Chapter 34: The Face in the Mirror

Chapter 35: Death of a Friend

Chapter 36: Reality Check

Chapter 37: Mom

Chapter 38: A Journal

Chapter 39: A Pissed-Off Polar Bear

Chapter 40: A Nosy Neighbor

Chapter 41: I Forgot My Keys

Chapter 42: Just the Facts

Chapter 43: Raythuse

Chapter 44: The Gift of a Neighbor

Chapter 45: All Packed

Chapter 46: Dead Moushe

Chapter 47: Someone Has to Go

Chapter 48: Is There a Good Way to Die?

Chapter 49: A Possessed Maniac

Chapter 50: Whom to Trust

Chapter 51: In the Bathroom

Chapter 52: A Score to Settle

Chapter 53: Think Happy Thoughts

Chapter 54: Time to Run

Chapter 55: Beginning of the End

Chapter 56: The Reunion

Three Months Later:

Epilogue

Acknowledgements
1

Cookies and Arson

Fire licked the air, greedily devouring the night sky. The punishing intensity of the blaze would have pushed most sensible people back, out of harm's way. The knowledge that someone might still be trapped inside the bakery would have sent a hero crashing through the front door. Link Hartkins was neither sensible nor heroic, so he stood where he was and watched the building burn.

A sudden scream from the building stabbed the night, but Link was powerless to react. His feet might as well have been nailed to the ground with three-foot spikes, because he couldn't move. His skin grew hot and began to sting as smoke spilled deeper into his chest with every breath. A loud banging interrupted the fading scream.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

With the painful throbbing of his blood being brought to a boil, it was hard to tell if the sound was real or imagined. Maybe there was still time to save someone. He scrutinized the place where the sound had come. As he did, he sputtered into violent fits of coughing and started to panic.

He had to do something. He wiped his eyes with the end of a sleeve. Summoning all his strength, he dragged his right foot forward a few inches. Link raised his head and squinted in the direction of the noise. A monstrous crash from the other side of the building distracted him as a portion of the roof collapsed.

The invisible wall of heat that had been steadily building pushed him back. Was it possible that somebody was alive in there? Even from this distance, Link's skin felt ready to blister. Maybe he had only imagined the thumping. He coughed again, this time finding it impossible to stop. Hunched over, hugging his chest in agony, he heard the easy, melodic singing of a little girl. With his body still bent, he rotated his head to see white, bulging eyes the size of onions pop from the inky blackness of a shadowy silhouette. The figure, seemingly unaffected by the flames, casually lifted her hand and waved in his direction.

Link collapsed to his knees. From stolen glimpses between coughs, he watched in horror as the silhouette stretched and bent in every direction, at crazy, impossible angles. Within seconds, the shadow blotted out the fire entirely and surrounded the bakery in a shroud of night. But Link felt the heat. He knew the fire still raged behind the darkness.

Off in the distance, sirens began to wail. The unexpected sound yanked Link from his trance. Instantly, the fire reappeared to punish the weakened structure with a relentless fury. He rubbed his eyes in confusion. Where had the shadow gone?

He heard the knocking again. Only this time it was accompanied by the eerie giggling of a little child. He glanced back at the window and saw the shadowy figure had returned. Though small once again, it still stared at him with those devilish, onion eyes. Link pulled himself to his feet and staggered backwards.

The sirens grew louder. He looked out over the hilly landscape and saw bobbing headlights off in the distance. Link knew he couldn't be caught here. The police would have too many questions about how the fire started. Questions that he couldn't answer... not in a way they'd believe.

Lincoln Hartkins cast one final glance toward the bakery. Then he threw the lighter to the ground and began to run as if his life depended on it.

Which, of course...

It did.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Get the door, Lincoln," his father called from the upstairs bathroom.

Link shook his head to help the world around him drift back into focus. He took a few deep breaths to steady the rapid beating of his heart and flinched when a small hand touched his arm. He looked down to find his baby brother, Ayden, normally bouncy and carefree, eyeing him with obvious concern. Without saying a word, Ayden tilted his head and squeezed Link's arm.

Link forced an uncomfortable smile and ruffled the brown tangle of his brother's hair. "Stop your worrying, Bug. I'm fine. Just spacing again. No big deal."

Ayden nodded but appeared unconvinced. He may have only been four years old, and there was no question his language development lagged behind most kids his age, but his understanding of things never ceased to amaze Link.

There was another loud series of knocks at the front door.

Ayden's eyes narrowed with suspicion when Link jumped in surprise. A spoon clattered to the floor.

Link froze. He stared fearfully at the front door, visions of the fire still fresh in his mind. He bent over to retrieve the spoon. Then he wiped it between thumb and forefinger and plunged it into his bowl of cereal.

"Lincoln―Amoeba―Hartkins," his father called from upstairs, "What are you waiting for? Answer the door."

Link knew he needed to pull himself together. He couldn't let his dad find out he'd been having daymares. He'd have Link in therapy again for sure. And Link couldn't allow that. This was a new town, a fresh start. He wasn't about to let the rumors about his sanity follow him here, even if the visions had.

Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the image of that little girl with those onion eyes waving at him from the flames. Even the knowledge that he was acting mental didn't prevent him from gingerly tapping the iron doorknob a few times to make sure it wasn't hot.

When he opened the door, he discovered a teenage girl with flashy, hazel eyes, wearing large hoop earrings and a short stack of beaded hemp necklaces. She had two short pigtails and a bouncy sort of smile that made Link feel nauseous.

"What do you want?" Link said.

Still smiling, the girl said, "Is that any way to answer the door? What if I was a wandering god? Or an angel in need of help? What if I was here to announce that you were the next million dollar sweepstakes winner?"

"Are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're missing the point, silly. Here." She reached for the doorknob and began pulling it shut. "Maybe you should try again. This time come out with a smile and say something like, 'Good morning, beautiful neighbor whom I have never met before. You have remarkable eyes.'" Once the door had closed, she shoved it back open and beamed at him expectantly.

Link returned her stare but not her smile. Was this girl for real?

"I see that you are understandably speechless," she said. "You probably don't even know where to start."

Link nodded. That was indeed what he was, though he doubted it was for the same reason the girl believed it to be.

A minute passed in awkward silence. Finally Link reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. "How much?"

"For my eyes?" The girl looked confused, but she quickly recovered. She giggled nervously and said, "Oh, you mean the box of cookies I'm holding, don't you? I'm not selling them. I brought these little bites of goodness as a gift because I don't bake. Did you seriously think I was in the Girl Scouts? If you ask me, which I know you didn't, their uniforms are totally wrong. Dull earth tones? What is that about? Are they trying to become trees or something? I get the whole green thing." She threw up finger quotes to emphasize the word. "But too far is too far. That's what my mom always says. At least that's what she would say if she had any sense."

The girl punched Link playfully on the arm. "You know how moms are, right? Am I right?" She stopped nodding and rolled her eyes. "What am I saying? Of course you do. I mean, you have a mom."

"No," Link said.

"No, you don't know how moms are...or no you don't have a mom? Because that's a pretty major difference." She didn't wait for an answer. She thrust the box of cookies into his hands. Then, without a word, she turned and ran. Only after jumping a three-foot picket fence did she call back, "Good luck with the NGP!"

The NG what? Link watched the girl fade into the distance. When she was gone, he flipped the small box of cookies over and found a yellow sticky note attached to the bottom. It read:

In case I forget to tell you, my name is Celia. If you have any questions about the neighborhood, call me at 555-6767. Toodles.

Toodles? Link shook his head. Who in their right mind used the word toodles? He wasn't sure how long he stood there. Too many thoughts flooded his mind for him to make sense of any of them. Finally, he muttered, "Whatever." And he shut the door.

"What did you say?" Mr. Hartkins asked from the kitchen. Link's dad was a tall man, thin and well groomed, but the way he currently hunched over Ayden, attempting to thread his belt through the loops, made him look awkward and out of place.

"Nothing," Link groaned, "just talking to myself."

"I wish you'd stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Talking to yourself. It's very confusing. How am I supposed to know if you want me to answer?" his dad said as he draped the damp towel on the back of a nearby chair.

Link shrugged. "Please don't invite any more kids over, Dad. I can make friends on my own."

Mr. Hartkins looked up. "What are you talking about? I've got no idea who that girl was. Cute though. She certainly was bouncy."

Link knew his dad meant well. But fourteen-year-olds didn't need their fathers making play dates for them. He turned to leave.

"Forgetting something?" his dad said before he could go.

Link had forgotten about his promise to watch Ayden for the afternoon, but he wasn't about to admit this to his father. He beckoned Ayden to follow. "Let's go, Bug. I'll find something for you to watch downstairs."

Ayden plunged both hands into the front pocket of his oversized green hoodie. His chaotically tousled hair stuck up at random angles, and he smiled one of his goofy, lopsided grins. What Ayden lacked in words, he more than made up for in cheerful enthusiasm.

Before following Link to his room, Ayden looked up and whimpered, "Milty?"

Mr. Hartkins opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. He clearly wanted to respond, but for the moment, he said nothing. Instead, he squinted and appeared to be scanning his mental archives for anything that matched the word 'milty.' Finally, he said, "Minty to you, too, son," and smiled.

Ayden's lower lip jutted in protest. "Milty, me said. No minty."

Link shook his head. Despite his brother's difficulty speaking, Link had almost always been able to understand him. He patiently retrieved a sippy-cup helping of milk and placed it into the eager hands of his four-year-old brother. "Let's go, kiddo."

"Milty!" Ayden squealed in triumph. Milk in hand, they both moved toward the basement.

"Milty means milk?" Mr. Hartkins said, shaking his head. "I never would've gotten that."

"Dad," Link called once the pair of brothers had reached the bottom of the basement stairs, "stop talking to yourself."
2

Shadows Don't Tear, They Blend

"Lincoln? Are you up yet?" his dad called from the door at the top of the basement steps. "Don't forget that school starts today. I need to get Ayden to daycare. Then I have a meeting with a client at the Windsor House. Do you have my new cell number?" The knocks on the door felt like the punctuation to his questions. "Lincoln?"

The question alone said it all. Of course Link was up. He'd already gone running and had taken a shower. He'd even talked to his father briefly while they'd been eating breakfast at the dining room table. Link ran his fingers through his hair. Then he began tying his shoes.

"Lincoln?"

Link exhaled quietly.

"Lincoln? You know I can't leave until I hear your voice."

"Got it," he said at last.

"Well," his father called, "have a wonderful day, son! And don't worry. I'm sure this school is going to be even better than Shady Elm Academy. Oh, and Ayden says goodbye, too. Or something about fly goo. I'm not totally sure. Anyways, just remember to have fun! And learn, learn, learn."

Link listened as the subtle squeaks of his father's rubber-soled shoes retreated overhead. 'Have fun.' Like that was going to happen. His smiley-faced father might have managed to block out the last year and a half to better fit his "life is what you make it" mantra, but Link hadn't. He clenched his fists without realizing it. Then again, how could things possibly get any worse here than they had been at his last school?

As if in answer to this question, he heard the muted ping of the doorbell upstairs. "What the─? Seriously?" Link muttered.

By the time Link reached the door, he was prepared to give this early morning solicitor a piece of his mind. The front door was paneled with two matching panes of frosted glass surrounded by scroll work. Sunburst cross patterns etched inside the glass allowed a filtered glimpse to the outside. It wasn't much, but it was all he needed to recognize his visitor. Standing on his front porch with a broad smile across her face and a furry backpack in the shape of stuffed bear slung over her shoulder was Celia, the girl from the previous night. He opened the door.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" she said with an impossible glee.

"What are you doing here?" Link asked.

"Standing." Celia pulled her book bag higher onto her shoulder.

"But..."

"I'm only kidding. I know what you meant, silly. I was trying to get you to smile. You do know it takes more muscles to frown, right?" Her smile grew even larger in an obvious attempt to prove her point.

Link stared at her. Was this girl for real? If he was being honest with himself, he had already harbored a sneaking suspicion that he was living someone else's twisted bedtime story. The weirder things got, the more crazy people like Celia that he met, the more convinced he became that his suspicion was true.

"Anyway...Shady Oaks Academy won't wait forever," Celia continued. "I mean it will...probably. Not forever, of course. But a long time. Buildings don't actually travel that much unless there is a flood. But we still need to get going, or we'll be late."

Shady Oaks Academy? His new school was called Shady Oaks Academy? Unbelievable. The only thing that had changed was the type of tree his new school was named after. Link felt a lump rise in the back of his throat. There it was. More proof that this was all some kind of bad joke. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. "Typical."

Celia followed his gaze. "Typical? How do you mean? You don't think it'll rain, do you? If so, we really need to hurry. I positively refuse to go sloshing about in wet clothes on the first day of the new school year. What sort of impression do you think that would make? Hmmm? Anyway, I didn't even bring my−"

"Not what are you doing here," Link said, interrupting her barrage of words and going back to his original question. "I meant, what are you doing here at my house?"

"That's the spirit. Diagramming sentences already. Good for you! Personally, I think grammar is a total snooza-palooza, but I figured someone had to like it. So it is totally wonderful that you do. Besides, it was−"

Link held up his hand to cut her off again. He closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his head. This time he used sharp, biting words punctuated with a dramatic pause between each. "Why―are―you―here?"

"Oh, you mean me personally. Last night at the NGP meeting, your dad told my mom that you'd probably be late to school this morning. Something about you not liking school." She sighed and casually tossed her head back. "But that can't be true. Who doesn't like school? Right? Anyway, I live five blocks over that way," she said, quickly pointing over her shoulder, "so we're basically neighbors. And I figured I'd walk my brand new neighbor to school."

"The NGP?"

"The what now?"

"The NGP. You just said my dad attended a meeting there last night. What is it?"

Celia leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "It's not a place. It's a group. Technically it's the Neighborhood Housing Committee, but I call them the NGP. It's short for Neighborhood Gossip Patrol. The letters don't match, but believe me when I say that it's a far better description. So...are you coming to school or not? I really don't want to get stuck out here if you're expecting rain."

Celia's cheerfulness was exhausting, but Link found he was too tired to argue. Without saying a word, he grabbed his school bag from the closet. Then he closed the door behind him. "Do you always talk this much?"

Celia smiled wide. Her eyes twinkled with pleasure. "That depends. Do you always talk this little?"

Link placed a hand over his stomach when he saw the colonial style schoolhouse. The building stood ominously behind a six-foot cast iron fence that stretched the entire perimeter of the school grounds. As Link scanned his new home, he felt the urge to vomit. But the terrible sense of dread building in his gut was not due to something overtly evil. Quite the opposite. It was the frightful familiarity of the place. It could have been built from the same plans as Shady Elm Academy, the school he'd very much hoped he'd never see again.

A tall, scruffy boy with muscles bulging through a soiled rugby shirt suddenly launched a Frisbee at Link's head from thirteen yards out. Though the Frisbee missed, Link had no trouble catching the boy's intended message: "You're not welcome here."

Link could have protested, stood up for himself, but what was the point? Back in Pensy his defiance had only earned him detentions, ridicule, and black eyes. Why should he expect anything different here? What he needed was anonymity...not friends. After all, it was hard to hate a shadow. Who knew? If he could become one, perhaps shadows would also prove hard to hit. With this in mind, Link kept his eyes focused on the floor as they entered the west wing hallway in search of their locker assignments.

Glancing up, he said, "Thanks for the escort and all, but I can take it from here." Without waiting for a reply, he turned to leave. He had only taken two steps when he heard someone's voice rise above the crowded din of the hallway bustle, "Look, everybody, Ron Weasley is back from Hogwarts!"

Fully aware that the heckler's mockery was directed toward him, Link didn't even turn around. He just continued up the hallway, trying hard to find the scuffed linoleum more interesting than it actually was. He couldn't believe the jokes had begun so soon. The hair color thing he could handle. He only prayed these kids hadn't found out anything about his mother.

In his attempt to make a hasty getaway, Link stumbled briefly over the strap of a girl's bag but managed to catch himself before he fell. Fists clenched tightly into a ball, he hurried down the remainder of the corridor. He kept his head down to avoid eye contact, but he desperately fought the urge to go back to the boy who'd made the joke and tear his head off. But shadows weren't allowed to tear. Shadows were supposed to blend. "I am a shadow," he told himself. "I am a shadow."

Link knew that if only he could keep his temper in check this year, blending shouldn't prove that difficult. After all, he was painfully aware that aside from his unruly red hair there was nothing particularly special about him. He was an average height, possessed an average IQ, and exhibited ─ at best ─ an average athletic ability. And, unless sarcasm and procrastination counted, he didn't possess any usable superpowers. For the record, he had been bitten by at least three spiders, but none had been radioactive, so it hadn't helped much.

Upon entering room 209, Link noticed that the only seat available was on the front row, not exactly the best place to blend in. The desk also appeared to have been adjusted to accommodate a midget. When he sat down, the front two legs squeaked loudly and his knees touched the underside of the desk. But it wasn't until Link noticed the poster on the wall next to him that he knew for sure how badly this day was going to go. A life-sized poster of Ron Weasley stared back at him, a book in one hand and a wand in the other.

Every time the legs of Link's chair emitted a high pitched squeak, the entire class looked over at him and giggled. A few of them even pointed at the poster while they laughed. For the next fifty minutes, Link struggled in vain to keep his chair from moving. But it didn't matter. Apparently, he even sucked at being a shadow.
3

An Empty Wall

Once home, Link rested his bag on the table and stared off into the distance for a while before he finally walked into the kitchen. As he poured some chilled coconut milk into a tall, blue-rimmed glass and took a sip, he did his best to block out the misery of his first day of school. He swished the milk around his mouth then swallowed. He returned the carton of milk to the fridge and noticed a small battalion of sticky-notes pasted together on the kitchen counter.

Lincoln,

I'm sure you had an amazing day just like me. So far business is booming! I've opened a couple more listings. I need to attend a realtors' meeting at the office. Please pick Ayden up from the neighbor's house. Mrs. Greta volunteered to watch him after daycare, but she has plans later this evening. Please get your camera stuff ready. I need to make a circular for the new homes. Maybe later we could take a spin around the neighborhood and scope out all the new houses that are for sale.

Love, Dad

Back in Pensy, Link's mom and dad had worked together in real estate. His mother had used her artistic talents to create flyers so picturesque she could have sold them as art. Then his dad had used his gregarious salesman voodoo to bewitch the customer into not only buying the house from him but also thanking him for the opportunity to do so.

After his mother died, Link had agreed to help his father as the new photographer. But even though his father swore up and down that Link had inherited his mother's eye for beauty, Link knew he was nowhere near as talented and seriously doubted that he ever would be.

He took another sip of milk then sat the glass down and headed next door to retrieve Ayden from what he could only assume was an evil witch busily baking his brother into a pie. Littered with one insanely coincidental social disaster after another, his day had ended up much worse than even he could have predicted. Why should the fun stop now?

Link rang the doorbell and waited for a trap door to open or for the bell to squirt water. Instead, in a fate far more cruel, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen emerged from behind the door. She had flowing, jet-black hair that cascaded down the edges of her face. Her body was muscular, yet slim, with a hint of a tan. Small circles of blush dappled her adorable, pinched cheeks where, no doubt, the sun had wanted to kiss her every bit as much as Link suddenly did.

He tried to speak, but an avalanche of hormones tangled Link's words into nonsense. For a fleeting yet wonderful three seconds, he wondered if he'd judged this town too quickly. Could this moment be the turning point of his life? Had the universe finally forgiven him?

"Weasley? What are you doing here?" the girl sneered.

"M...m...my brother...here," Link managed to stammer. "Ayden."

Mrs. Greta, a smartly dressed woman with closely cropped hair and kind, inviting eyes mercifully interrupted his ramblings and held a plate of cookies toward him. "I see you've met Kaylee. Sweetie, be a dear and check my cobbler. It should be ready, and you know how your father hates it when it's too crisp around the edges."

Kaylee rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever." Then she departed with a dramatic flourish of impatience.

Mrs. Greta shook her head. "Teenage daughters. Can't live with them. Can't afford to send them to boarding school. So, I presume you are the young Mr. Hartkins. Your father, Joseph, has told me all about you. Most of it good, too," she said with a playful wink. "I do hope you find Peaceful Meadows a better fit than your last town. There are some wonderful people here. Though I admit, you may need to look closely to find them. So how about it?"

"Excuse me?"

"The cookies, dear." She held out the plate. "I was bringing these to your precious little brother, but I can scrounge up a couple of extras if you're hungry."

Link was in no mood to run into Kaylee again. He tried to decline as politely as possible.

As if reading his mind, Mrs. Greta said, "How about I wrap a couple up for the road? But make sure you eat them soon. They're much tastier warm."

Link nodded eagerly.

"Splendid. I'll only be a second." She pointed down the hall. "Your brother is right through those doors." Before Link had a chance to thank her, she had disappeared into the kitchen.

He found Ayden kneeling next to a small, wooden play table. Like always, Ayden was so engrossed in his land of make believe that he didn't even notice Link arrive. He lowered the boom of a silver crane. Then he carefully retrieved a magnetic load from one of the tiny cargo trains and switched it to a small pile he had built next to the track.

Link was surprised at how extensive the train's setup was. It was odd. He hadn't seen any boys running around, and he doubted these toys had ever been Kaylee's. Did the Gretas have any other children? If so, where were they? "You ready to go, Bug?"

Without even looking up, Ayden said, "Come wook. Vince Vinty! And Jimmy Frontmode!" His brother's words harbored such a joyful enthusiasm that Link found it difficult not to smile. It always amazed him how Ayden could mispronounce common words such as milk and yet manage to recall each train, car, or action figure by their full name.

"Okay, Bug. Why don't you introduce me to some of your new friends really fast? Then we can help Mrs. Greta pick up all these toys. We need to make dinner before Dad gets home."

"I stay." Ayden said. There was an edge of defiance in his voice this time.

Link knew from experience that if he forced his brother to leave now, it would be a big mistake. Desperate to avoid one of Ayden's tantrums in front of their new neighbors, Link said, "Tell you what. How about we go home and eat. Then, after dinner, we can both watch a movie downstairs in my cave. Just you and me. How's that sound?"

Ayden's face burst into a smile. Few things could pull Ayden's attention away from toy trains, but watching a movie with Link had always been one of them. "You watch too?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course, buddy. But first we need to clean up. Who knows? Maybe Mrs. Greta will even let us come back and play sometime soon."

Ayden began picking up with the purpose-driven enthusiasm of a boy unwrapping presents on Christmas morning.

When they had finished, Ayden took Link's hand and allowed Link to lead him away. Midway between the train table and the door, he stopped. His smile faded, replaced by a troubling darkness. "No! I not!" he said defiantly. He glanced up at Link. Then he turned and scowled at the empty room. He extended his index finger, and said, "You go way! I not yike you!"

At first, Link assumed Ayden was speaking to one of the toys. Ayden had always treated his toys more like acquaintances than objects, so such behavior was rather common. But this time Ayden wasn't talking to the trains or any other toy for that matter. As far as Link could tell, Ayden wasn't talking to anything at all. He glowered in the direction of what appeared to be an empty, white plaster wall.

"Ayden, who are you talking to? Is it an imaginary friend?"

Scrunching his face in the same way he did when he was forced to eat vegetables, Ayden said, "He not my fwiend." With a sense of finality, Ayden turned his back on whomever he'd spoken with and pulled Link to the front door. Mrs. Greta had watched the whole thing as she waited there with a plate of cookies and muffins. Link's face reddened from embarrassment. "Sorry about that," he said.

"About what, dear?"

"You know...my little brother has got quite an imagination." Link tried to laugh it off, but his abrupt chuckle sounded forced and insincere, even to him.

Mrs. Greta briefly appeared to process the situation then quickly recovered and said, "Don't be silly. All boys his age do that sort of thing."

And even though she continued to smile, Link could have sworn he detected a tinge of sadness that now tugged at the corners of her eyes.
4

A Cut, a Noise, an Omen

Even Link had to admit that for some unknown reason the thawed corndogs and side of cheesy macaroni had tasted delicious. Once Ayden had eaten his fill, Link began clearing off the table. Ayden brought his dish to the sink and dumped it in. With a pleased look of satisfaction, he sat down on the kitchen floor and played with a pair of plastic superheroes.

Link observed the soapy water push away all the unwanted food from the dinner plates. He wished the rain were somehow capable of doing the same thing for him. Inside, Link felt muddled, caked with dirt from his troublesome day at school. He needed a new start. Not just a redo but a new beginning, a life that was different in every way.

Growling noises emanated from the floor as Ayden pretended an action figure and a plastic dinosaur were locked in mortal combat. He smashed the action figure against the broad side of the plastic dinosaur and roared.

As Link finished rinsing off the dishes, a searing pain shot through his fingertip. He yanked his hand out of the soapy water to reveal blood pooling at the tip of his middle finger.

He reached for a dish towel to stop the bleeding and heard a loud crash that sounded as though it had come from the living room. He looked down to where Ayden had been only moments before. No longer animated by the child's fingers and overactive imagination, the toys sat motionless, abandoned on the kitchen floor. The dinosaur's legs jutted out at awkward angles near the base of the refrigerator.

A voice, shadowy and distant, almost inaudible, tickled the edges of Link's ear. Was it his brother? He strained to listen more carefully. As he did, he heard not one voice but many. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't make out what the voices were saying.

"Ayden!" Link called. When no reply came, he felt a rush of panic. Ayden was not the type to wander. The throbbing in Link's finger increased with the pounding of his pulse. Disoriented, his responses felt slow and confused.

"Where are you?" Link yelled. Panic clutched his heart. On impulse, he ran into the living room. "Ayden! Ayden! Where are you, Bug?" More voices, foreign and unfamiliar crashed into his ears and ricocheted through his mind. They swirled around briefly then turned into laughter, cruel and taunting. It was the laughter that made Link's insides jump to the back of his throat. He had heard this laughter before. It belonged to the little girl from his nightmares.

Still unable to find Ayden, Link ran to his father's study. The room was dark. No matter how hard he tried, Link couldn't focus. His head was all fogged up with a crazy mix of fear and adrenaline. The voices and laughter combined to conjure awful pictures in his head and pull him away from his search. Not just the vague images of memory or dreams, these images felt like they were actually happening. Though they felt real, they weren't clear. Like the voices, they were fuzzy and distant. Link fought through his panic and tried to picture Bug's hand on his arm, waking him up again like he had this morning. Where was he?

Aware of his need to focus, Link rubbed his eyes. He squinted. Then he opened his eyes as wide as they would go. With only the dim, reflected glow of the light from the hallway, he scratched blindly along the wall in an attempt to locate the light switch. Finding nothing, he made his way into the room and grabbed hold of the tiny, bronze lamp that his dad kept on top of the desk. He fumbled along the cord in search of the plastic switch. Seconds later, the room erupted into a steady light that pulled his surroundings back into focus. As it did, the laughter stopped. In that instant, everything went silent.

Link plugged one of his ears with his finger. Nothing. Had he gone deaf? He stamped up and down on the ground. Still nothing. He hummed a bar of his favorite song just to hear his own voice, but the room remained hollow, drenched in an overwhelming silence.

Then, from somewhere deep in the silence, Link heard heavy breathing. It was followed by a muffled whimper and appeared to be coming from behind his father's large, oak writing table. He shoved the leather chair out of the way and hurried to the other side. Next to the oversized claw feet of the desk, pressed flat against the back wall, was his little brother. Link's heart leapt in his chest.

Ayden had balled himself up near the plug and was clutching his knees tightly against his chest. There was terror etched into his face as he rocked back and forth in a slow, deliberate motion as if in rhythm to a song that only he could hear. Though physically unharmed, he was visibly shaken and wouldn't even look at Link.

"Ayden, what happened? What is it?"

Ignoring him, Ayden continued to rock back and forth. Link gently scooped his quivering brother into his arms and hugged him tightly, but Ayden refused to hug him back, preferring instead to remain in the safety of his protective ball.

Concerned by his brother's failure to respond, Link set him down on the soft carpet. He searched Ayden's vacant stare for some glimmer of recognition.

With a mounting dread, Link asked again, "Ayden, what happened? What's wrong, little buddy? It's me, Link. Remember? Your brother?"

Ayden continued to silently rock.

Link picked him up once again. This time he carried him back to the living room and set him down on the fluffy, oversized cushions of the couch. For the first time, he noticed that the TV was on. The invisible audience squealed with laughter as a man's sudden slip caused a long series of improbable events that ended with a large birthday cake being dropped on the head of a grumpy child.

Link replayed everything in his mind. Had the laughter come from the television? It was possible. That would explain why it was so hard to hear.

He switched the channel to one of Ayden's favorite cartoons. When he turned away to resume his search for whatever had made the big crash, he felt Ayden latch onto his arm with a tight, vice-like grip usually reserved for happy things such as chocolate cookies and their mother's cinnamon bread crumb cake. Not this time. There was no joy in his eyes now, only fear.

"I not do it," Ayden said. "I not! I not! I not!"

"Didn't do what, Ayden? What are you talking about? Did you drop something? I heard a loud crash. Was that you?"

It was useless. Even for Link, who understood him better than anyone, Ayden's limited vocabulary made him hard to understand at the best of times. Link knew he'd have to find the source of the mysterious noise himself, but he didn't want to leave his brother alone.

"I'll be right over here," Link tried to reassure him, as he separated his arm from Ayden's grip. "I need to see what happened." He switched on the lights in the bathroom and opened a drawer. He removed a small bandage, unwrapped it, and discarded the leftover paper. He lifted his injured finger, only to stare at it in bewilderment. Where was the blood? He flipped his hand over to examine the back side but was unable to find a cut of any sort. Even the washcloth he had used to stop the bleeding revealed no evidence of blood. What was going on?

Link called to his brother, "You okay?" No response. He peeked back into the living room and saw Ayden curled up on the couch, watching TV.

Link took this as a positive sign and returned to his father's study. Finding nothing strange, he crossed the room and switched off the small desk lamp. A thorough investigation of the main floor turned up nothing, but Link could not quite believe that he had imagined everything.

Still uneasy but with nowhere else to look, Link nestled up to his brother and tried to think of anything that might account for such a loud noise. Before long, he had unknowingly diverted his attention to his more mundane problems such as surviving another day at Shady Oaks Academy or, as he decided to call it, the hellacious vortex of evil.

"Hey, Bug, let's go put on your pajamas and then watch that movie. What d'ya say?"

Link helped Ayden get ready for bed then brought him downstairs. Ordinarily, Ayden slept upstairs in the small bedroom next to their dad's. Tonight, however, their dad was still not home. And after all that had happened, Link wasn't about to leave Ayden alone again. So he tucked him into a makeshift nest, which consisted of a fuzzy comforter placed atop a large, well-loved beanbag beside his bed and found a movie for them to watch.
5

The Night I Killed My Mother

Link pressed the power button on the DVD player, waited for it to switch on, then pressed play. He flopped down next to his brother. Already intent on watching the screen, Ayden reached out and silently grabbed hold of Link's hand. Link forced back an unexpected swell of emotion. He hadn't spent enough time with his brother lately. That would have to change. As Link stared into the empty plaster above, he noticed an odd stain on the ceiling. It seemed to change shapes the more he stared at it. Disgusting. He wondered how long it had been there.

Things might have been bad back in Pensy, but at least his old bedroom hadn't been some leaky dungeon in the basement. It had been bright and spacious with crisp, linen-white walls. Now, the only natural light in his room filtered through a pathetic, sliver of a window on the back wall. His father had protested Link's choice in rooms, stating something about it not being a suitable bedroom. But in the end, Link had won out. But this one victory hadn't changed anything. This town was terrible. They'd moved here less than a month ago, and Link had already begun to hate it.

Ayden's laughter broke the silence. On the television, a ragtag group of firefighters chaotically scrambled up a ladder to extinguish a house fire. The scene was meant to be humorous, and for someone whose mother hadn't been burned alive, maybe it was. Link wouldn't know.

Ayden had been too young to really understand what had happened to their mother that night, or he wouldn't be laughing now either. Link sometimes wondered how much his little brother remembered of her. Even more troubling was the uncertainty of how he would react if he ever found out that it had been Link who had killed her.

As Link replayed the events of that night in his mind, he fought back the tears that pooled in his eyes. The stain above him shifted once again.

He still recalled the subtle footfalls of his mother's shoes, sneaking up on him from behind. He could feel her arms wrapping him in a smothering hug. He had been washing dishes at the sink, pretending not to notice her. It was a game they played. For some reason this memory always conjured up the scent of coconuts. Perhaps it was from her perfume. Link couldn't remember. What he did remember was how long she had hugged him. He should have known that something wasn't right; he should have been a better son.

His mom had only needed milk for the morning, but Link had begged her to pick up some donuts as well. The Benson Bakery was only a few blocks away from the supermarket, and he had been craving one of their world-famous maple bar donuts with the thick, creamy filling. Her wobbly smile and the intensity of her stare had made him feel uneasy. At the time, he had figured his mom had simply forgotten to take her meds again. Looking back on it, Link wondered if she had somehow known there would be trouble that night, that this simple errand would be her last.

County investigators had discovered the remains of at least five bodies buried beneath the rubble of The Benson Bakery fire. Making matters worse, the only usable DNA had come up as a match for three different people, all of whom had died at least a month before the fire. None of it made the slightest bit of sense. By the time the news of the coroner's mistake had gone national, the once-proud town of Pensy and their police force had been reduced to a punch line on late night television.

In the dark days that followed, the town was overrun with reporters. A few of these had been legitimate members of respectable presses and media outlets, but most had been nothing more than sensationalist nutjobs. They had claimed anything from a governmental conspiracy to proof of a zombie apocalypse.

When town officials learned of Micah Hartkins's previous health problems, they had pounced on the chance to make someone else shoulder the blame. Somehow they had uncovered word of her court-appointed therapy sessions for paranoid delusions. At one point, they had even gone so far as to implicate her as a possible culprit for the blaze. Link knew better. Still battling his own grief and feelings of guilt, he knew that if any of the Hartkins family was capable of murder, it was him. Because if he ever found out who really had started the fire that night...

Link involuntarily clenched his jaw, refusing to surrender to the memory, and for a time, relished his bitterness. And to think, it had all been caused by his desire for a stupid donut. As was so often the case these days, Ayden pulled him from his thoughts. This time it was his little brother's laughter that brought him back into the present. Link watched Ayden's merriment and, before long, discovered that he too was smiling. He wondered what he would ever do without his baby brother around to cheer him up. The mere thought was almost more than he could bear.

On impulse, Link drew in closer to his unsuspecting brother. When he was only a few inches from Ayden's face, he pounced on top of him. He roared like a lion as he hugged Ayden tightly to his chest.

Ayden let out a squeal of delight. "Again," he pleaded. "Do it again!"

Link pulled his brother in close and squeezed even tighter. This time he also stuck a finger in each of Ayden's armpits and began to tickle. "The tickle monster is here to get you, Bug!"
6

The Drive-by

Early Thursday morning, Link had trouble waking up. It took him a while to figure out where he was. That meant no dreams ─ or more specifically, no nightmares. These days, uninterrupted sleep was a rarity. He looked over to where Ayden had fallen asleep the night before and saw the folded comforter on top of the beanbag. Their dad must have carried him up to his room.

It was a perfect time to run. Just the thought of it was enough to make Link grin. Most people were still fast asleep in their deep, comfortable beds. Those who weren't busy preparing for the coming day. Most people dreaded the early mornings, but not Link. This was his favorite time of the day. It was his escape from everything, his retreat into the quiet. The calm he could get from a morning run helped him cast aside everything he wished to forget and erased his problems as easily as the parked cars he passed on his jog.

Link enjoyed looking at the houses while he ran. Each new home was a canvas that revealed the owner's innermost thoughts. With each house he passed, Link painted a visual image of the people inside. Occasionally, he would pause by a house that truly intrigued him.

It was during one of these breaks that a gnarled voice hooted from behind him. Link whirled around to discover an aged woman with a dirty brown shawl draped over her shoulders. The woman hobbled toward him with a determined, yet turtle-paced, walk.

"What do you think you're doing!" she hollered. "This is private property! Nothing concerns you here. Go on, get! I don't want you hooligans messing around here anymore. Understand?"

Link turned to make sure the lady was talking to him. What on earth was she so worked up about? Too stunned to respond, he decided to ignore her and resume his jog. He didn't even bother to look back. Whatever the old bat's problem was, he wanted no part of it.

The encounter had been weird, but it didn't take long before he was once again lost in his own thoughts. Again he replayed the events of the previous night. None of it made any sense. What was Ayden's deal? He'd been acting so bizarre lately. Caught up in his thoughts, Link continued to run, but he soon forgot to look where he was running.

Big mistake. Without warning his face smacked the massive lower limb of an oak tree. The impact catapulted his head back then whipped his skull to the cement with an earsplitting thump. His feet dangled in the air for a split second before they followed the rest of his body into an agonizing heap in the middle of the sidewalk.

For a few seconds, Link lay where he was, staring past the massive branch into the light blue-gray of the heavens above. Dazed, he felt the onset of swelling in his cheek and upper forehead. The dull throb grew more intense and rapidly spread to the rest of his head.

Still wobbly, he carefully steadied himself as he tried to stand. A bike pulled up behind him along the shoulder of the street. Before he could navigate the murky seas of his blurry vision, a vague but familiar voice said, "Sweet moves, Weasley! I give you an eight. The form was good, but the landing totally sucked." Kaylee began to cackle. Even through his damaged sight, Link could see her face contort into a self-satisfied sneer as she rode by.

How could such a wicked girl come from such a tenderhearted mother? He shook his head in irritation and immediately paid the price. An intense burst of pain lit up the side of his face. He made a mental note to avoid any sudden movements in the near future and began his journey home. This time he would have to walk.
7

A Visitor

Later that same morning, Link breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his father leave for work, thankful that he hadn't asked many questions. At the moment, Link didn't think he could stand another of his dad's infamous "silver lining" speeches. He closed the blinds and walked to the kitchen in search of some fresh ice for his face.

It took some time, but Link finally made himself comfortable by burrowing deep into a sandwich of cushions and colorful afghans. It was then that he heard the doorbell ring. He looked in the direction of the front door. He started to rise, then stopped, when he realized that aside from Ayden, there wasn't anybody he cared about enough to warrant the effort of answering the door. Instead, he settled back into the pile of blankets and turned on the TV.

The doorbell sounded again. This time the chime increased from a solitary ring to something that sounded like a pixie's machine gun. The bell rang in such rapid succession that it never even managed to reach the dong portion of the chime. Link tried to tune it out, but it wasn't long before the obnoxious ding, ding, ding, ding overcame his stubborn defiance. Within seconds, the throbbing in his temples returned, worse than ever.

Both annoyed and in a great deal of pain, he made his way to the front door. Who could possibly be so irritating and inconsiderate? He unbolted the lock, opened the front door, and discovered Celia, her finger still bouncing on the buzzer.

"Do you mind?" Link tried to cover his ears.

"About time you answered the door," Celia scolded. "Apparently you're deaf and blind. I've been waiting here for...holy crap! What the fraggle happened to you? Did you stick your head in a blender? You look awful. I bet you can't even see out of that eye at all!" She held up two fingers in front of Link's swollen eye. "How many?"

Link raised a hand to his head and softly massaged his temple. "Is it really necessary to raise your voice?"

"How many?" Celia repeated, this time in the lowest voice she could muster. She spoke slowly and emphasized each word.

"Two. You're holding up two fingers. Now please get your hand out of my face." Link tried to remain calm. "Didn't my dad tell you I'd be staying home today?"

"He called, but I distinctly remember him saying what a swell idea it would be to come and cheer you up. After all, I was in the neighborhood checking up on that poor tree you assaulted this morning anyway. So I figured I'd swing by and check on you."

"My dad didn't ask you to come cheer me up," Link said, beginning to feel the sense of exasperation he experienced every time he spoke with Celia. "And I'm fairly certain he's never used the word 'swell' in his entire life."

"It's called reading between the lines. Duh. Besides, what did he say when he saw your face? Did he happen to mention the, well...you know," she pointed to the ridge of his cheekbone with her index finger in what appeared to be a rare loss of words, "the..."

"The what, Celia? The swelling?" Link could feel himself becoming more impatient by the second.

Celia giggled.

Why wouldn't this girl just leave him alone? "Why are you here, Celia? My head is killing me. The only thing I want to do right now is go back to bed."

In what appeared to be genuine concern, Celia spoke softly. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. That's all." Her large, gold-flecked eyes briefly confirmed this concern. Then she flashed Link a dazzling smile and resumed her customary, perky tone. "I know how rough it can be to make new friends. My family moved here last summer from Denton after my dad's department was downsized." She threw up her hands and produced finger quotation marks to emphasize the last word.

Celia tilted her head slightly and appeared to finally sense Link's discomfort. "Anyway, long story short, sorry you got hurt. Hope you feel better." With that, she bounded off in the direction of school.

Link watched as she disappeared over the hill. Celia put him on edge. That much was certain. On the other hand, she was right. It was lonely here. Though he'd never admit to her, it was nice to have at least one person worried about him, even if that person happened to be the most annoying girl in the entire world.
8

Behind the Wall

Fed up with talk shows and infomercials, Link turned off the TV and searched for something else to do. With his head throbbing, video games and reading were definitely out of the question. He decided the first step was to make the room a little darker. All the sunlight was making him sick to his stomach. When he stepped over the leather ottoman to reach for the curtain, he spied his mother's old Nikon 35mm on top of a short stack of real estate books. Framed in the light that spilled through the blinds, it appeared to have a halo around it.

Link knew he was forbidden to use the camera when his father wasn't around, which was why he resisted a solid two minutes before he gave in to the temptation. With the loving affection of a new mother, he lifted the camera up for a closer look. It was beautiful, perfect in every way but one. It used film.

Link had never understood the reasons behind his mother's insistence on using 35mm. In the past, whenever he had broached the subject, she had given him some cryptic response such as, "Film is a gateway. Make sure you capture both sides of the light, or you will come to regret it." A splinter of resentment punctured his chest as he remembered how strange she had become in the final days. No wonder people had labeled her a loony. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became.

He set the camera back atop the stack of books, making certain to return it the same way he had found it. Then he headed to his room to retrieve his own camera. Forgetting to temper his movement for a moment, the familiar lightning strike of pain in his head returned. This time, right when the pain hit, Link saw the outline of a rat scurry next to the TV cabinet. The suddenness of it caused him to jump.

He turned to use his better eye and examined the ground where he had seen the shadow. The rat was gone. In fact, the more he searched the baseboard, the more convinced he became that he'd imagined it.

Perhaps he was suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder from his collision with the tree and all he needed was more aspirin. He paused in front of the porcelain sink and gazed with irritation at his swollen cheekbone and forehead. His goal of blending in with the shadows at his new school had just gotten way more difficult.

He grabbed the handle of the medicine cabinet and tugged, but it wouldn't budge. He pulled harder. Again, nothing happened. Screw it. He was pretty sure his father kept some aspirin in the kitchen. He'd just use those instead. Half way there, he noticed his mother's camera had somehow moved to the couch.

Had he carried it with him to get the aspirin? He didn't think so. He picked up the camera and returned it to its perch on top of the books and continued to the kitchen.

As he did, he glimpsed something moving. A chill moved down his spine and he whipped his body around to face his attacker. Of course, there was no one attacking him, other than the surge of pain that now pulsed in his head. Link forced an awkward laugh in an attempt to calm his jangled nerves. He had almost succeeded at laughing off his concerns when he noticed that the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was now wide open.

What? Link refused to consider any of the crazy conjectures about ghosts and ghouls that popped into his head. He hurriedly left the room and headed for the kitchen, wondering if a concussion could cause hallucinations. He was pretty sure that he'd read something about that somewhere.

Link spied the familiar yellow label of the Aspirin bottle and picked it up. He unsealed the childproof cap, palmed three tablets, and threw them in his mouth. Then he stuck his head under the spigot for a swig of water. The steady stream of water trickled over his lips, and Link heard a faint whisper similar to the ones he had heard the other night while searching for Ayden. At first the voice was so soft Link could not make out the words. Then goose bumps spread across his skin as he understood.

"I know you killed her," the voice whispered. A ghastly giggle followed that chilled Link to the core.

Before he could swallow, Link shot up, nearly impaling his eye on the kitchen faucet in the process, and searched for the sound. He really needed to take a look at the sort of books he was reading. Clearly some of the scarier books were beginning to mess with his head. With no way to explain what he had heard, Link decided the best thing to do was pretend it didn't happen.

He bent over once again, took a quick sip of water, and downed the Aspirin. Then he casually walked to his bedroom door without even glancing in the other room, even though every fiber of his being screamed for him to look over his shoulder. Thanks to all the horror movies he'd watched, he knew what became of people who investigated creepy voices. It was a lose-lose scenario. If he saw nothing when he turned around, he would feel even more like a wuss than he already did. On the other hand, if there really was a monster, the only reward he was likely to receive was a rusty axe to the head. Nope. This was clearly a time to keep on walking. Feeble reasoning perhaps, but it was all he had.

Once inside the stairwell, Link slammed the door and stood behind it. He listened for any more strange noises. He thought about placing his head on the door to hear better, but he quickly rejected the idea. He was no dummy. The instant his ear reached the door, the axe would undoubtedly come crashing through it. He needed to stay the course. Just ignore the noises, and they would go away.

For a time, Link did exactly that. He sat on the stairs and waited. It was during this period of idle sitting that Link discovered another painful truth about himself. He hated waiting. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that an ax to the head might be better than sitting on the stairs doing nothing. At least it would end quicker.

He tapped his foot a few times. He scanned the wall. He scanned the floor. He scanned the ceiling. What had it been? Five minutes at least. It had to be. Surely, if there really had been a monster, it would have either moved on to another victim by now or died of boredom.

Deciding it was probably safer to go down instead of up, Link went down the rest of the stairs to his bedroom. He grabbed his trusty camera and slung it over his shoulder. The familiar feel of the nylon strap soothed him. He loved this camera. It was nice to know he could count on at least one thing in this crazy, messed up world. If only people were half as reliable as his camera, perhaps life wouldn't be so bad.

He took a long breath and held it in for a few seconds before expelling the air slowly between gritted teeth. In order to maximize its meditative effect, he concentrated on a focus point across the room.

In between breaths, he gradually became aware of a small inconsistency in the texture of the wall. The change was so small that he probably would have missed it had his swollen eye not forced him to squint, but there was definitely a spot where the pattern of bumps and divots seemed to change.

Curious, Link approached it and carefully traced the top with his fingers. Tiny paint flecks flaked into his palm. After dusting off his hand, he inspected the wall more closely and noticed the tiniest sliver of space in the wall no bigger than the width of a safety pin. Link pressed his fingers on top of this. When nothing happened, he tapped the space below it a couple of times. Instead of the dull thump he would have expected from a concrete block, it had a hollow twang to it. Was there an opening behind the wall?

Link tapped it again to be sure. After the phantom rat and the possessed medicine cabinet, it was clear that his eyesight could not be trusted today. This time he felt the difference. Excited, he looked for a way inside the space but couldn't find anything to grip. The minute crevice was too narrow.

In a sudden fit of frustration, he slammed his fist against the wall. Whatever secrets this wall hid, it did so jealously. The only thing Link discovered from his ill-advised tantrum was a fact he knew already. Walls were hard.
9

Crap Bucket

Link walked down the street with his camera, looking for houses. This time he also paid special attention to any objects directly in his path, especially large immovable ones like trees.

One house that he particularly liked was a two-story house with ivy crawling up the latticework. The vines created delicate twisting patterns of green against the sun-faded backdrop of the tan stucco. Two bulging cherry trees, thick with foliage, formed an impenetrable barrier of green and shielded the front porch from unwanted spectators. Along the side, several enormous elms blocked out the sun overhead.

Link found it remarkable how often people were completely oblivious to the reasons they gravitated toward certain things, like houses. Regardless of people's level of understanding, Link knew that the house someone chose to live in revealed as much about them as the clothes they wore.

Moving further down the block, another house caught his eye. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about it. However, under closer inspection, he sensed something vaguely familiar. He tried to figure out why this one-story, wooden A-frame drew his attention but could think of nothing. Black shutters came as standard on such houses. And to say the red door was unique would have been a gross exaggeration. The lawn was well maintained. The boxwood that lined the stairway off the front porch reeked of predictability. He decided to take a couple of pictures of the house and figure it out later. Maybe he would be able to put his finger on the reason for his fascination with the house if he wasn't thinking about it.

Link raised his camera and looked through the viewfinder, searching for a good angle. Tilting his shot a bit, he pulled back the lens as wide as he could. Since he couldn't determine what should be captured in the picture, he decided to capture the whole thing. He pressed the button to take the shot. Nothing happened. He pressed the button another time. Again nothing.

"What?" He stared down in shock at his camera. "You've got to be kidding me. Come on, baby. Not you, too! I need you to work," Link cooed. He pressed the button again. Then he pushed one more time with additional force. Still nothing.

"Dang it!" he yelled at the small camera in his hand, barely resisting the urge to hurl it. He hopped around in circles like a toddler pitching a tizzy. Then he held the camera in front of him and screamed, "I hate you! You hear me, freakin' crap bucket! I hate you!"

Link was so busy screaming profanities at the camera that he failed to notice a nearsighted old lady who was coming up the street with her dog. Upon hearing such vulgarities apparently hurled at her, in a low voice, she growled, "What did you call me?" She gave Link a look so withering he had to double check the moisture level in his pants.

"What?" Link stared at the old lady, dumbstruck. Once his brain fully registered the reason for the woman's apparent anger, he said, "Oh, no. I didn't mean you were...I mean...I said that because my camera stopped working," Link tried desperately to explain. "I would never call an old lady a crap bucket or any of those other things either," he continued.

Though he would not have previously believed it possible, the lady's scowl grew even deeper, her eyes even more menacing. After he realized his second mistake, he quickly added, "Not that you're old. It's just..."

Before he could say another word, the woman turned away in a huff. She tightened her hold on the dog's leash. Then she pounded her walker into the sidewalk as she stomped away.

Link watched the woman go. What was with the elderly women in this town? He looked once more at the house and took a mental snap shot before leaving.
10

You've Got Mail

Back in his room, Link sat in front of his computer and willed for someone to have written. After the move his father had finally allowed him to set up an e-mail account. He knew it wasn't likely that any of his old friends had written to him, but there was always the chance. An empty mail box and an empty heart; funny how often these two were a couple. Fingers crossed, he punched in his ID and password and logged into his account. A brick settled somewhere deep in his gut while he waited for the page to load.

Just junk-mail. His inbox was filthy with it. Link had refused to clear out his inbox. He didn't particularly need a revolutionary way to lose weight or increase his chest size. All the same, even the spam if addressed to him, was better than nothing.

Nothing was worse than nothing.

Link heard the squeak of floorboards overhead and assumed his dad had come home for lunch. As a realtor, his father enjoyed a lot of flexibility in his schedule and often stopped in for a bite to eat followed by a fifteen-minute power nap.

Link logged onto his Facebook account and found that message box empty as well. He was just about to log off when he received a message from an unfamiliar user. The user's name was Jim Jim. The note consisted of only four words:

Look behind the wall.

Typical. He finally got a message, and the sender was a raving nutjob. There was no way the user's real name was Jim Jim. The profile picture was a black background with a green circle in the middle. He clicked onto the link and found a generic page with absolutely no information. The only post was a profile pic that had been posted within the last month.

Link shrugged it off as spam and was about to exit the page when he remembered the spot on the wall that he'd noticed earlier. He swiveled the chair around with such haste he knocked a few CDs off the desk. Link's heart began to race.

Surely, it was just a coincidence. Nobody could possibly know about the wall. He hadn't even had a chance to tell anyone.

Nervousness, similar to the one he'd experienced after holding his mother's camera, returned. For the second time in one day, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something, was there, watching him. He typed:

Who are you? What do you know about my wall? Is there something in it?

A message popped up in response:

Hurry, Lincoln. You must hide what you find. If they know, they will kill you. Then all I have done would have been for nothing. Remember 1317. Beware the shadows. They must never find out.

Link typed as fast as he could, all the while looking over his shoulder. His paranoia from before came flooding back. Chills streamed up and down his arms. He typed:

Who will come? Kill me? What are you talking about? What do I know? What do you want? Who are you? What's wrong with the shadows?

There was no response. Link waited a little longer, but his mysterious correspondent had disappeared, or at least he was no longer interested in chatting. The little icon above the Jim Jim handle dimmed to signify the user was no longer online.

Link returned to the portion of the wall he had assaulted earlier out of frustration. He squatted next to it and searched for any possible point of entry. When none could be found, he struck it again. This time he used the bottom part of a closed fist. He tried to muster some force behind the blow, while at the same time sparing his knuckles any further damage. They still smarted from his earlier failed attempt.

Link heard something crack. There were still no changes in the wall's appearance, but the sound egged him on. He hit it again. This time the crack was accompanied by a faint popping noise. A small sliver of black opened on the evenly painted cinderblocks. The gap was too narrow for him to insert a finger, so he searched for something thin enough to fit the slot. A piece of paper, perhaps? It wouldn't help him pry it open any further, but maybe he could see how deep the crack went.

He placed the paper into the slot and watched it vanish into the wall. There was space back there after all. But how could he break into it? Maybe there was a more accessible opening from the other side of the wall. But the only thing that way was his back yard.

He was about to go check when another thought struck him, an unsettling thought. How had Jim Jim known his name? Link's profile name was Link Hartkins. Nobody, outside of his parents, ever called him Lincoln. And there was no way that his dad would have set up a Facebook account without asking for Link's help.
11

Down the Rabbit Hole

When he reached the top of the stairs, Link heard an eerie creaking as the door to the medicine cabinet swung open. The smooth surface of the mirror reflected the pale afternoon light that passed through the paisley curtains from beyond. Obscured by shadow, a dark reflection in the mirror appeared to be laughing. Too stunned to move, Link could only stare. It was the girl from the fire. He was sure of it.

Going against his better judgment, he approached the mirror. The closer he got, the sillier he began to feel. He hadn't seen some scary shadow creature. It was his own reflection. He felt the tension release from his shoulders. The figure hadn't been laughing. It had probably just been his own reflection as he stood there hyperventilating like a coward.

"Idiot," he cursed. "Scared of your own shadow."

Link stepped outside onto the large terracotta tiles of the back porch. The polished surface felt warm beneath his bare feet.

It didn't take him long to find the deeply set window well that led down to his room. Using it as a reference point, he searched through the dense layers of trumpet vine that had overtaken the side of the house. The deep green shoots climbed over everything, blanketing the wall in leaves and periodic, bell-shaped flowers of magenta and pink.

An occasional honeybee buzzed from flower to flower as Link pulled the vines from their stranglehold on a rickety, wooden trellis. Beneath a layer of dirt and grime, and behind a section of vines where the trellis had been cut away, was a small, rusted metal door.

Link squatted over the door and stared at it. It was just an ordinary door. Still, there was something ominous about it, something evil. He would never have been able to explain this feeling to anyone. To all outward appearances, it was nothing more than an old door. And yet, deep inside, Link knew it was much more than that.

He felt like Alice must have when she'd decided whether to go down the rabbit hole. Should he walk away and resume life as usual, or should he open it and see just how far this rabbit hole went? Right now, he wasn't ready to decide.
12

Why Does the Dark Move?

That night, the Hartkins family ate their pizza in silence. Even Ayden, who was usually gibbering to himself in his piecemeal and fragmented language, quietly munched his food. For some reason he appeared to be scanning the dining room walls. With Link's mind elsewhere and Mr. Hartkin's attention on a stack of papers from work, Ayden's unusual behavior barely even registered.

Finally, it was Ayden who broke the silence. "Why dark move?" he asked in a low, tremulous voice.

"What's that?" Mr. Hartkins said. He raised his head in awakened interest.

"Why dark move?" Ayden repeated, staring at the wall across from him.

"I don't know why guards move," Mr. Hartkins said. "In fact, some aren't supposed to move at all. Remember the ones we saw in England? The ones dressed in red with the big, black furry hats? No. You wouldn't remember those. You were far too young."

"I say dark. Why dark move?"

"Darts?" Mr. Hartkins suggested, again attempting to supply Ayden with words that made more sense.

"Dad," Link interrupted, "I think he said 'dark.'"

Mr. Hartkins's face tightened as he nodded. "That's what I heard, too. But it doesn't make any sense." He scratched his chin then said, "Does this have something to do with one of his superheroes?"

Link shrugged. He wasn't about to read too much into it. Only yesterday, Ayden had pointed at a car and called it an A&W. It turned out, he had meant BMW, but that little mystery had taken nearly two hours to sort out. And, at the moment, Link had more important issues to consider than his brother's fractured vocabulary.

Mr. Hartkins took Ayden's hand and forced a smile. "Honey, are you asking why the dark moves, or is it something else?"

Ayden nodded, still staring wide-eyed at the far wall. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His cowering body language said it all.

Both Link and his dad followed Ayden's gaze. Mr. Hartkins looked first at the wall and then at Link. "Is it me, or is Ayden staring at an empty wall?"

"No."

"Huh? What is it then?"

"No clue. But it certainly isn't just a wall. Not to him anyway. He sees something. Look at his pupils." Link pointed at his brother's eyes. "They're huge."

"But the wall is just...a wall. Isn't it?"

"Maybe I can pretend to shoo it away, whatever it is." Link walked over to where his brother was staring and reached his hands up.

Suddenly, Ayden screamed, "No!" His face went white. Horror filled his eyes. "Don't! Don't touch him!"

"Him?" Link immediately pulled his hand back, but Mr. Hartkins was the first to speak. "Him?" The uncertainty in his voice mirrored both his confusion and his concern. "Do you see anything from there, Lincoln?" he asked. "Maybe you see a spider...a snake perhaps."

"A snake? Seriously, Dad? Up near the ceiling?"

As the designated interpreter for such situations, Link turned to Ayden and said, "What do you see, Bug? What are you looking at? Is there something up here?" He raised his arm again, slowly this time, and watched his brother's eyes bulge. "Is the dark still moving?" Link asked.

Ayden said nothing. He just shook all over.

"Is the dark on the wall, Bug?" Link asked. He moved away from the wall and back toward his brother. From behind, he hugged Ayden and then said, "The tickle monster is coming to get you." Link raised his fingers, wiggled them, and waited for his brother to laugh. When he didn't, Link plunged his hands down to his brother's pits and began to tickle. To his astonishment, Ayden didn't even flinch. It was like he was in a trance.

"Lincoln," Mr. Hartkins said, "it's just a wall. It can't be...I mean, it couldn't be genetic, could it?"

Before Link could answer, Ayden seemed to snap out of it. "It okay now," he said. "He gone." And then, as if nothing strange had happened, he resumed eating his dinner in silence.

"Did Ayden just say 'he' is gone?" Mr. Hartkins asked. "Since when is the dark a 'he?' You're sure he's not talking about one of his superheroes?"

The phone rang and Mr. Hartkins jumped up to see who was on the call display before Link had a chance to reply. With a dazzling smile, his dad said, "Ah, yes!" He pumped his fist in triumph. Grabbing the portable phone from its cradle, he said, "Excuse me, boys. I need to get this. Fingers crossed. This would be a sweet commission." To Link he added, "Could you help your brother finish up?" He pointed to the untouched pile of asparagus on Ayden's plate.

Link watched Ayden finish his meal in silence. He wondered which inexplicable mood swing he found more disturbing: his brother's newfound terror of empty walls or his father's complete denial of what he had just seen. Wasn't Link supposed to be the teenager around here? If anyone was entitled to a good, old-fashioned mood swing, it should be him.

A few moments later, Mr. Hartkins reentered the room and said, "Good news. Looks like I sold a house! Not the Briddick house, like I had hoped, but a sale is a sale. I know you're still on the mend from that whole tree thing, but could you be a champ and watch your brother again tonight? It'd be a huge help."

"Whatever," Link said, not looking up from his meal.

"Thanks, kiddo," his dad replied, not skipping a beat. "I'll be back in a jiff, but if I'm late, can you let him sleep with you again? I think he's feeling a bit off tonight. Maybe he's coming down with something. Probably best if you don't drink from the same cups."

Link looked up and returned his father's impossible glee with a scowl. "You know, Dad, just because he's acting strange, doesn't mean he's going to turn out like Mom."

"What? I never...your mom didn't...I mean...look...." There was a long pause. "We'll talk later, okay?"

Link knew the look and knew a dismissal when he heard one. His father had just put an end to the discussion whether Link liked it or not. When his father said they could 'talk later,' what he really meant was 'for the love of God, don't ever mention this night again.'
13

Tittywinks

Later that night, after Ayden had beaten Link in Candy Land for the fifth consecutive time, Link decided it was time for a different game. He was sick of losing. At the current rate, it would probably be two minutes past forever before Link reached King Kandy first.

Ayden's chubby-cheeked victory smiles, the ones where his dimpled cheeks nearly swallowed his eyes, always made Link grin. It was nice to see him happy again. Smiles had been in short supply lately. But enough was enough. One can only take defeat at the hands of a four-year-old for so long.

Besides, deep down Link knew the real reason he drew the gumdrop every time had nothing to do with his brother's gaming abilities. The simple truth was that the universe didn't like him, had never liked him, and most likely could never be persuaded to change its mind.

"Tittywinks. Me pay Tittywinks?" Ayden said as he placed the game pieces into a small bag and set the cards into their intended slot.

Link chuckled. Ayden's latest verbal concoction would no doubt create quite a stir in mixed company. Link headed upstairs to find the game. When he turned to ask if Ayden wanted something to drink, he nearly tripped over him. No longer sitting on the floor, Ayden stood one step away like a miniature shadow.

"What's the matter, Bug? You want to come with me?"

Ayden nodded uneasily then grabbed Link's hand and peered up the stairs from behind Link's leg.

In the voice of the space captain from one of Ayden's favorite cartoons, Link said, "To infinity!" Usually this elicited a grin or, on good days, an outright laugh. Not here. Not tonight.

Link had no clue what was going on with his little brother, but he didn't like it. Whether his dad wanted to talk about it or not, the fact remained. Ayden's behavior was eerily reminiscent of the way their mother had acted a few weeks before the fire.

With quivering lips and soulful eyes, Ayden looked up at Link and said, "I be bwave." His words sounded hollow and lacked any real conviction. Ayden wrapped his tiny arms around Link's right leg, tightening his grip each time Link attempted to move.

Unable to bend down to his level, Link hugged him from the top half, pressing his hands into Ayden's back. "It'll be okay, Bug," he said in a pathetic attempt to calm Ayden's fear. Feeling awkward, he patted him reassuringly on the back.

Link despised the words the instant they left his mouth. They were a lie, and he knew it. He had no idea if things were going to be okay. How could he? He didn't have the faintest idea what was even wrong. And Lord knows that he hadn't found a way to make his own life okay.

The phrase sounded like something his father would say, and Link hated it. He vividly remembered looking into his father's eyes, in much the same way Ayden was doing now, after his mother had died. The realization that she would never come home had rocked Link's world to the point of nearly capsizing it. Though he hadn't realized it until then, his mother's love had been the glue that held his entire cosmos together.

He could still remember the rigid contours of his dad's face, his lips thinned, his jaw extended like a boxer awaiting the knock-out blow. Devoid of emotion, his father's voice resonated as if speaking from the dead.

"It'll be okay," his father had said, cold and empty, like he'd never even known her. It was as if his father had no idea how irreplaceable his mother really was.

Link had always hated him for those words. He had cursed his dad. He'd cursed God. He'd cursed the universe. At one point, he even remembered cursing himself. Since that night, Link had longed for a cosmic return policy that would allow him to reclaim his mother in exchange for his useless father. It was wrong to think this way. Perhaps he was even being unfair, but truthfully Link knew that he was far beyond the point of caring whether he was being fair or not. Life was unfair. He wanted his mother back. It was as simple as that.

But when Link looked at Ayden, unable to rescue him from his own fears, a terrible understanding slapped Link across the face. Perhaps a person said that things would be okay when there was nothing left to say. Maybe, when the world suddenly stopped spinning and the sun no longer rose in the east, 'it will be okay' was the only thing left to say.

He felt an intense pang of guilt for the way he had treated his father since moving away from Pensy. Link knew he had been exceptionally hard on him, feeling more than ever that in moving they had abandoned his mother. But, maybe it was time to move on with his life. Pausing, Link came to an abrupt revelation about what he should do regarding the mysterious hatch.

He needed to open it, and soon.

Ayden loosened his grip a little then raised his head to look Link in the face. "I supewhewo," he said, puffing out his chest.

"That's right, little buddy. You are a superhero. So what's your super power tonight? Can you shoot webs or fly over buildings?"

"I vibisle. He not see me," Ayden said, still trying his best to act brave.

Link sat down on the stairs and pulled Ayden onto his lap. "Ayden, who is this he you keep talking about? Is it a real person, or are you just pretending?"

Link hated to doubt his brother, but he had to ask. A couple of weeks ago, Ayden had sworn a bear was outside his window ready to eat him. Later he'd claimed that a snake-bee hissed at him from beneath the folds of his bedding. It was often hard to tell when he was being honest. Still, the fear in Ayden's eyes told Link to take his latest claim seriously.

"What is it, Ayden? What are you not telling me?"

"I not hiding secwets. Secwets bad. Dad say so. I good. I'm a supewhewo."

Clearly this was getting him nowhere, so Link tried another approach. "Arrgh, Matey, we be pirates on a quest for frozen booty. We must hurry before someone steals our treasure. Are ya wit' me?" Link said in his best pirate voice.

Ayden's eyes flashed, switching in intensity from a dull sheen to a lighthouse glow. Around the bend, still hidden by a diminishing forest of panic, was a smile waiting for the right moment to erupt. It was an amazing transformation.

Even stranger, Link thought, was how he had effectively pulled Ayden from his own land of imaginary fear into a new, happier land of Link's own design. Link's land held the promise of chocolate-chocolate chunk booty. If only ice cream and pirates could solve all of life's problems.

As two pirates, they climbed the stairs to discover the buried traditional sea game, Tiddlywinks, and celebrated their find with chocolate ice cream as promised.

Though Ayden remained jumpy, occasionally glancing over his shoulder or looking at random walls for no apparent reason, he settled down considerably. Maybe things were going to be okay after all.
14

The Hatch

Link lay in bed that night and stared up into the darkness. Every time he shut his eyes, his head swam with images of squeaky chairs, cruel teasing, and other unspeakable tortures of school, such as grammar and bathrooms with no stall doors.

With a start, he sat up. The hatch. He had totally forgotten about his decision to open the hatch. With a renewed sense of purpose, Link jumped out of bed and fumbled around the floor for a sweatshirt. Finally locating one, he threw it over his head and punched his arms through the sleeves only to tear it off seconds later in disgust. Either he had to stop running in the same thing every day, or laundry needed to become a higher priority. The noxious fumes of armpit odor and sweat had nearly knocked him unconscious.

Repulsed, Link threw the fetid garment back to the floor. He grabbed a long sleeved t-shirt from his dresser and set off to change his world forever.

On his way through the house, Link tried to remain as stealthy as possible to avoid waking up his dad. There was no reason to feel guilty. After all, he wasn't technically sneaking out if he stayed in his own yard. Perhaps he should add rationalization to his list of not-so-superpowers.

Link tiptoed through the maze of living room furniture, trying his best to minimize the inevitable squeaks made by old wooden floors. Carefully, he pried open the back door, one inch at a time. To his relief, the rusty hinges remained silent, permitting a hasty exit without the slightest hint of protest.

Link crept across the tiled porch and wound his way down the path. Suddenly, a flood light spilled over the entire yard as if in search of a prisoner making an attempted jailbreak. The high-watt motion sensor had detected the movement on the path and now framed his silhouette against the light blue paint of the house.

How could he have been so stupid? He had forgotten about the light. He scurried to the side of the house and pressed himself flat against the wall. The last measure was not truly necessary as he had probably cleared the sensor's twenty-foot radius, but he wasn't taking any more chances.

He peered through the dim backdrop of Mrs. Devereaux's flowered curtains with justifiable concern. His father's room faced the front of the house, so Link wasn't worried about him. However, if the nosy neighbor had seen him, his days of stealth and intrigue were over. Faster than the blink of an eye, she would have pressed 9-1-1. Within minutes there would be a police-car parade lining the front of the house.

The few times he'd spoken with Mrs. Devereaux, she'd seemed nice enough, and she appeared to mean well. But, his dad had warned him to steer clear of her whenever possible. He'd told him that he'd overheard some neighbors saying that ever since the Navy had temporarily relocated her husband to a base in Florida, she had made it her mission to know everyone else's business. And after the unwanted attention we'd all received in Pensy, even Link's gregarious father appeared reluctant to give much for the neighbors to gossip about.

Seeing nothing suspicious, Link crept along the wall until he reached the trumpet vine. He pulled the foliage back as he had done before. Then he searched for the handle. With the added camouflage of the night sky, it was nearly impossible. Link tried to visualize where the door had been and pressed his hand against the wall. Nothing. He moved his hand up and down, but it all felt the same.

Frustrated, he decided to return when he had more light. As he stood, he propped his hand against the wall for leverage. That was when he felt the metallic edge of the handle nestle neatly into his palm. His pulse quickened with excitement. Now that he had found it, all that remained was to figure out what it was.

Link curled his fingers around the handle and placed his left hand over his right, gripping it from underneath. He spread his feet, bent his knees, and readied himself to pull. After counting to three in slow, evenly-paced increments, he heaved his body to the side. He strained and grunted as every muscle in his body flexed. He continued pulling until he nearly passed out from the exertion.

He knew his usual back up plan of simply pounding the handle into submission was not going to work and would most likely wake up the neighbor. If he wanted to do this now, he had to be more creative.

Link traced his fingers around the sides of the hatch, searching for something else he could use to pull it open. Near the bottom, in a part he had earlier neglected to uncover, he found a pair of thick bolts attached to the outside of the house. After a bit of fumbling, he slid both of these aside and succeeded in unlocking the door. Link gave the handle a cursory pull.

This time, the hatch flew open. The door came to a stop over a soft pile of vines. Link looked inside but could see nothing through the oppressive blackness. He reached into his pocket to retrieve a flashlight and discovered that not only had he forgotten to bring a flashlight, but he didn't even have a pocket to put it in. With a horrible, sinking feeling, he realized that in all the excitement he had forgotten to put his pants on. Thank heavens he wore boxers to bed.

Link reached into the dark, trying to ignore the disturbing thoughts of black widows and scorpions that kept popping into his mind. The hole behind the hatch was shallow. Despite his resolve to stay calm, he jumped when his hand quickly reached the back wall of the opening. He then tested the width, bringing his hand to both sides of the enclosure. That was when he found an additional opening on the left side. Pushing his arm further in, he blindly groped around the darkness.

Instead of the flat, leaf-strewn metal plating he'd found in the initial opening, Link's hand brushed against something else. Some areas jutted out in well-defined angles. Others were soft and sagged beneath his touch. He pushed harder, but he could barely tell the difference between what felt like a plastic bag and a more substantial object beneath.

Link tightened his grip and lifted the object from its place of hiding. He felt like a civilian who'd been asked to defuse a bomb by picking the right wire to cut. Sweat beaded his brow as the bagged object came into the pale moonlight.

He knew what this was. Wide-eyed and full of wonder, Link shifted the object in his hands to make sure. Then he quickly removed the camera from the cellophane bag and stared at it with disbelief. There was no way his mother's camera could have wound up buried inside his bedroom wall. And yet, Link held up what was, at the very least, an excellent copy of his mother's 35mm Nikon.

The hatch had been overgrown, no doubt caused by years of neglect. And even though the camera appeared clean, a thick film of dirt covered the bag. With his head spinning, Link decided he needed more sleep for any of this to make sense.

Who knew? If he was lucky, maybe the paper boy would deliver some sanity in the morning when he delivered the news. Stranger things had happened...today in fact.
15

Twins

As he awoke, Link glanced over at the dresser to see if finding the camera had just been a dream. He marveled again at the similarity between the camera he had found and his mother's. Then he wondered if in fact it was his mother's camera. The thought was preposterous, but he couldn't seem to shake it.

Link picked up the camera, afraid he'd only uncover more evidence that he'd totally lost it. As if the universe once again found need to mock him, a marble became lodged between two of his toes as he walked.

"Oh, very funny. I must have lost one of my marbles..." he said, shaking his finger towards the sky in annoyance.

When Link reached the camera he'd discovered last night, he found it exactly where he had left it. Who had he been kidding? Of course it was still there. He hadn't found his mother's camera buried underneath the house. That wasn't even possible. His mother's camera was upstairs on a pile of books, right where he'd left it.

Nevertheless, Link was amazed by the similarities as he examined the new camera. He searched for any differences between the new one and his mother's and found only a scratch along the grip of the camera he had taken from the hatch. By some upheaval of the laws of probability, he had discovered what was essentially a replica of the same outdated relic his mother had always used.

A mixture of emotions swirled around his head. On the one hand, he was relieved that the existence of two separate cameras had restored his tiny corner of reality to its full, upright position. On the other hand, he felt a prick of sadness precisely because his tiny corner of reality had been so miserable lately. Something new would have been a welcome change.
16

The Pedestrian

After a long and pointless search of the kitchen cabinets turned up nothing good to eat, Link balanced a can of tuna in his hand and wondered if it truly was his best snack option. Talk about depressing. An obnoxious buzzing noise shattered his pity party, making it impossible to think. Half expecting a giant bee, he stepped up to the kitchen window and looked outside.

Back in Pensy, some of the older kids would tweak their mufflers so that their cars made a similar noise whenever they accelerated. It had been common there. But the images of either a dragster or a giant bee seemed ridiculous in a neighborhood like Pleasant Meadows.

The noise grew louder, and a shape began to emerge in the distance. Both of his guesses had been incorrect. Yet somehow the absurdity of what he now saw seemed even less reasonable than a giant bee. A man, who looked old enough to be Link's great-grandfather, cruised down the street on a newly polished, high-powered dirt bike. He wore a polyester jumpsuit emblazoned with large V patterns of white, black, and red. The old geezer drove so slowly, Link wondered how the bike maintained enough speed to stay upright.

When the man passed by the front of the house, Link noticed the man's grim-faced demeanor. It only served to highlight the already twisted nature of the entire scene. The meager remains of his wiry, silver hair flapped in the breeze as he slipped from view.

"Ayden! Stop!" Mr. Hartkins screamed. He quickly lowered his voice to avoid scaring him into falling. "Stay there!" Link turned away from the window in time to see Mr. Hartkins dart over to Ayden and pluck him from atop a makeshift pile of boxes. He carefully set him down on the kitchen floor and spun to face Link. Brows creased, lips tight, a fire burning in his eyes, he advanced on Link. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Ayden could've been hurt!"

At first Link was too shocked to speak. He hadn't even known Ayden was in the room until a second ago. And why was his dad yelling at him? "I...I...didn't see him. How was I supposed to know that he was up there?"

"Four feet away from him, why would you?" Mr. Hartkins thundered. "It's not like he's inside your great, big, depressing world of one, is he? Who the hell cares if he slips to his death, trying to get a snack? Right?" Mr. Hartkins handed Ayden the small packet of fruit chews that he had been reaching for.

Not only had Link failed to see the danger his brother was in, he had somehow even missed the box of fruit chews. He glanced down at the pathetic can of tuna. "But I..."

"Just stop. I don't want to hear it. I'm sick of your pathetic pity parade! It's always 'poor me,'" his father said in a mocking voice. "Nobody understands me. I hurt so much more than everyone else in the world." He straightened as he jabbed an accusatory finger in Link's face. "You act as if you're the only person here who lost someone."

Link's jaw clenched. Even shadows wouldn't stand around and take this sort of abuse. He balled his fists, readying himself to take a swing. He had been wanting to get into this ever since they had arrived in this crappy town. "Maybe I am."

"What did you say?"

Link took a step closer to his dad. "I said, maybe I am the only person who lost someone. It's not like you care, Mr. everything's wonderful, Mr. I'm sooooo happy with our new life," Link said, mimicking his dad's spiel about positive thinking. "If this is such a great place to be," Link continued, "then where's Mom? Huh? This house sucks. School sucks. This whole town...SUCKS! And all you do is talk about how wonderful it is. Well, wake up and smell the piss in your coffee, Dad. Life sucks! We might as well get used to it!"

Link held his ground, daring his father to speak. Despite his recent resolution to treat him better, his dad had crossed the line. If he was going to start the fight, Link refused to feel guilty about finishing it. Link fumed in triumphant silence, inwardly enjoying the effects his verbal tirade had upon his father.

"How dare you! You ignorant little brat! I loved your mother for twice as long as you've been alive. I was the one who cleaned up her vomit for months before you were born. I was the one who held her hand when she got sick, stroking her hair at night when the pain was so bad she cried herself to sleep. I was the one who lost my life the day she died. Me! Not you! Me! Get it? Don't you dare act like I don't know what it means to lose someone! I died that day...I...I..."

Though his father continued jabbing holes in the air in front of Link's face, he had apparently run out of words to say, or at the very least, the breath he needed to say them.

His father's rigid scowl suddenly faltered, giving way to an agony Link had never thought him capable of. It was if Link had just stabbed his father through the heart. His father's eyes welled, rimming deep with tears. Then he did something Link had never before seen him do. His father cried. Right there in the middle of the kitchen, he put his head down on the island countertop and began to sob deep, unrestrained tears of sorrow.

Link drew back. For the moment the venom vanished from his fangs. All he could do was stare. For the first time in a long while, instead of his enemy, Link now saw his father for what he really was...broken. And the worst part about it, the part that burned deepest in Link's gut, was the painful truth that he had been the one who'd broken him.

Ayden was the first to react. He hugged his father's leg hard and kept on hugging for several minutes. Meanwhile, Link could think of nothing clever to say, nothing meaningful whatsoever. Like a pedestrian who'd just witnessed a horrific car crash, all he could do was watch.

After a few moments, his dad raised his head, though not his eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the kitchen floor. He gently pushed Ayden away from his leg and said, "It's time to leave, Ayden. Get your shoes." Then he turned and walked away.
17

Sending Up the Fuzz

The next morning Link arrived at school with the same sense of loathing he had experienced on his first day. Though nobody launched a Frisbee at his face this time, he felt the curious stares of all the other children boring holes into the back of his head.

Finally, Link turned to Celia and said, "Do you get the feeling that kids are staring at us?"

She playfully punched him in the arm and giggled. "Don't be silly. They're only staring at you. They couldn't care less about me."

"Thanks. I feel so much better."

"Glad I could help." She giggled again as she stuffed her history book into her bag. "Look, it's no big deal, so don't freak or anything, but I heard some gossip about you this morning."

"Big shock. Was it started by that devil-spawn, Kaylee? I bet she'd love to spread a bunch of lies about me."

"It's possible, but that's not who I'm talking about."

"If it wasn't her, who was it? Nobody else knows about it except for you." Link spun on Celia, "It wasn't you, was it?" he said in disbelief.

"That's not the point," she said, sheepishly twirling the frayed tassel on her backpack.

"It was you?" Link stuttered, incredulous at Celia's betrayal. "How could you?"

"First of all, don't sweat it. And secondly, you're welcome."

Link fumed as the room began closing in around him. "Thanking you is not exactly what I had in mind."

Again, Celia's indefatigable smile showed that she had absolutely no clue how badly she had upset him. She let out a little squeal of excitement as she continued, "Ah, the joys of sending fuzz. You don't live in a favorite haunt of the NGP and not pick up a few things about the nature of gossip. Like it or not, you are a new kid. Actually, you're the only new kid. So you're not a new kid. You're the new kid.

"Anyway, some people feel threatened by change, and some, I suspect, don't like red hair." She laughed at her own joke. "Man, I am full of them today, aren't I?"

Link said nothing.

"You're an oddity, something new and shiny. Kids don't want to look. They just do. With me so far?"

Link nodded though he wasn't sure. He'd never been called shiny before, and to be honest, he had no clue how he should respond.

Celia pushed on. "If you'd come to school looking all John Merricky, they'd have stalked you all day, creating outlandish reasons for your face."

"John Merricky?" Link questioned.

"The Elephant Man. John Merrick...you know...try to keep up, will you?"

"Some kid had elephants?"

"No. The Elephant Man. He was this really disfigured guy from the circus. Or maybe it was a fair. It's not important. The point is, I confused everyone into thinking my story was true by spreading all the rumors before anyone else had a chance to spread ones of their own. Pretty brilliant, eh?"

"What rumors did you start?" Link asked.

"Aside from the ones about your webbed feet and surgically removed duck tail?"

Link wanted to be mad, but truthfully he was touched that Celia had cared enough to help him. Though Link had yet to decide whether or not she was crazy, he had to admit that she was growing on him. "Seriously, what story did you make up about me?"

Celia shrugged. "Depends."

"Depends? On what?"

"On which period you're referring to. Telling the same lie over and over bored me, so I mixed it up a bit. They won't have a clue what to believe. But I'll tell you what they won't believe...the truth. Honestly, who runs into a tree?"
18

Panch

In literature class, Link was about to sit in his wobbly chair near the front of the room when somebody called out to him. Convinced he must be hearing voices again, Link ignored it and began to sit down.

"Dude, Weasley! Over here."

There it was again. Maybe he wasn't hearing things after all. Link lifted his head. A kid in the second row waved his hands towards the seat next to him like an airport traffic controller. Was this a joke? Link was in no mood to be humiliated this early in the morning.

The scruffy-haired surfer waited patiently with his left arm draped over the reserved seat. Despite his apprehension, Link decided to go. But he remained vigilant for the slightest sign of a trap. As he drew closer, he noticed the stack of colorful beaded necklaces the boy wore around his neck and the silver stud earring of a yellow ladybug in his left ear. He wore a rust-colored polo shirt, baggy tan cargo pants, and a pair of well-worn brown suede clogs.

"Hello," Link said quietly.

"Dude! What's up? Name's Frances, but all my friends call me Panch."

"Punch?"

"No, Panch. You know...curly haired Mexican dude on all those old 'wanted' posters. Wears that gnarly hat. You know. The dude! He's all like, revolutionary and everything."

"Pancho Villa?" Link remembered the unit about the Mexican-American War from his history class the year before. But hadn't Pancho Villa been a notorious bandit?

"Yeah! Villa, that's him. Last year, first day of school, I wear this nappy pullover I got from one of my boys back home. Some kid said that I looked like Pancho Villa. Next thing I knew some chicklet started callin' me Panch. Bet you know how that goes," he said smiling. "I'm guessin' Weasley is not your real name. Am I right?"

"My name's Lincoln, Link for short." He extended his hand for a shake.

Panch quickly slapped it. "So, Link, is it true?"

Link eyed him suspiciously, "Depends. What are you talking about?"

"Did you really break up a robbery at the Center Mart? I heard you chased away the baddies and got your head all busted by one of the dudes tryin' to make a run for it."

Maybe it was Panch's willingness to talk with him. Maybe it was the laid-back way in which he carried himself. Or maybe it was because the kid's name was Panch. Who knew? Whatever the case, Link decided to tell him the truth. He inhaled deeply then he said, "Actually, Panch, I ran into a tree."

"While you were chasing the bad guys?"

"No bad guys. Just me and the tree, mano el treeo. Turns out it's a good idea to watch where you're running."

For a few moments, Panch sat there, absorbing the new information. He stared at Link with the sort of intense scrutiny he probably reserved for scanning the watery horizon for the best wave to catch.

After a brief deliberation, his face broke into a huge smile, and he started to laugh. He gave Link a hardy slap on the back, and said, "Yeah, Celia told me you'd say something crazy. Too modest and all. Dude, word of advice: nobody's gonna buy such a lame story. Hitting a tree? Whatever. I mean like anyone'd be dumb enough to do that."

Link decided to change the topic rather than pursue the matter any further. He had tried to do the right thing. It wasn't his fault if the boy hadn't believed him. And besides, he liked this kid. Link didn't know why it wasn't currently raining in his universe, but he wasn't about to remind it of this fact by pulling out an umbrella.
19

A Cruel Twist of Fade

Link strutted through the hallway towards his last class of the day, his spirits higher than they had been in months. Things were finally beginning to look up, and there was reason to believe his good fortune would continue.

He still heard hushed whispering wherever he went and very few people, aside from Panch and Celia, had actually talked to him. But at least nobody was spreading lies about him. Not hurtful ones anyway. Besides, there was only one period left. Link knew better than to tempt the universe into action by an unjustified overconfidence, yet an odd tingling of excitement came with the mere prospect of a good day at school. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had one of those.

Link walked into the classroom, his bag slung casually over his shoulder and his head held high. The burgeoning glimpse at happiness grew even wider when he saw the familiar faces of friends. Both Panch and Celia were busy laughing about something and failed to notice him as he entered.

Tom, a boy Link had met during Professor Biteme's computer class, was also sitting with them, seemingly hard at work, scribbling something down on a torn piece of notebook paper.

"Hey, Weasley!" Panch said in greeting when he saw Link approach.

"Knock it off," Celia said, giving him a whack in the arm. "His name's Link."

"Chill, woman. Ain't no thang. Link's cool. He don't mind. Do ya, Link?"

Strangely enough, coming from a friend, especially one named Panch, Link didn't mind in the least. Unlike before, the dreaded nickname now seemed more like a rite of passage than a putdown. "I don't mind," he said with a smile, savoring the sweet taste of belonging.

Panch stuck out his tongue at Celia. "Told you," he said.

"Whatever," Celia said, sounding miffed that Panch knew something more about her new friend than she did. "Link, have you met Watcher?"

Tom looked up from what he was writing barely long enough to nod. Then he resumed his frenzied scribbling.

"Isn't his name Tom?" Link asked.

"Watcher is a nickname," Celia responded, pulling a book from her satchel.

"What's he writing?" Link whispered, trying not to disrupt the flow of words that were spilling onto Tom's page.

"Who knows? He writes about everything and anything. Thinks he's the chronicler of mankind or something."

"She's not kidding," Panch whispered. "That dude's room is like a library. Kind of mental, but don't worry. He's cool."

Celia smacked Panch in the shoulder again.

Panch rubbed the place where he'd been struck. "Knock it off! Will ya? And I'm not talking about my head, freckle face. What's wrong with you, woman?" Panch stifled a chuckle, before immediately raising his hands to block another of Celia's vicious right hooks. "Dude, that's enough. My arm is killin' me."

"I'm not a dude, Panch."

"Du...I mean...Celia," he said, quickly correcting himself. "You know I'm only playin' with you. I kid 'cuz I care."

The remainder of study hall flew by without incident. When the bell rang, Link rose in triumph. He had made it. An entire day of school and nothing bad had happened. Take that, universe! He congratulated himself on this remarkable achievement. He looked up through the popcorn plaster, blocking out the heavens above, and said, "Screw you, fate! Not so big and scary now, are you?" Flushed with confidence, he extended his middle three fingers and held his hand high. "Read between the lines, you big bully."

Behind him, a tall, Sasquatch of a boy turned to face Link and his premature three-fingered celebration. "What'd you say?" he growled.

Link gaped at the monster in amazement. How was this beast even in the same grade? The room began shrinking around him. The halogen lights above became spotlights, blazing down upon Link as if he were being interrogated. At last he said, "What? Me? No...I−"

"You and me, loser. Lot D. Be there and I might only send you to the hospital. If you run, I'll hunt you down and kill you in your sleep." He punched his left hand to emphasize this point.

Link backed up, nearly tripping over Watcher's pile of books. "But I..." That was all he managed to say before the boy left the room. Link dropped his head in disgust. He wondered why he ever opened his mouth at all. Time and again he'd proven it to be a bad idea, and yet he insisted on talking. It was moments like this when he truly wished he was a mute.

Still, Link couldn't understand why the boy had gotten so upset. Was he friends with the universe or something?

Panch came up beside him and placed an arm around his shoulder. "Dude," he said, "what's your beef with Fade?"

The two of them stared into the hallway for a few seconds until Panch's words sunk in. Link realized what he had done wrong. "Fade?" he said in exasperation. That was so typical, he thought. Link had meant to curse fate, and somehow managed to insult a walking monolith named Fade. "Is that even a name? I mean, really. Who names their kid Fade?"

"It's not his real name," Tom said, glancing up from his work, "just a nickname. He has a good fade-away shot."

Link noticed Celia playing with the frayed edges of her backpack again and began to worry. If she was concerned, Link knew that he probably should be as well.

"So what are you going to do?" Celia asked. "Please tell me you're not going to actually show up."

Link laughed and tried to play it off like it was no big deal. "I'm just going to tell him it was all a big misunderstanding."

"Unbelievable," Celia said. "You honestly think you can waltz up to him and explain your way out of this?"

"Well, dancing may not be the right approach, but, yeah, that's the gist of it."

Clearly not amused by Link's attempt to shrug off the severity of the current situation, Celia said, "Sure, sarcasm, even better." She turned to Panch who appeared to be deep in thought. "Please talk some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed."

Link walked over to the window and watched the steady stream of kids leaving the school. At least nobody would still be around to watch him get his butt kicked. "Celia, you're overreacting," he said. "I'm sure Fade is reasonable enough to see it was all a mistake."

"Fade? We're still talking about Fade?" Celia asked, growing noticeably exasperated by Link's refusal to accept the obvious. "Because if we are, you're going about this all wrong. You seem to think he's capable of thought."

"He's not?" Link asked.

"Put it this way," Celia continued. "In a battle of wits between Einstein and a goldfish, Fade would be the goldfish."

"You're exaggerating," Link said.

"Probably right, dude," Panch said. "That'd be givin' Fade way too much credit. Think more along the lines of a mentally damaged goldfish named Gomer."

"Then I guess I'll have to fight him," Link said.

There was a brief moment of silence before all three of his new friends burst into a loud chorus of laughter. It wasn't a small chuckle. Panch, Celia, and Watcher all roared with merriment. Celia laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her desk. Panch, meanwhile, was wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye.

Link wanted to leave, to go sort all of this out with Fade. This was the last thing he needed right now. The only problem was that he had no clue how to get to Lot D.

"Honestly, Link," Celia said, "either you're much funnier than I gave you credit for, or you're totally cracked in the head. Please tell me you don't honestly think you'd stand a chance against Fade. Face it. We've already established how well you fare against trees. And Fade is bigger than some trees. And more importantly, unlike the tree, Fade will hit you back."

In the silence that followed, Panch turned to Celia and said, "You mean he really did run into a tree?"

As the once glorious day rapidly deteriorated, Link said, "Yes, Panch, I really did run into a tree. But it's not like I have a lot of options here. I can't hide from him forever. If I don't face him now, I'll just have to do it later."

Celia threw up her hands. "But that's my point. Don't you get it? The guy is an absolute moron. I bet most morons would be offended if they knew that I compared them to Fade. Chances are he'll forget his own name by Monday. There's no way he'll remember some petty argument he had right before the end of school on Friday."

"Look, Celia, I appreciate your concern. But there's only one thing worse than enduring something terrible, and that's being forced to wait for it. I'd rather just face him now. Think about it. Nobody is going to want to waste their weekend to stick around for a fight. Besides, who could possibly have heard about it that fast? Trust me. I'll be fine."
20

Who Let the Dog Out?

Link stepped onto the rough pavement of Lot D and was immediately reminded of the crowded Shakespearian amphitheaters he'd learned about in his British Literature class. Until witnessing it with his own eyes, he never would have believed how amazing the efficiency of the Shady Oaks Academy gossip chain could be.

Astonished at the sea of students who turned out to witness his murder, he stood dumbstruck between his two remaining friends. Watcher had left early on some important errand. Apparently Link's impending appointment with death was the one thing Watcher didn't want to chronicle. Link didn't blame him. He didn't want to watch it either.

He noticed one of the students holding a handmade sign, supporting Fade. The sign depicted an oversized basketball bouncing on top of a bloody pulp that Link could only assume represented him. He made that informed guess because the artist had taken the time to give the bloody pulp red hair. Link wondered how on earth somebody would have had the time to make a sign. "What do they think this is?" he mumbled. "A pep rally?"

"All right, dude, this is as far as we go. It's been cool knowin' ya. Just remember to swim toward the light."

"Your confidence in me is overwhelming."

Celia, still visibly annoyed by Link's pig-headed refusal to listen to reason, stood next to Panch and pouted. She was trying her best not to reveal her concern, but she was failing miserably.

By the looks of it, the entire basketball team had shown up in support of their star center. Kids screamed as if they had just won districts. Link half expected to see a hotdog vendor walk by or someone selling cotton candy.

"Let's do this, punk." Fade said. He emerged from the crowd, smashing his right fist into his palm once again.

The sun shone overhead, causing Link to sweat as he stepped forward from his friends. At least, he hoped it was the sun that was making him sweat. Since his palms were also sweating profusely, it was hard to tell. He tried to approach Fade, but his legs didn't want to cooperate. So he spoke where he was. "Let me explain. I think this has all been a silly misunderstanding."

Fade snarled. "You calling me silly?"

"Course not. Don't be stupid." Dang it! Why didn't his brain ever filter his words? Link tried to back up but was quickly rebuffed by the frenzied crowd. Some of these kids seriously needed to learn what a bar of soap was for.

"You callin' me stupid?" Fade said.

It was then that Link knew his friends had been right. It was going to take more than an apology to get out of this alive. Desperate to find an escape, he felt like his brain was about to explode. When he failed to find an exit strategy, he searched Fade's massive frame for any area of weakness and discovered, much to his disappointment, that the brute was built like an armored truck. He wondered briefly if a unibrow could be considered an area of weakness. If so, that was where he would have to strike, assuming his fist could reach up that high.

"Are you ready to die, loser?"

The last remnants of depression fled Link's brain entirely, leaving room for a new emotion: fear. Raw terror jolted his senses into overdrive. He wanted to live, and he was determined to find a way to do it. He looked toward the bloodthirsty crowd who appeared to be drooling over the anticipated violence. Clearly, they weren't going to be any help.

Just as he was about to abandon all hope, he heard a faint noise off in the distance. It was difficult to discern over the eager din of the crowd, but it quickly gained intensity. As the noise grew more recognizable, a stunned hush fell over the spectators.

Link watched the crowd turn. Then he heard a girlish cry. Thankfully, the voice of horror had not been his own. Instead, it belonged to a small, round-faced girl at the edge of the crowd. Her one-word warning of "Chomper!" sent a shockwave of panic rippling through the gathering.

The already riotous crowd burst into a maelstrom of feet and arms. The flailing limbs seemed to be tangling up in what looked like a demented zombie square dance. Uncertain where the sound had originated from, kids ran in every direction. Some jumped over the fence. Others hurried into the school gymnasium in a seething mass of desperation. People were pushed, knocked over, and stepped on during the crowd's frantic attempts to escape.

Link also ran. Though it was probably just a dog, the way the girl had screamed told him that Chomper was not a dog he wanted to mess with. Besides, anything capable of dispersing a homicidal audience of this size was not something he wanted to face by himself.

The barking grew louder and louder. Link ducked and dodged around fleeing classmates. After dashing to the lot's towering chain-link fence, Link heaved himself over. A painful jolt shot through his legs as he connected with the ground on the other side.

Uncertain whether or not there was a gate further along the fence that a dog could run through, he hopped over a row of small bushes. Then he burst into the middle of the road without so much as a glance for oncoming traffic. Safety Steve, his boyhood hero, would have been appalled. Link careened around the corner and broke into a mad dash down the lane. He didn't look back. There wasn't time. He ran as fast as his legs would take him.

The angry barking had long since faded into the background, but Link continued to run. His feet pounded the concrete sidewalk, suppressing each new ridiculous fear that popped into his head. His terror slowly began to subside, but it was replaced by a sort of nervous thrill, an exhilaration that combined energy and adrenaline into a mixed-up stimulant cocktail.

In one breath, Link felt lucky to be alive, angry at the universe, and excited about the prospect of escaping into the weekend without the need for substantial amounts of cosmetic surgery.
21

The Woodpecker

Link eased his pace to a walk. He searched for any indication of where he'd run, but it was hard to tell. Blind panic had fueled his escape from school, and now he found that he was completely lost.

Still deep in concentration, Link jumped when he heard the familiar cackle of an old lady. She screamed at him from her front porch. Perhaps it was the residual adrenaline left over from his near-death experience, but the woman's voice sent shockwaves to the tips of his fingers.

He turned, but he refused to look in her direction. The next instant the old lady stood directly in front of him. Link looked back, confused. He recognized her as the same woman who had called him a hooligan yesterday just before his run in with the tree.

"But..." he said. His words broke off in his throat as he whirled to where the old lady's voice had originated only seconds before. "How..."

"Aren't you the articulate one?" she said. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as if she were enjoying Link's confusion.

"But..."

"My name is Mrs. Kidacki. I would love to introduce myself properly, but for now all you need to know is that I am a friend. And it is in a gesture of this friendship that I suggest you step inside my house. Perhaps I could interest you in a cool glass of lemonade and some cookies."

Unnerved by the woman's sudden pretense of kindness, Link edged away, wary of what she might do next. His head was spinning. Whatever was going on here, he didn't like it.

"Lincoln Amoeba Hartkins," the old lady said, "it isn't safe for you to be in the street right now. Please," she motioned toward the front door, "come inside with me. I baked some cookies. They're still warm."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get home." Link had learned never to take candy from strangers back when he was five. He didn't see how cookies and lemonade were any different.

"Please, child, you must come inside. You are in grave danger out here." Seemingly sensing his apprehension, she said, "I'll tell you what. Why don't you watch from the window? If, after a few minutes, you think I am lying to you, you're welcome to go on your way."

"Where is he?" a voice called from somewhere behind a row of golden privet. The dense foliage hid the corner house on the adjacent street from view, so it was hard to tell how close the voices were.

"He went that way," someone yelled.

Link recognized the voice immediately, and he had no desire to face Fade for a second time in one day. On the other hand, Mrs. Kidacki was creepy. He questioned the prudence of entering her house, especially when nobody knew where he was. If something happened to him, his friends would have no idea where to find his body.

Even though both options held the possibility of pain, only one offered the consolation of warm cookies and lemonade. Link decided to take Mrs. Kidacki up on her offer. Anxious to get out of sight, he nodded once at her before hurrying down the path and plunging into the front door. Upon entering the house, he had the odd sensation of having made a fatal mistake, like a mouse that had fallen into the pit of a viper. He turned around to make his excuses and leave but found the woman right behind him. Without a word, she shut the door. Once again he marveled at the woman's agility. How had she made it to the porch so fast?

"Hey, old witch," Fade shouted from the street, "you see a small kid run by here? He's got bright red hair."

"Yeah," another one called. "Looks like a freakin' woodpecker."

Even from Link's position behind the solid front door, he could hear a chorus of hearty laughter, along with something that sounded like high fives. It took all of his waning resolve not to yell back a witty reply. Deaf and dumb, he reminded himself. Deaf and dumb.

The old lady began waving her arms about wildly as if shooing away imaginary bats. "Woodpeckers? Where are they? Are they after me? I hate birds!"

There was a brief silence. Then one of the boys said, "Forget it, man. That lady is nuts. Let's go before we lose him."

Link heard them run off and risked a peek through Mrs. Kidacki's lace curtains. What caught his eye wasn't the pack of boys but an oddly shaped shadow that appeared to be running alongside of them. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but they were already gone.
22

A Pile of Death

Even though Link knew that Fade was gone, he stayed pressed behind the door. Mrs. Kidacki had stayed outside to watch the boys disappear down the street before calmly coming back up the walkway and into the house. As she rearranged the furniture in her front room to be out of the sight lines from the street, Link examined the old lady more closely, scrutinizing her clothes, her face, even the hobbled way that she walked. He knew if he looked hard enough, he'd find some sort of price tag which would reveal how much he'd have to pay for her kindness. He just prayed he had enough to cover the bill.

"Sit?" she said, indicating a wine-red wingback chair with the wave of her hand. "You look as though you've had a long day."

Link did as he was told.

"I'm afraid I owe you an apology," she said. "When I saw you loitering outside my house the other day, I thought you were just another one of those hooligans, like the ones chasing you back there."

"How'd you know they were after me?"

"Well now, there aren't many giant woodpeckers around here. If there were, you could hear them tap, tap, tapping all the time. It would make an awful racket."

Link knew the old lady was making light of the situation. "No, before that. You knew they were coming. That hedge is too tall. There's no way you saw them from where you were. But if you didn't see them, how'd you know I was in danger?"

"Let's just call it a lucky guess."

"Was it luck?"

"It was lucky for you, I suppose. Wouldn't you agree, Lincoln?"

"Well, I―"

"Now," she interrupted, "how about the cookies and lemonade I promised?"

Before Link had time to refuse, she was gone. Again, he noticed how improbably fast she moved. Despite the way she hobbled whenever he watched her, the second he looked away, she seemed to warp to a different location.

It reminded him of being sick with fever, falling in and out of sleep. Minutes seemed like hours, and yet hours sometimes moved faster than seconds.

Link surveyed the room. It wasn't at all what he'd expected. The room was not garbed in the decaying clothes of cobwebs and dust. Though the decoration was eclectic, it appeared to be mainly Victorian. Freshly cut flowers stood suspended in an ornate crystal vase on top of a small, two-person table. A matching pair of cherry bookshelves with identical fronts of pressed glass paneling housed an expansive collection of antique books.

He bent down and retrieved a newspaper off an antique coffee table and noticed that somebody had turned to the obituary section. At first he didn't give it a second thought, assuming Mrs. Kidacki was most likely searching for somebody she knew. But when he turned to the next section, he found another obituary page. After a quick search, he soon realized the entire stack of papers represented a long list of dead people.

Just as Link had restored the papers to their original location on the coffee table, Mrs. Kidacki appeared out of nowhere. "Here you go, dear," she said, offering him a plate of molasses cookies. "Still warm and gooey. Hope you like molasses."

"How'd you do that?"

"Do what, dear? Make cookies?"

Link shook his head. "How'd you appear in front of me like that?"

The old lady tisked quietly. "Oh my, you have had a rough day. A woman at my stage in life doesn't just appear. I'm afraid everything takes more work these days. Perhaps you were just preoccupied with something else." She eyed the stack of obituaries for the briefest of moments. "Don't worry. Happens to me all the time."

Mrs. Kidacki examined Link like she was searching for the best cantaloupe at the supermarket. Link returned her gaze and found the continued silence to be painfully uncomfortable. Again Mrs. Kidacki smiled. "You don't like molasses cookies? Is that it?"

"What? Oh, yes, ma'am. I mean, no, ma'am. That is, I like them. I just don't have much of an appetite. That's all." He hated when he lost track of a conversation. Actually, he hated feeling stupid for any reason. "I like your house," he said, doing his best to play it off. "For such a large space, it's very quaint."

She beamed at the compliment. "What a kind thing to say." She did a quick scan of the room and sighed. "I certainly have enjoyed this place. It's been a good home. All the same, everything good eventually changes. Only time will tell if that change will be for the best."

Link had no idea how he should respond to such a comment and wondered if it was time for the old lady to take her medication. He stood to leave. He wanted to make certain he got home before his dad. The last thing Link felt like dealing with right now was another breakdown by his father. "Thanks for the cookies, ma'am. I'd better be going."

"But you haven't eaten a thing. Why not take them with you? With all you have to face at home, I bet a snack will do you good."

Why did all the women in this ridiculous town either yell at him or bake him cookies? The people around here were total whack-a-doodles. Link stacked two cookies in the palm of his right hand. "Thanks again," he said already out on her front porch.

"Anytime, young man. Oh, and Lincoln," the old lady's face grew serious as she same into the door frame. For the first time, Link sensed how old she really was. How could he have possibly been worried? This wrinkly fossil probably wasn't even capable of hurting him.

"Before you go," she continued. "I feel I must tell you something."

"Yes?" Link said.

She seemed to struggle as she thought of the right words to say. "It is my belief that the things in your life do not change for the benefit of good or evil. They simply change because it is in their nature to do so. The pendulum of the universe may swing wide, but one day it must also swing back or cease to be what it is altogether. People are no different. Allow them the same freedom you give all things, and one day they too will return. After all, some things are not what they first appear to be." With another smile, she winked at him and closed the door.

Link raised his arm to ring the doorbell but stopped. For some reason, even though her words were vague and convoluted, they hadn't sounded like gibberish. Instead, they volleyed back and forth in his mind, searching for something with which to connect. He lowered his arm as her words slowly sunk in. He had heard those words like those before. He would never forget them because they had been one of the last things his mother had ever said.

In that same instant, an even more disturbing thought occurred to him. How had the old lady known his full name? Outside of his parents, nobody knew his middle name, not even his little brother.
23

Psycho Path and Presidential

When he reached his home, Link peered into the garage, hoping it would be empty. He knew he had crossed the line with his father earlier. The harsh words of his dad's rebuke and the subsequent meltdown still clawed at his conscience. Conflict resolution had never been a skill Link had used in his previous dealings with his father. He had no idea what to say.

Still holding the cookies, Link fumbled in his pocket for the house key. Trying to juggle the cookies and his school bag as well as the keys, he contemplated holding the cookies in his mouth for a second. He was about to slide it into the lock when he spied a dab of pink frosting smeared on the backside of his hand. His mouth watered, and his belly grumbled as his appetite returned in full force. Desperately wanting to taste one of the cookies, Link hesitated, unable to shake the visions of crazy old ladies putting arsenic into the treats of unsuspecting victims.

Resisting the temptation while he opened the door, Link shook his hunger aside, ran down the stairs to his room, and placed the cookies on the bedroom dresser. He picked up the new camera. Maybe if he helped his dad with some photos of the neighborhood houses, things would return to normal. Who was he kidding? Things hadn't been normal since his mother had died. But at least things might become livable.

Outside, Link racked his brain, trying to remember what houses his dad had mentioned as ones he was trying to sell. At the time, he had only half listened because he had been consumed by curiosity about what lay hidden in the hatch. He still had a couple hours of usable light. Now, if he could only remember where it was he needed to go.

It only took him about a half hour of searching before he found something interesting. Link came to a colonial-style home with wraparound porches and exquisitely manicured hanging baskets that overflowed with an assortment of lipstick-pink petunias and variegated vinca vines.

Though it wasn't even for sale, something about the house made him curious. Link looked with fond admiration at the fruit of his exploration then slapped his forehead with annoyance. What was he thinking? He had been so enthralled with the prospect of finding houses for his father that he'd neglected to test whether or not the camera even worked.

He drew his index finger across the rotating dial and switched the camera on. Various numbers and symbols sprung to life on the digital display. How could he have failed to notice this before? If the camera had a display like this, it wasn't nearly as old as he had first estimated. Not that it mattered. Reading the display was like translating a book written in Korean. Link became lost in a labyrinth of unfamiliar numbers and symbols. One of the symbols actually appeared to be Greek. What in the world was this thing?

He examined the rest of the display, searching for a symbol he could decipher. Suddenly, his heart swelled with excitement. Surrounded by brackets in the bottom right hand corner of the screen was the number six. Someone had already taken six pictures with this roll.

His head spun at the myriad of possible pictures conceivably trapped on the roll of film. What if the person who had previously lived in the house was a murderer and had used the camera to take pictures of his victims? These pictures could be the last remaining evidence of his crimes. Worse yet, what if the killer wasn't dead and was only biding time, laying low from the police? If, upon his return, the killer discovered the camera missing...

Link refused to finish the thought. He was being unreasonably morbid again. How many axe murderers did he think were seriously interested in cameras? Someone would have to be quite into it to get a film model with a digital display like this. They were probably just pictures of a family vacation or a little kid's soccer game. He had already proven that in this neighborhood he was more likely to be offered cookies than hunted down by a serial killer.

Besides, Link had to keep his eyes on the prize. He needed to help his dad if for no other reason than to avoid witnessing another breakdown ─ or worse, talking about the first one. After convincing himself that the risk of the psychopath scenario was as likely as being elected president tomorrow, he decided to get on with taking pictures.

If real danger was likely, surely the universe would have provided some sort of sign. Link knew what his dad would have done in a situation like this. Though Link lacked any genuine faith in a personal deity, he did feel as though there was substantial evidence to prove that something enjoyed perpetually pissing on his parade. So, in a show of mock reverence, Link prayed to the universe.

"Dear Universe," he said in a hushed tone. "If the path I am choosing contains any real danger, please give me a sign."

Link waited for lightning to strike him down or a steamroller to flatten him in the middle of the street. When he heard no gunshots and sensed no impending tragedy, he grew more confident with this current line of reasoning and chose to continue on his original mission. If he couldn't figure out which house he was looking for, maybe he could at least get some practice by taking pictures of some interesting ones. That way his trip would not be a complete waste of time. Link surveyed the street for something familiar.

A few houses down, green, metallic signs marked the cross section of two streets. The intersecting signs read, "Presidential Rd." and "Psycho Path." "Very funny!" he shouted up at the sky. "That's not the kind of sign I meant, and you know it!"

Like a toddler who'd been refused another cookie, Link stormed back to the colonial house he'd just passed. He lifted the camera, focused the lens, and took a shot. Then, for good measure, he clicked off two more in quick succession.

When he had finished, an icy breeze whipped past, causing his breath to catch. For some reason he had a grim suspicion that he'd just committed the biggest blunder of his entire life. But he quickly shook it off. Who was he fooling? He'd taken a few pictures of a house. He had loads of time to make bigger mistakes than that. All the same, he really needed to stop making decisions when he was angry.
24

Apology and a Monster

The darkness fell faster than expected that night, reminding Link that he needed to get home. He had managed to take seventeen pictures. He only had one picture left. With so little light, Link knew there was no way he'd be able to take any more photos, so he switched the camera off and headed home.

The dining room light was on at his house. He saw the veiled outline of movement from behind the curtains. With a deep breath he entered the front door then promptly grimaced as he read the silver clock on the wall. It was later than he had expected. His father was not going to be pleased.

"Link?" his dad called from the other room. "That you?"

"Yeah, Dad," Link responded, dreading the avalanche of anger certain to follow. Instead, his dad surprised him with a cheerful welcome.

"Good. I'm glad you're home," he said in a voice devoid of any of the anger or accusation Link had expected. "Ayden and I were getting worried. You hungry? We're about to eat. Come join us."

Without saying anything, Link pulled a chair up to the table. Freshly tossed salad with a light vinegar dressing sat beside a recently carved honey-glazed chicken. The presentation was remarkable considering his dad's limited culinary abilities. A thin layer of steam clung to the chicken and sent occasional ripples of ecstasy through Link's nostrils.

"It smells incredible," Link said as he ripped into the chicken he had put onto his plate. The taste was heaven. Despite Link's sudden ravenous hunger, he couldn't bring himself to take another bite because his tongue refused to let go of the tasty morsel still in his mouth. "When did you learn to cook like this?"

"Oh no, no, no. It wasn't me. I only wish I cooked this well. It was a gift from one of our wonderful neighbors. A belated housewarming present. Nice old lady. Can't recall seeing her around here before. Must live a couple streets over." He shrugged. "Who cares? What a cook, right? This food is amazing!"

Link's chewing suddenly came to a stop. He had little doubt about who had made the meal. His mind flashed back to the equally delicious aroma of molasses cookies and realized it was too late to avoid possible food poisoning. Besides, if she had wanted him dead, she would have done it this afternoon.

"How was your day?" his father asked.

Link looked up in surprise. He'd been so engrossed in the food that he had completely forgotten that this was supposed to be an awkward situation. Somehow, after all that had happened throughout the course of the day, their argument had lost much of its previous magnitude.

"Good," Link said, not wanting to commit too much emotion into an explanation. As long as he stayed vague, his dad would be less likely to ask any follow up questions.

"Celia called. Sounded a bit concerned. She didn't go into detail, but I think she was checking up on you. Are you sure everything's okay at school?" His dad shoveled another bite of food into his mouth then looked up and waited for a response.

"School's fine. I took those pictures you needed. I'm not sure how they'll turn out, but I can get them developed tomorrow if you want."

"Developed?" his dad seemed to notice Link's new camera for the first time. "When did you switch to the dark side?" Then, looking at the camera, he said, "That's not your mother's, is it? You know how I feel about―"

Link raised his hands. "It's not Mom's. My digital is spazzin'. I'm just borrowing this one."

"Who from? That Celia girl? She seems nice. Why don't you invite her over sometime?" His dad took a sip of his water.

Desperate to change the subject, Link turned to his brother and said, "Hey, Bug, how was daycare?"

Ayden, who was oddly quiet for this time of night, didn't even look up from his meal. "Okay," he said.

Ayden's persistent lack of emotion was disconcerting. Had aliens sucked out the soul of his vivacious little brother and replaced it with a lethargic facsimile? The new Ayden had seemingly lost his smile along with his ability to laugh. Ayden refused to look up from his bowl, even after he finished his meal.

When no answers appeared to be forthcoming, Link motioned to his dad, a questioning look on his face.

His dad only shrugged. "Don't ask me. I have no idea what's going on. His daycare workers told me today that they are concerned that he won't play with the other kids, but he seems terrified to be left alone."

"Did something happen?"

"Not that I know of. Anytime I ask him about it, he starts talking nonsense, like he did the other night."

"You mean about the moving dark?"

"Exactly."

Link thought for a second then said, "He won't talk to me either. It's not like him. He always talks to me."

Link walked over and knelt beside his little brother. He tenderly pressed his index finger below Ayden's right armpit and said, "If you don't tell me what's wrong, the tickle monster is going to attack."

Link wiggled his fingers in warning. Surely the tickle monster couldn't fail two times in a row. But it did. Ayden refused to even lift his head. "If me not wook, he go away."

Link decided to play along. "Okay, Bug. Tell you what. How about I use this special camera to take the dark away? How's that sound? Would that make you feel better?"

Ayden gave a slight nod in response.

Link raised the camera and pointed it toward the wall. Not even bothering to focus the shot, he held the camera at arm's length and made a series of clicking and whirring noises to make the camera appear more special than it was.

Ayden's hand suddenly shot up and clasped Link's wrist. "Not there. There," he said, redirecting the camera to the other side of the room, though still unwilling to raise his head.

"Oh, yes, of course. I knew that. I was adjusting the moonbeam spectrometer to a higher frequency, that's all." Link redirected the shot to where Ayden had pointed and clicked. The flash popped. Then the film began to rewind. Link heard a high-pitched whine reminiscent of a stifled scream from a distance far away.

He glanced up at his dad. Still focused on Ayden, his dad showed no signs of having heard anything unusual. Then Link studied the camera. The noise sounded as though it had come from within it. He returned his attention to Ayden.

"There you go, little buddy. Coast is clear. No more dark in here! We got him for good."

Ayden lifted his head, still consumed by reservation but wholeheartedly trusting his beloved big brother. After a quick scan of the wall, Ayden's face erupted into a smile so big it nearly consumed his face. He was back. Ayden leapt from his seat and hugged Link's neck as hard as he could. "Tanks," he said, refusing to let go. "Tanks. You da best!"

"He sees tanks now?"

Link raised his head and found his father smiling.

"I'm only kidding," Mr. Hartkins said. "Even I know that he just thanked his big brother. And just so you know, I'm sorry about what I said this morning. It was pretty unfair of me to take everything out on you. You're a good kid, Lincoln. Ayden couldn't ask for a better big brother. It's just...I panicked when I saw Ayden on top of those boxes. It's silly, I know. But you guys are all I have left."

"I should have been paying more attention," Link said.

An awkward silence followed, consuming everyone's ability to speak. It was such unfamiliar territory that nobody knew what to say next. Eventually, Ayden broke the silence. "Let's pay Tittywinks."

"Say what?" his dad said, shocked by the suggestion. "What kind of game is that?"

"It's all right, Dad. It's not what you think."

"Good thing. Hey, you think you could develop that film for me tomorrow? It'd be a huge help." Link's dad drew near and gave Link the sort of bone-crushing hug he'd given him as a child. Still holding him tight, he whispered, "I do love you, son. I have no idea how to show it. But I do. Sometimes I just miss your mom so much I forget how to be a good father." With that he left the room and headed in the direction of the study.
25

The Fortune Cookie

Link picked up the phone then crashed onto his bed. He scanned the caller ID. When he found Celia's name, he pressed redial and waited for her to pick up.

Celia answered on the third ring. "Hello?" she said.

"Hey, Celia. It's Link."

"Link, are you all right?" Her voice oozed with concern. "What happened? When that dog came, barking like it wanted to eat young children, everything went nuts. Panch and I made it into the gym, and then we realized you weren't with us anymore. We searched the crowd, but we couldn't find you. I wasn't worried until Panch noticed that Fade was also missing. Where'd you go? And what were you thinking? Not even bothering to phone me? I mean, really; I've been worried sick."

"Sorry, Celia. It all happened so fast. I didn't think about what I was doing or where I was going. I just ran. If that dog hadn't interrupted the massacre, I would've been road kill. Pretty lucky, huh?" For some reason, Link didn't want to tell Celia about the old lady.

"Luck has nothing to do with it when a plan is properly executed."

"Plan?"

"Of course there was a plan. You didn't think we'd stand by and do nothing, did you? Besides, what'd you think Watcher was doing the whole time?"

"I don't know. I figured he was squeamish about blood. He doesn't exactly strike me as the violent type."

"Things aren't always what they appear."

Why did people keep telling him that? Not to mention, the nature of Celia's statement felt oddly out of character. "What do you mean?"

"How should I know? Ask the person who put it in there," Celia said.

"Put it in where?" Link asked.

"The fortune cookie."

"What?"

"If you want to know what it means, Link, ask the guy who baked the slip of paper into the cookie. How should I know what it means? Hey, have you ever eaten at the Purple Dragon? It's absolutely to die for. Their General Tso's chicken is out of this world delish. Now that I think about it, ever noticed how many Chinese restaurants have a dragon in their name? Strange, don't you think? It's not like they serve dragon meat. I wonder what dragon would taste like. Chewy I bet. Do you think it would be considered white meat?"

"A fortune cookie?" Link asked, incredulous. "Why didn't you tell me that's what you were talking about?"

"Didn't I? Oh, I thought I did. Sorry. Sometimes I say things in my head and then forget to say them out loud."

"You still haven't told me what Watcher had to do with the dog," Link said.

"Officially? Nothing. If anyone even suspected he was involved, he'd be thrown out of school. And, there'd be a lot of angry kids out looking for revenge."

"So then what happened, unofficially?"

"I'm not sure about that either. And I think I'd rather keep it that way. Let's just say your butt isn't the first one Watcher has pulled out of the fire. He may look like an innocent wallflower, but that kid is tough as nails. He just plays the game from behind the scenes. Trust me. Watcher is not somebody you want to mess with. Just be thankful he's on our side."

"Guess your fortune cookie makes sense after all," Link said.

"My what?"

"Your fortune cookie."

"What about it? Hold on a second, Link, someone is calling me. Okay, Mom! I'm coming," Celia shouted, not bothering to cover the earpiece. "That's my mom. I've got to go. Maybe we can talk about this whole fortune cookie theory of yours tomorrow. Anyway, glad you're okay." With that, Celia hung up, leaving behind only the hum of the busy tone and a painful ringing in Link's ear.
26

A New Development

Early the next morning, Link walked to Henderson Drug. He wanted to have the brochure of the properties ready for his dad before an interested buyer called. Not that it mattered. If his dad needed to show a house, it would make little difference whether or not he had an accompanying brochure. If Link were honest with himself, the real reason for his early morning enthusiasm was his desire to discover what mysteries remained hidden on the initial six shots of the roll.

Link hesitated outside the store, basking in the pleasant chill of the crisp, early morning air. He watched customers mindlessly file in and out. None of them paid any attention to him. Perhaps he was invisible.

Link had always wanted a real superpower. Invisibility would be pretty sweet. On impulse, he stepped in front of a middle-aged man who was holding a small, white paper bag. Immediately, the man veered right, avoiding a near collision before continuing on his way. So much for being invisible. Perhaps Link just wasn't interesting enough for anyone to notice.

He wondered if it made any difference whether something terrible was on the roll of film. One thing was certain. If he stood here and did nothing, he would continue life as a loser. If he processed the film, he may still turn out to be a loser, but at least he would have taken a chance at becoming something more. Irritated with himself, he shook his head. He was placing far too much importance on all this.

He marched into the store and snatched a processing envelope from the counter, quickly filling in the blanks on the outside cover. He had to know what was on the film. Once only an issue of curiosity, Link's decision had evolved into an issue of self-respect.

He finished the label and sealed the envelope. Next he tore off the paper claim ticket and placed the envelope into the one-hour photo slot. He glanced at his watch. Again with the waiting. Why did he always seem to be waiting for something?

After what felt like a week of wandering through the store and every other one on the block, the hour was nearly over. Link returned to the photo lab. All the employees were busy helping other customers, so Link tried to patiently wait a little longer.

Link made eye contact with the man behind the counter. "Hartkins. Roll of twenty-four."

"Hartkins, you said?"

"Yes. Is my film ready?"

"Hold on a minute." The man quietly consulted one of the other technicians. A small discussion ensued along with a few animated hand gestures. The unexpected caucus began unraveling Link's newly discovered decisiveness. They had found something on the film. Something horrible, and they thought he was responsible. He wanted to run. He probably would have if he hadn't already written his correct name and home address on the processing envelope.

The man who had helped Link initially departed through the low swinging door of the photo lab, leaving the other technician behind to sort things out. The cleanly shaven man wore a shiny white smock and had a smiley-face button pinned to the front of his shirt.

The clerk opened the envelope of developed pictures and removed them from their pouch. "There seems to be a problem with your film, Mr. Hartkins."

Link's heart began to flutter, pushing his blood through a rollercoaster network of veins and arteries and causing the tips of his fingers and toes to tingle.

"Though most of the pictures turned out fine," the man continued, "there were a few blurry ones. It is common for camera novices to struggle to properly focus their picture. They'll try to take a picture of something in the distance only to be stymied by something barely obstructing their shot: an elbow, a stick, that sort of thing. The auto focus then switches the camera's aim from the object in the distance, focusing instead on the closer object. This results in a clear foreground image while the rest of the shot is blurry and unfocused." The man hesitated, making sure Link was listening. "You with me so far?"

Link understood, but he didn't trust himself to speak. Simultaneously eager and terrified to look at the developed film, he simply nodded.

"Good. Well, for some reason, the foreground in some of your pictures appears distorted and fuzzy while everything else behind it is clear. Unfortunately, due to the foreground blurring, the rest of the picture is pretty much ruined. Aside from tiny bits of clarity in between the blurry patches and a small amount of space around the corners, you can't really see anything. I consulted the technician who processed your film. He assured me everything was done by the book and that the machinery is in working order. The two of us agreed. We've never seen pictures quite like these before. Any idea what happened?"

Lincoln shook his head. "No clue. It's not even my camera. I'm just borrowing it."

Disappointed, Link took the envelope from the man. Not even bothering to look at them, he unbuttoned the broad side-pocket of his pants and slid them in. Then he withdrew his wallet to pay for the developed prints.

The clerk seemed to notice the dejected lines on Lincoln's face. "Of course I won't charge you for any shots that came out blurry."

The man smiled and appeared to be waiting for Link to return the favor, but Link was in no mood. The letdown he felt was monumental. There wasn't anything worth smiling about. Instead of mystery and adventure, the only thing the pictures proved was how dreadfully meaningless his life was doomed to be. Nothing interesting had ever happened to him. Now it was clear that nothing ever would.
27

Moving Dark

By the time Link returned home, the house was empty. It was much too late for his dad to still be in bed, but at 9' in the morning, it also seemed too early for someone to have called him away on business. Link closed the front door. His father's keys were definitely missing from their usual location in the ashtray on the small wooden table.

If the keys were gone, his dad was gone as well. With the predictability of a tide table, the first thing his father did upon entering the house was empty the contents of his pockets. This ritual produced a cornucopia of spare change, keys, various wrappers, and small slips of paper, all heaped into a lopsided ceramic ashtray Link had made back in second grade.

After a little more searching, Link discovered a small battalion of yellow sticky notes posted on the refrigerator. They read:

(Note #1) Link, a customer called me about a listing. Bit early don't you think? People seem to get needier every year. I left Ayden with Mrs. Greta. (Note #2) Please retrieve him when you can. I don't want to bother her any more than we already have.

(Note #3) Ayden seems better today. Thanks for whatever you did last night. It must have worked. Nice to see him smile again.

(Note #4) I left some money on the counter for you to develop the pictures you shot yesterday. Thanks again for the help. I'll be back ASAP.

(Note #5) Celia called this morning. She wants you to call her back. Celia - 555-6767 Love, Dad

Link snatched the money and the last sticky note. Then he headed downstairs to change. He didn't know if Kaylee would be home, but he wanted to look his best just in case. She may be the devil, but she was the most gorgeous devil he had ever seen, and he wasn't about to embarrass himself in front of her again if he could help it.

On a whim, he stopped by the computer, dropped into the chair, and moved the mouse. The desktop sprung to life. He pulled up the web browser then clicked on the Facebook link. There was another message from Jim Jim.

Don't tell anyone about the camera. The Broken are coming. They'll kill you if they don't get it. Stop ignoring the voices; you're not crazy. They are dangerous. Be careful.

If Link hadn't already been sitting, he might have fainted. Despite Jim Jim's declaration of his sanity, he felt far from sane. Instead, the message had only succeeded in further thrusting him further into a world like the ones created by Darren Shan and Stephen King. Too bad he had none of the plucky resourcefulness of the heroes and heroines of such novels. Link was nothing but an ordinary, run of the mill, red-headed reject whose short list of known not-so-super powers included sarcasm, procrastination, and bad luck.

With no clue what his next action should be, he employed the most powerful of his three not-so-super powers, procrastination. His most practiced course of action in a situation like this was to stall for time and figure it out later.

So he clicked the e-mail icon on his desktop and stared in amazement. His inbox registered fifty new messages. Link was mystified. How could he have received so many e-mails in such a short period of time? He started from the oldest then clicked on the first one.

In an attempt to ease the mounting tension, he fed an Aphex Twin CD into the computer. The rush of rhythmic beeps and clicks combined with intricate drum sequences and droning ambient loops was beautiful yet discordant, energetic yet peaceful. The newly formed musical landscape helped soothe Link's emotional tornado. He took a few deep breaths as if he could inhale the sound through his lungs.

He glanced at the computer screen and wondered why the e-mail was taking so long to load. Seeds of frustration and uncertainty began sprouting in his mind like weeds in a garden. The completion bar sat frozen at twenty-five percent. His attempt to return to Facebook while he waited was thwarted by a frozen screen. What a surprise. He was left waiting once again.

As the third track began, Link stood, disgusted. How could a cable modem move so slowly? It was ridiculous. He left the page loading and went to fetch Ayden. Had he brushed his teeth yet this morning? He couldn't remember. Just to be safe, he grabbed a pack of gum from the dresser.

Again he glanced at the computer screen and found the file only twenty-six percent complete. Unbelievable. He unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it into his mouth. A cool wave of spearmint exploded across his taste buds as he ran up the stairs to collect his brother.

Kaylee Greta answered the door. She wore pink bikini bottoms and a tight, gray, cut off t-shirt exposing a tiny silver belly-ring that accentuated her well-toned stomach muscles. Her raven black hair hung freely and cascaded down her back.

The allure of her body shredded every last fiber of Link's willpower and pulled his gaze down her slender frame with a force equal to gravity.

"Ew! Disgusting!" Kaylee squealed, not even attempting to hide her contempt. "As if! I hope your brother doesn't turn into a perv like you." Kaylee spun with a flourish before sauntering into the other room, swishing her hips from side to side like a professional runway model as she left.

Link wasn't sure whether to follow or wait for her to return with Ayden. All he knew for sure was that he had successfully made a complete jerk of himself. Not wanting to compound the mistake, Link remained where he was. Maybe waiting was a superpower.

After a few minutes had passed, Link wondered if he had made the wrong choice. Should he have followed? To his great relief, Ayden came through the doorway, just then, holding Mrs. Greta's hand instead of Kaylee's. Ayden's face burst into joy upon seeing Link. He ran over to him and hugged his legs.

"Isn't that precious?" Mrs. Greta said. There was a faraway look in her eyes. "You're obviously a very good big brother to inspire such devotion from one so young. He certainly talks about you a lot."

Link looked at her with a heightened level of respect. "You actually understand him?" he asked, trying to conceal his disbelief.

"Of course," she said, somewhat puzzled by his surprise. "There were a few things I didn't quite grasp, but overall Ayden is a very articulate young man. In fact, I feel the heart of a future poet may beat inside that precious little chest of his."

"A what? I don't think he knows how to rhyme."

"Being a poet is not about what you say; it's what you see. It's the insight that matters. The awareness. All great poets have a knack for taking something ordinary, such as an apple, and finding the impossible inside of it. In a way, poets are magicians who pull words, instead of bunnies out of their hats. Ayden sees things...things that others, for whatever reason, cannot. Listen to me," she said, shaking her head in mock disdain, "prattling on like an old goat. I swear. One mention of poetry and I can't stop yapping."

"But aside from you, me, and on very rare occasions my dad, nobody else even understands him."

"His vocabulary needs a bit of work, but you're focusing on the wrong thing, Lincoln. Again, it's not what he says, it's what he sees. Ayden is remarkably perceptive. For example, he told me how you removed the shadows from the dining room last night."

"The what?"

"He called them 'moving dark,' but I'm fairly certain he meant shadows. Isn't that right, Ayden?"

"Yes!" Ayden lit up with the excitement of a tourist finally meeting someone who spoke the same language.

"Moving dark," she said as she hushed a giggle. "Brilliant, simply brilliant. You see, Lincoln, since Ayden didn't have the vocabulary for what he wanted to express, he pulled from words he knew as a sort of comparison. That's what poets do. Sure they're usually more longwinded than the rest of us and sometimes struggle to find their point, but that's the crux of it. That's poetry."

"What'd you say?" Her words had tarried in his ears a bit before reaching his brain. Had she said shadows?

"Um, that's the crux of it," she repeated, sounding a little confused.

"No, the part about shadows."

"Oh, that. Ayden said you took away the shadows. I'm not sure what he meant. But if I had to guess, I'd say it probably has something to do with the camera flash making shadows disappear. Whatever the case, it was very sweet of you to play along. Not many kids your age would have done that. Most of them are too wrapped up in themselves to care about the problems of a four-year-old."

She looked back in the direction Kaylee had disappeared. "I know of at least one who certainly wouldn't."

Shaken by the sudden arrival of understanding, Link took an abrupt inhalation of air, sounding as though he had hiccupped. "You're right! That's it exactly. Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much help you've been." He hurried his little brother out the door, leaving behind a rather perplexed Mrs. Greta.

As planned, his not-so-super power of procrastination had worked to perfection. Mrs. Greta had found the connection that had eluded him before. Now he knew what his brother was so scared of. 'Moving dark' was a shadow. Link couldn't believe he had missed something so obvious. Another thought crossed his mind. Hadn't that message he'd received on Facebook warned him to be careful of the shadows? Or was it to beware the shadows? Link couldn't remember.
28

A Picture of What's to Come

Link walked to his bedroom, followed closely by Ayden. Once there, he gave his brother some picture books to thumb through. Then he returned to his desk and flicked the mouse, knocking the computer out of hibernation. The e-mail still hadn't finished. The completion bar read seventy-two percent.

"Ahh, come on, you stupid piece of sh...ell." Link realized in the nick of time that his brother was still in the room. If Ayden learned to cuss because of him, his dad would never let him live it down.

He hit the side of the machine with a solid thump from his palm. There was little chance of this succeeding, but it felt good. As expected, the computer did not speed up, despite what Link felt to be a very responsible smack. In fact, if it were possible, the completion bar now appeared to be moving even slower than before. Though perhaps Link's complete inability to stop checking its progress only made it seem that way. Whatever the reason, it was taking forever to get nowhere.

Link walked over to Ayden and tousled his hair. It was amazing how enthralled he could become by looking at a book that he wasn't even capable of reading. Link recalled Mrs. Greta's words about Ayden's acute perception and concluded that she was right.

"You doing okay, kiddo?"

Ayden nodded, content to quietly read the book.

Link picked up the envelope of pictures. He had been in such a rush to leave the store that he hadn't even looked at them. He supposed his current dejection proved that developing the film had been selfish after all. It had been the pictures already on the camera that had intrigued him, not the ones he had processed for his father.

He examined a few of the blurry photos more closely. His eyelids narrowed as he squinted for a better look. He searched for something discernible, anything. Like a random piece to a puzzle he'd never seen before, there were only a few small areas where he was able to make anything out. Even then, it was only fragmented shapes and wavy lines.

Without the rest of the puzzle to put the piece into context, the individual shapes made no sense. A couple looked like the rough outline of a person's sleeve, but they could just as easily have been an umbrella or even a tree for that matter. It was impossible to tell.

Link shuffled through a few more pictures before he came upon the ones of the old, colonial-style house with the wraparound porch. He immediately recognized the hanging baskets filled with trailing pink petunias and variegated vinca vines. He wasn't a big fan of the color pink, but even in the picture he found it hard to look away.

He flipped to the next picture in the sequence and paused. Try as he might, he couldn't remember taking this one. Had the clerks mixed this photo in with his pictures by mistake? It wasn't until he saw the familiar pink of the hanging baskets that Link realized he was looking at the same house as before. But something was seriously wrong.

Confused, he held the new photo next to the one he had just been admiring. This wasn't possible. Nevertheless, there it was. In the second picture, one of the large elm trees, which had previously lined the driveway, had fallen down, crushing the front end of the porch. The considerable weight of the tree had squashed the majority of the flower baskets beneath its massive trunk, scattering dust and debris everywhere. Overturned baskets now littered the front lawn beside the tattered scraps of decking.

At least to himself, Link had always freely admitted his own shortcomings. He was perfectly willing to admit that his power of perception had never been his strongest asset. He could also accept the possibility that his ongoing feud with the universe had preoccupied him and made him miss something. Still, even he would have noticed something like this.

"Get your shoes, Bug. We're going on an adventure!"

Ayden perked up at the mention of an adventure. "Adventure!" he said. "Piwates and dwagons, too?"

"You bet."

Link escorted Ayden up the stairs on a mission to find dragons in the land of pirates, pink petunias, and perhaps one very large fallen tree.
29

A Four-Year-Old Prophet

Overhead, the weather patterns rapidly shifted. For the time being, it remained a peaceful, sunny day, but Link felt change in the air. He doubted it would remain sunny for much longer. To the north, menacing storm clouds spread like skeletal fingers across the sky, an ominous warning of things to come.

Meanwhile, Ayden, who positively adored outdoor adventures, wanted to stop and watch everything that moved: ants, birds, beetles, falling leaves, clouds. It didn't matter; Ayden was fascinated by it all.

Normally, Link didn't mind. Most days he found pleasure in piquing Ayden's curiosity with something plucked from the garden or from beneath a rock. Today, however, Link had an agenda, and his little brother could not have cared less. The more Link pressed him to hurry, the more Ayden lagged behind. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, Link grew increasingly agitated.

By the time they were about a block away, he noticed that Ayden was no longer walking by his side. Instead, he was squatting by the edge of the sidewalk, observing a couple of ants that scurried over a browning banana peel.

"Will you come on? They're just a couple of stupid ants. Same as the ones you stopped to watch two minutes ago and same as the ones that were walking around the puddle before that!"

Ayden's once cheerful smile soured, leaving the down-turned lines of a pout in its place. Without raising his head, he said, "No dey not. Dese wed. Dose bwack. Dey not same."

Link didn't have time for this. "Whatever," he snapped, "Red, black, it doesn't matter. They're just a bunch of ants. Let's go. I'm sick of waiting. Do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?"

Ayden frowned. After inspecting his tiny friends once more, he solemnly rose to his feet. With his head lowered and his shoulders hunched, Ayden moped in Link's direction. His flamboyant displeasure was borderline comical.

Link knelt by his little brother and gave him a hug. "You know you're my buddy, right?"

Ayden nodded, but he continued to stare at the sidewalk.

"You wanna race? We can pretend we're being chased by an evil monster, one of those big ones with the sharp horns and a spiky tail. What do you say?"

Ayden still made no reply.

"What's that?" Link asked, mock fear in his voice.

Finally, Ayden looked up. "What?"

"That!" Link pointed in the direction they had come. "Oh, no! Here it comes, Ayden! We've got to run for our lives!" He grabbed Ayden's hand and hurried down the remainder of the street until they reached the house with the pink filled baskets. Tired and out of breath, Link noticed Ayden's smile had returned and grinned.

Slowing to a walk, Link soon found the place where he had taken the pictures. He stared at the house, absorbing the details into his memory before removing the two photos from his pocket. Next, he held up the first photo level to his sightline as if he were taking the photograph for a second time.

Aside from the morning paper in the lawn and small variations of foliage caused by the steadily increasing wind, nothing had changed. No tree had fallen. The overflowing baskets of pink petunias remained fastened to the wooden rafters above the porch. This was the irrefutable proof he had been dreading. There was no longer any point in denying his insanity. What other explanation could there be?

He shivered as the gentle breeze, which had once been mildly refreshing, chilled in anticipation of rain. A few leaves drifted down toward Ayden, who played contentedly with a pair of silver pill bugs.

It was time for the moment of truth. Link envisioned himself removing the second photo from his pocket and discovering it to be identical to the first. Feeling a surge of disappointment at the idea surprised him. Did he actually want the tree to fall down?

Here goes nothing. He flipped the second photo over and stared. Perhaps, he wasn't crazy after all. At the very least, he hadn't imagined everything. The second picture clearly displayed a wrecked porch and crushed petunias. It was just as he remembered it.

Link located the elm tree from the picture. Still standing tall and majestic, it was planted in a thin median of grass that separated the yard from the neighbor's cobblestone driveway. The tree was enormous. No way a little wind could ever tip that thing over. Not in a million years.

Had the guys at the photo lab played a joke on him? It could make sense. Maybe that's why they had made such a fuss. They must have digitally altered it somehow. Link looked at the picture again and then back at the house, marveling at their craftsmanship. They were good. The picture sure looked real. Too bad they weren't around to see the result of their joke.

He laughed at his own gullibility and stooped down next to Ayden. "Hey, little buddy. Do you think you can do me a favor?" Link handed him the picture. "I'm looking for something. The problem is that I have no idea what it is. Do you think you could help me find it?"

"Piwates?"

"No"

"Dwagons?"

"Maybe, Ayden, I don't know. That's the problem. Just look at the picture and tell me what you see." Link wanted to see if Ayden would be fooled by the fake photo as easily as he had been.

Ayden studied the photo carefully. After a brief but serious deliberation, he looked at Link and asked, "Why twee fall?"

"It didn't. See?" He pointed to the house in front of them. "It's still there."

"It did. See?" Ayden said, repeatedly poking the fallen tree in the picture. "Twee smoosh house."

"You're right, Ayden. It fell in the picture. But this is just a fake. If the tree really fell, it wouldn't still be standing over there," he said, patiently pointing out the tree. "If it fell in the picture, then it should have fallen in real life, but it didn't. See? Look."

Ayden looked at the tree, then back at the picture, then back to the tree. "Twee wong," he said, with the unflinching authority of a four-year-old. Satisfied, Ayden sat down and resumed the game with his two roly-poly friends.

"Ayden, the tree can't be wrong. It's a tree. More importantly, it's a standing tree. Don't you get it? Trees don't just fall over." Link knew he was mainly talking to himself by this point. Once his brother had deliberated on a matter, it was decided.

There was a low rumble of thunder. Link felt the gentle mist of an approaching storm. He hoisted Ayden into his arms and started home.

Incensed, Ayden thrashed, kicking his legs and pumping his fists while squirming to break free. He hated to be picked up, unless of course he wanted to be, in which case he would refuse to walk until he got what he wanted. Either way, the decision was his to make, not Link's.

Link placed him on the sidewalk. Without releasing his brother's arms, he knelt beside him. "You feel that rain?"

"Yes."

"You see those clouds?" Link pointed toward the bulging black plumes of nimbostratus clouds massing on the horizon.

"Yes."

"Soon those clouds are going to produce a lot of rain. We need to get home before that happens. Okay? The only way we can get home in time is if I pick you up and run. Just think of it as a lesson on how to ride a dragon."

Ayden beamed at the idea and held up both hands in eager anticipation.

As Link hoisted Ayden into his arms, there was a bright flash of lightning followed by a vicious explosion that rocked the ground. He yanked Ayden close and whirled round in search of the noise but found nothing. The air smelled of smoke and singed leaves, like the burning wood of a bonfire. Was the universe finally attacking directly? He looked back at the house.

Clouded swirls of dirt and debris spewed forth from beneath the collapsed frame of an enormous elm tree. A solitary strike of lightning had cut the once mighty elm down to the stump. Even at nearly seventy feet away, Link could see the charred base of the tree, left black from the devastating lick of lightning.

Link looked at Ayden, expecting a delayed outburst of panicked tears but found instead the steely-eyed resignation of a prophet.

Ayden lifted his head. With a calm, unaffected tone, he said, "Told you."

Certain what he would find, but unable to resist the temptation, Link raised the second picture in front of him like before. This time, the picture was identical to the scene of destruction that now lay before him, a perfect match down to the very last misplaced pink petunia.
30

You Will Bleed

Legs cramping, Link arrived home still trying to catch his breath. The message had finally finished loading, though he quickly found himself wishing that it hadn't. It read:

We're on to you. Give it to us, and we'll let you live. Hide it, and you'll die slowly like the rest.

The subject line of the message read: Link MUST DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!!

There wasn't much point in denying the message had been sent to him, but the all-caps seemed a bit overkill. A faint pounding in his temples grew stronger. Okay. This was no time to panic. Link took a few deep breaths. He held them in then released the air forcefully, hoping to push the fear out of his mind. It didn't work.

For the first time, Link noticed that Ayden was no longer occupied with his books. Instead, he was now looking at Link, patiently awaiting a response to an unvoiced question, with an edge of concern on his face. Ayden was now floating about ten inches in the air.

Voices began leeching from the walls. At first they were a series of low bellows and moans. But they soon turned into shrieks of fury and outrage before finally morphing into the quivering pleas of children begging for help. Link struggled to fight through the thick blanket of noise now covering him. He covered his ears. Were all these noises coming from inside his head?

No longer a sanctuary, his bedroom suddenly felt much smaller than it had previously. In the time it took to read one e-mail, his room had transformed from a refuge to a prison.

A tsunami of questions crashed into his ears. These were followed by a discordant mixture of profanities and laughter. An invisible mob screamed tirades of abuse as a horde of bullies mocked and tormented him. Link heard thousands of voices but still could not see anyone.

It took all his strength to remember to breathe. His nerves tweaked his voice, sending it up a couple extra octaves. He screamed, "What do you want? Whatever it is, you can have it. Just leave us alone!"

Ayden's face suddenly turned white and morose. His eyes shifted their focus about the room wildly as if chasing imaginary fireflies. Did he see something? Could he hear the voices too? If so, why did he just sit there?

"Ayden, do you hear them?"

At first Ayden ignored him, instead following the movements of the invisible shadows that flitted about the room. Then his head suddenly stopped bobbing. His eyes, now menacing and malevolent, burned as if on fire from the inside. They locked onto Link. A devilish grin split his face, and Ayden began to laugh.

The shock of the transformation caused Link to take a step back from the thing that had once been his brother.

Soft at first, the laughter soon became wild and unrestrained, finally collapsing into an avalanche of hysterics. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, Ayden's laughter stopped. In that instant, all the noise in the room was sucked into a vacuum of silence. In a deep, gravely tone, Ayden said, "You will bleed. Before I am done, you will pray to die! But I will refuse! I am coming!"

Link stared aghast at the creature, too confused to react. The creature held only a vague resemblance of his brother now, but Link still couldn't attack him. What if his brother was in there somewhere? An unexpected tightness around Link's leg pulled his attention out of the nightmarish moment like an alarm clock. Disoriented, Link desperately tried to regain his bearings. It was as if time had slipped out of sequence again, and he had awoken to a world several minutes ahead of where he should have been. He looked down at his little brother, who now had both arms wrapped around his leg and tears streaming down his face.

Link looked back to where the creature Ayden had been only seconds before and found a darkened whisper of his brother still there, a playful, pointy-toothed grin dancing upon his face. Reflexively, Link stepped forward to shield the real Ayden, who was still clinging to his leg. Somehow there were two Aydens, but he knew that only one was his baby brother. And it was obvious which one it was. As Link's mind reeled in search of answers, the creature Ayden waved mischievously, using only his pinkie finger. Then he slowly disintegrated into the bed, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash.

Link patted his baby brother on the back. "It's okay, Bug. I'm here." Given his current state, Link wasn't sure how comforting this assertion was. In a flash of inspiration, he said, "Ayden, do you know what they want?"

Without the slightest hesitation, Ayden raised his hand and pointed to the camera. Then he resumed his death grip on Link's leg.

"Of course," Link muttered, "they want the camera. How could I be so stupid?" Why hadn't he thought of that? On a whim, he pulled up his Facebook account. Sure enough, he had a message. He clicked on it. There was another message from Jim Jim, the same person who had told him to look behind the wall.

The note was brief:

Trust the old lady. Keep your brother safe. Time is short.
31

I Never Said It Was Magical

With considerable effort, Link finally managed to calm Ayden enough to get him to bed. It had taken over an hour to bring Ayden to a point of sleep, but given what he had just seen, Link could hardly blame him.

He picked up the receiver to call Celia and paused. If he told her any of this, she would think he had lost his mind. The sad thing was that she might be right.

Thunder boomed overhead. Even from the basement, Link heard the harsh patter of rain outside. Obviously a camera could not take photos of the future, so he held up the two pictures and examined both for a more rational explanation.

At first, the concept of a magical camera had seemed appealing. The prospect of adventure had been an exciting departure from the monotony of his everyday life. Of course that had been before he'd witnessed an evil clone of his brother, before people had threatened to kill him. And all around him, the fundamental laws of the universe seemed to be unraveling at an alarming rate. Things were becoming so bad that he almost wished he could go to school. Perhaps grammar class wasn't so terrible after all.

Link watched his brother sleep on the beanbag beside his bed. Ayden's face was smooth and relaxed and showed no signs of concern. He slept with the total tranquility of someone who whole-heartedly believed in a rational, orderly universe and understood his place within it. He slept like someone who hadn't seen a picture of a fallen tree before witnessing it in real life. Link wondered if Ayden had seen his clone. Had he heard the voices? He must have. But then why did Ayden refuse to talk about it?

Whether or not all of this was reasonable in the undeveloped mind of a four-year-old, fitting neatly between pirates and dragons, for Link, the whole day had deteriorated into utter madness.

He'd considered walking to the old lady's house before putting Ayden down to sleep, but after hearing a floor-shaking thunderclap overhead, he quickly decided against it. With no other options, except waiting around to die, he picked up the phone and dialed Celia's number.

"Celia? It's Link. Are you busy?"

"Panch is over, but we're not doing anything. Why? What's up?"

"I wish I knew. You guys want to come over for a bit? I need to talk with you about something."

"Can't we talk over the phone? It's a mess outside."

"Voices, death, petunias, e-mails, strange messages, a camera."

"What are you talking about, Link? Have you been assaulting trees again?"

"Celia, this is serious. I don't have the faintest idea where to begin. At the very least, it should be good entertainment for you. Trust me, you're going to think I'm nuts."

"I'm afraid that ship has already sailed."

"I'm not kidding. I need to show you something. I need your help."

Apparently detecting the seriousness in his tone and the strange absence of sarcasm in his words, she said, "I still don't understand why we can't just talk about this on the phone, but we'll be over in a few minutes. Will that be soon enough?"

"Yes."

"Hang tight. Panch and I will get there as soon as we can."

As Link disconnected, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He hated to bring his new friends into something like this, but he didn't know what else to do.

Link sat down on the living room couch and shuffled through the remainder of the pictures while he waited for Celia and Panch to arrive. With only two photos left, he was interrupted by the doorbell. He placed the pictures in a stack on the coffee table and hurried to the door before they rang the bell a second time. He didn't want Ayden to wake up and overhear what he needed to tell his friends. Bug had been through enough already.

Link squinted through the frosted glass in the front door. After seeing the two familiar faces of Panch and Celia, he held up his hand and motioned for them to wait as he fumbled with the lock. Then he swung the door open.

"Hey, guys, thanks for coming," Link said, welcoming them inside.

"Hey, Link," Celia said. She turned and waved to her mom, who was parked by the curb out front.

Her mother honked the horn once and waved back in response. Then she blew Celia a kiss. The car quickly vanished into the thick curtain of mist and rain.

"What's up, brah? Sweet crib," Panch said. He was dripping wet as a result of his adamant refusal to use an umbrella.

"Thanks, Panch. Can I get you a towel?"

"Nah. How 'bout some grub? Got any nibs I can crunch? I've had the serious munchies for over an hour. Somebody," he pointed at Celia, "doesn't believe in snacks."

"What do you call carrots and salad dressing?" Celia said.

"I call it rabbit food."

"It's not my fault you're afraid of anything that doesn't come pre-wrapped and microwavable."

"Chill out, woman. Deep breaths. Come on, like this." Panch drew a deep breath as an example.

"Shut up, Panch!" Celia said, jabbing him in the gut. The unexpected blow caused him to exhale, effectively launching his gum past Link's head and into the hallway.

"What's wrong with you? First you offer me rabbit food. Then you make me spew my gum? Are you bent?"

"Guys?" Link said before Celia could counter. "Just come inside." With the long line of enemies increasing by the hour, Link could ill afford a rift between his few remaining friends. He also wasn't particularly fond of remaining out in the open now that he had a threat on his life sitting in his inbox.

"Oh, right. Sorry, Link," Celia said, as if suddenly remembering the reason she was there.

Celia shook off her umbrella and stowed it beneath the swing on the front porch before following the dripping Panch into the house. Link led them into the kitchen where he poured them each some soda.

"Chips and salsa okay?" Link said, looking in Panch's direction.

"Okay? Dude." Panch held up his thumb and pinky and shook them furiously as if his hand had fallen into a seizure.

Link allowed the silence to linger as he waited for Panch to finish his sentence. Instead of saying anything else, Panch again resorted to body language. He began nodding his head in vigorous approval while simultaneously devouring a fist full of chips.

"So why'd you call us, Link?" Celia said. "And I warn you, this had better be good. Not that I mind coming over...but in this weather? It took some serious negotiations to convince my mom to drive us here. Now she won't have time to get her nails done before she goes to golf. And trust me when I say that's a bad thing."

Link pointed skyward as another clap of thunder shook the house. "She's going to play golf in this weather?"

"Just because it's raining here, doesn't mean it will be there. Besides, they have an indoor driving range and putting green over there. So the weather doesn't really matter."

Link shrugged. Whether or not Celia's mother played golf wasn't really his concern right now. He withdrew three pictures from his pocket and placed them on the counter. "Look at these," he said. He arranged them in the order in which he had taken them. "Notice anything unusual?"

"You brought us here to look at pictures of a house? Unbelievable," Celia said.

"Look at them," Link implored. "Please."

"Okay, so...what am I looking at?"

"The tree. Don't you see it?"

"You mean the one that fell on the house?" Celia said. "What of it? Did someone get hurt? I would hate to get hit by a tree. Especially if it didn't kill me. Can you imagine being stuck under a couple hundred pounds of wood? Your body would be all crushed up inside, but you wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"You're missing the point," Link said. "Look again. This time don't focus on the tree. Compare the first and third pictures. Then look at the second one."

"What is it, some kind of before and after thing? I think you have them out of order," Celia said, still not grasping the connection.

"Dude, I saw this one show where some chick was dyin' of cancer so they remodeled her house. The new one was sick. I mean totally balls-to-the-wall sweet. It had a waterfall in the kitchen for washing dishes and a three-hole putt-putt in the backyard. A bit over the top. But dude, if you're gonna go, do it in style, right?" Panch looked around the room for confirmation but found only blank stares.

"You don't understand," Link resumed. "This was the order that I took them in. And I'm talking seconds apart, at most."

"Wow. What are the chances of that?" Celia asked.

"I know. A waterfall. Awesome, isn't it?" Still stuck on the renovation show, Panch struggled to transition back to the fallen tree in the picture.

"Zero," Link said. "It can't happen."

"It can't be zero. Not if you're saying that it did happen," Celia corrected.

"Okay, true, but I took the second shot before the tree fell, not after. And look at the third shot. It's like nothing ever happened."

"The order must have gotten mixed up in the lab. What's the big deal?"

"Haven't you heard of a digital camera?" Panch added, clearly trailing a few beats behind the conversation.

Both Celia and Link looked at Panch to gauge whether he was trying to be funny, or if he was lost. Celia continued, "You're reading too much into all this."

"Dude, Link, where's your bathroom?"

Link pointed to the doorway, leading to the living room. "Through there," he said, indicating the direction, though never fully removing his gaze from Celia's.

"I'm not crazy," Link continued. "Ayden and I both watched the tree fall. It happened right in front of us."

"And that's how you got the picture."

"No." Link sighed, growing impatient. He did his best to keep in mind that not everyone's life had lapsed into total insanity lately. He would have to take it slow. Everything he said must sound like utter nonsense to someone who hadn't been there to see it happen.

"I took the pictures yesterday. Then I developed them. It wasn't until after I saw the one with the fallen tree that Ayden and I went back to see the house this afternoon." Link jabbed at the house in the photo. "When we got there, the tree was standing. By the time we left, a lightning strike had knocked it down, and the tree looked like this," he said, now pointing to the second photo.

"But that's impossible."

"That's my point," Link said. "It doesn't make any sense to me either. That's why I called you guys. Well, that and all the death threats I've got in my inbox."

"Link, Fade was mad, but I doubt he ever seriously contemplated killing you. Roughing you up a bit? Yes. Killing you? No. That was just Fade being Fade."

"I'm not talking about Fade. It's not him. There's no way he knows my e-mail address. I doubt he even knows how to turn on a computer."

"Did you tell your dad that someone wants to kill you?"

"Not a chance. He'd flip. Besides, after what happened with... I just can't talk to him. Let's leave it at that."

"But..." The flash of anger in Link's eyes warned Celia against pushing the subject any further, so she altered her line of inquiry.

"Pretending I believe any of this," Celia began, "and I'm not saying I do, where does the magical camera come in?"

"I never said it was magical."

"No, you didn't. Because that would be crazy. What you said was that you have a camera capable of taking pictures of the future. That's totally different."

"I'm not saying you're wrong, but the word 'magical' sounds stupid. It makes me think a unicorn is going to poop pixie dust on my front door when what we're really talking about is a bunch of deranged e-mailers who want to kill me and take the camera. They said―"

"They? As in plural? As in more than one? Good Lord, Link, how many people want you dead?"

"I have no idea. The e-mailer used the pronoun we. Unless the writer has multiple personalities, I assume there's more than one. Anyway, they said they'd kill me unless I gave 'it' to them."

"If they didn't tell you what 'it' was, how do you know they want the camera?"

"I guess I assumed they didn't want me to give them the finger. Come on, Celia, it's not like I have anything else that anybody would want. The camera is the only thing even remotely worth stealing."

"So you think the crazy e-mailer, or e-mailers, want to take your camera?"

"Yes."

"The magical one that takes pictures of the future," Celia said, unable to remove the skepticism that littered her words.

"Well, again, I don't think magi―"

"Dude?" Panch emerged from the living room, mesmerized by a photo he held in his right hand. His face white as an albino, he stood transfixed in shock. "Dude, I see..." he started again, only to stop midway through the sentence.

"Panch, what is it? You look as though you've seen a ghost." Celia said, attempting to lighten the intensity of the situation.

"I think I do."

"What?" Celia said, concern creeping into her voice.

"In the picture. This shadow thing... It's looking at me."

"Where'd you get that?" Celia demanded.

Either unable or unwilling to comment, Panch didn't answer. Frozen in horror, he stared at the image in front of him. "The eyes move," he said at last. "It's like they're watchin' me."

Both Celia and Link leaned in closely to see what he was talking about. Link recognized the picture immediately as the one he'd taken of the wall during dinnertime. Terror seeped beneath his skin like a wet, winter chill. The photo depicted a dark shadow pinned on the wall like a furry spider, ready to pounce upon unsuspecting prey. The creature's shape was difficult to define. It reminded Link of a foggy morning before a storm, opaque and forbidding.

In the middle of the shadow, two malevolent eyes protruded from within the faint outline of a twisted face. The eyes dripped down the wall, independent of the wraith-like mist behind it, yet somehow connected to it. It was the eyes that made Link's heart stop. He knew them well. Bright white, onion-sized eyes, they were the ones from his nightmares, the ones from inside the bakery.

None of them knew what to say. Words no longer seemed adequate for explaining this sort of thing. Together, they stared at the picture with a fearful bewilderment.

Something disturbed Link even more than the creature's evil gaze, even more than his own disintegrating hold on reality. He realized suddenly that he no longer wished to follow this never-ending rabbit hole. "Moving dark," the words of his little brother haunted his brain like the echo of his deceased mother. He finally understood. This monster is what had been tormenting Ayden. The creature that had been stalking Link through his dreams had somehow broken into the daylight of his baby brother's world. No wonder Ayden had been so terrified.
32

The Broken Man

Ayden screamed from the basement. "Arrgh!"

The simple act of prying his eyes away from the picture took all of Link's strength. "Ayden?" He ran down the staircase, taking two and three steps at a time. When he reached him, he discovered his brother staring at the computer monitor.

Resting his chin on Ayden's shoulder, he hugged his little brother from behind. "It's okay. I didn't leave you, I swear. I was right upstairs." He pointed up through the open doorway. "I brought friends over to help."

Ayden's silent tears scared Link more than the most bloodcurdling howl of terror. "Talk to me, Ayden," he said, rocking the boy back and forth with the tender affection of a mother.

Ayden lifted his arm and pointed at the computer screen. "Why dat happen? She nice wady. She makes food."

Link followed Ayden's finger and landed on the fairway of his monitor. His screensaver no longer displayed a bouncy ball, ricocheting off each side of the screen while morphing into a variety of alternating shapes. The interior shape was different now. Instead of a colorful bouncy ball, the severed head of Mrs. Kidacki now bounced back and forth across the screen, leaving behind a trail of blood.

Link shielded his brother's eyes from the gruesome image. He wanted to console him but didn't know what to say. Still holding him close, Link said the only words he could think of, knowing full well they were probably a lie. "It'll be okay, Ayden. Everything is going to be fine."

"Is it all right if we come down there?" Celia called from the kitchen.

Link hated allowing others into his room. He liked to think of his room as sacred ground. Under normal conditions, Ayden was the only one with an all-access card to his sanctuary. Today, however, normal no longer existed. "I think you guys should see this," Link replied.

"Good, because we're coming in," Celia said, already hurrying down the stairs. Reluctantly, a sober-faced Panch followed her, still unable to retract his gaze from the photo.

Link pointed toward the screensaver on his monitor.

"Isn't that Old Lady Kidacki? Kind of a morbid screensaver," Celia said, her eyes scrutinizing Link. "Did you Photoshop it or something?"

"Don't look at me," Link said defensively. "I didn't do that." He turned to Ayden. "Aside from us, did anyone else come down here?"

Ayden shook his head.

"It doesn't look like anything is missing," Celia said. "Geez, are you ever planning on unpacking some of this stuff? How long have you been here? If it were me, I'd take all my stuff out the first night. How else are you going to get on with life? I mean, really. Brown boxes are so...postal."

"I don't think it's even been a month yet. We'll get around to it."

"Dude," Panch said, "why would someone break into your house just to change your screensaver? Sounds pretty lame if you ask me. Bet someone just hijacked your system via remote access." Panch sat on the bed next to Link and rested the photo on his lap.

Surprised by the reasonableness of the statement, everyone turned to Panch, except Ayden, who still clung to Link's shirt.

"How would they do that?" Link asked.

"Don't know. Never used one before, but I've got a buddy who might be able to help."

"Who would you know that... Watcher!" Celia rolled her eyes. "Panch, you're brilliant! Watcher is good with this kind of stuff, isn't he?" She smiled at Panch and rubbed his head affectionately.

Link wasn't sure why this bothered him, but it did. He was being silly. Panch and Celia were just friends. Besides, what did it matter if they weren't? It's not as if he cared whom Celia liked. With much more important matters to concern himself with, Link quickly shoved his feelings aside.

"You think she's okay?" Panch asked.

"Who? Celia?" Link asked. Caught off guard, Link averted his gaze. Had Panch been reading his mind?

"No, dude, the old betty with her head bouncing 'round your PC."

"There's a child present, moron!" Celia scolded. "Don't talk about stuff like that in front of him." Then Celia whirled on Link. "Why wouldn't I be okay? Is there something wrong with me? There wasn't anything in those e-mails about me was there? I mean, if someone is coming to kill me, I want to know this instant. Will you look at what I'm wearing? Total fashion disaster. Why didn't anyone tell me I looked like train-wreck vomit? If I die in these clothes, I'm going to kill someone." She eyed Panch and glared. "And I choose you. Why didn't you tell me before we left the house?"

"Blame the lack of food," Panch replied. "I can't think straight when I'm hungry."

"You don't ever think straight," Celia huffed. "What's food got to do with it?"

After climbing up into bed, Ayden buried his face into Link's shirt.

"Dude, what's up with your bro? He looks freaked."

Realizing that Ayden must have seen the image now resting on Panch's lap, Link pointed at the picture. "Wouldn't you be freaked if that thing had been following you?"

"You mean Squirt saw this thing up close?"

Link hugged his little brother back. "It's all right, Bug. It can't get you anymore," Link said. He flipped the picture over to conceal the creature's roving eyes. A picture didn't seem like much of a prison. He hoped the creature was truly trapped.

"Bwoken man on wall. Me no yike him. Bad, bad," Ayden said. He puckered his lips as a deep scowl creased his forehead.

"So little dude has seen that...that shadow...thing before? Seriously? That's messed up. Does he know what it is? Hey, li'l dude―"

"Stop it, Panch!" Celia said. "He's probably only like four or five years old. Can't you see he's terrified as it is?"

Ayden held up four fingers.

Celia grinned. "See that? He's only four. Man, he is one seriously brave four-year-old." She reached for Ayden's hand and patted it a few times. "Your name is Ayden, right?"

Ayden nodded.

"Well, it just so happens that your brother has already told me how awesome you are. And judging by the snappy jammies − I love the slippers by the way − I bet you are some kind of superhero. Do you have any superpowers? I sometimes like to pretend I'm invisible. Have you ever tried that? I bet you're a natural."

"I like to pretend she's invisible, too," Panch said, laughing.

Celia ignored the comment. Link marveled at how easy it was for Celia to coax Ayden out of his shell. He couldn't see his brother's face, but he didn't have to. Link knew his little brother was smiling. He could feel Ayden's grip loosen with every word. "Celia, do you have a little brother or sister?"

"Nope. Only child. Tons of little cousins, though." She smiled at Ayden. "None as cute as you." She touched Ayden's cheek and wiped away the drying remains of a tear. "Don't even look at the big meaniehead over there," she said, making a face at Panch.

"She wike Mommy. Where is she?"

"I'm sure she'll be back soon," Panch said, trying to make amends for his apparent lack of sensitivity.

Before Link or Celia had time to correct him, Ayden spoke again. "No, she not! Bad man take her. No give her back! I hate him."

This time it was Link's turn to look surprised.

"I thought my mom said that she died in a fire," Celia whispered, mirroring Link's confusion.

Link faced his little brother and said, "Ayden, you know what happened to Mom, don't you?"

Ayden scrunched up his face. He appeared puzzled by the question.

Link rephrased it. "Do you know why Mommy isn't here anymore?"

"Because bad man take her!" Ayden said, an angry defiance resonating in his voice.

"The police? Or are you talking about those mean people? The ones who said all that nasty stuff after the funeral? Because you know that no matter what they said, the fire wasn't her fault. You know that, right?"

"No! Bad man. He take Mommy. She not weave; she not die!" he said again to make his point.

"Ayden, you know that's not true. Mommy died in the fire. Nobody took her. She died, remember?"

"Bad man. Me hate bad man." Ayden said, as he pointed to the picture on Panch's lap.

"You mean that thing in the picture?" Ayden must be mistaken. Had he known about this thing back in Pensy?

"You not wisten! Never wisten. No one wistens."

"Ayden, I'm sorry if I didn't believe you. Trust me. I'm listening now. Tell me what you know."

"Not moving dark. Bwoken man."

A loud thump, followed by shattering glass, came from somewhere overhead. There was a brief silence as the four looked up the stairs toward the source of the noise.

"Um, dude? Please tell me you have a cat. You do have a cat, right? Maybe a dog?"

"No," Link said, never moving his watchful gaze from the stairs that led to the kitchen above. His bedroom door remained open. From where he sat on the bed, the only thing Link could see was the kitchen ceiling.

"Is someone home?" Celia asked hopefully. "When does your dad get home?"

"It's not my dad."

Without warning, the bedroom door slammed shut.

"You sure?" This time Panch's voice cracked as he asked the question.

"How do we get out of here?" Celia said in a calm tone, trying to conceal the trembling in her voice.

Both Ayden and Link looked in the direction of the door just as the lights in Link's room switched off.
33

Fangs in the Shadows

Darkness swallowed the small group, making movement difficult. Link maintained a tight hold on Ayden as a cool dampness saturated the air.

"Don't suppose you have a maid concerned about savin' electricity?" Panch asked, still trying to find some rational explanation.

"Shhhh" the other three said in unison.

"Ayden," Link whispered, "what should we do?"

"You're asking a four-year-old?" Panch said, not even attempting to mask his disdain. "Wonderful. For a second there, I was worried."

Link could feel Ayden's movement, but it was too dark to tell what he was doing.

"Ayden, where are you going? I can't see you," Link said, careful to keep his voice low.

Ayden felt around for the photo. Then he placed it into Link's hand and said, "Picture."

"Not a good time, Ayden. We can talk about the picture later. We need to figure out what to do."

The door above them began to squeak.

"You not wisten!"

"Link, where's the camera you took this picture with?" Celia asked.

"On my dresser. Why?"

"I think now might be a good time to get it."

"But I still don't see why―"

"Just do it!" Celia snapped. She amplified her words with as much emphasis as she could muster without actually raising her voice.

A deep growl cut through the quiet. Whatever had closed the door now hid behind it. Slowly the door creaked open, but the lights were out in the kitchen too, so all Link could see was a dark shadow coming through the doorway. The stairs began to groan beneath the weight of something large. The growling grew louder. The click clacking of long, sharp nails scratched on each new tread, tearing into the silence.

Link stood on his tiptoes and snuck over to the dresser, trying to avoid any sudden movements. Even if the camera could imprison a shadow thing, what good would it do against some crazed pit bull or wolf? Most likely, the only thing the camera would accomplish would be to snap a photo of one of his friends being eaten alive. Not exactly the kind of keepsake he wanted.

What if the creature attacked Ayden? The once-rapid beating of Link's heart sped up even faster. The fear that coursed his body was replaced by the familiar kindling of anger. Nothing messed with his baby brother. Not while he was still alive.

The beast's devilish growl reverberated around the room. What was this thing? It sounded more like the roar of a lion than some stray dog.

Aside from a low rhythmic breathing from the thing, silence had again grabbed hold of the darkness. Link held the camera with steady hands. The brief, suspended moment of quiet collapsed into a thunderous pounding as the beast crashed down the remaining stairs with reckless abandon.

A shriek of pain shattered Link's confidence as he fumbled around the top of the camera for the switch to turn it on. It was Panch. Link could hear a tumult of noises and thuds, tinged with cries of anguish and fear.

Panic once again gripped Link's heart, making his actions clumsy and slow. Frustrated, he nearly chucked the camera at the beast before finally finding the switch. Without even focusing the shot, he began snapping off pictures. Reminiscent of one of those silly flipbooks, the flash strobed through the room before wedging its way into the midst of the tumult of bristled fur, dripping fangs, and terrified faces.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The growling, the screaming, everything stopped. The air stank of decaying flesh and burnt hair. In the quiet stillness of his room, Link froze, too scared to discover what awaited him in the lingering darkness.

"Ayden?" he called. "Are you there?"
34

The Face in the Mirror

Link called out again, more urgently this time, "Ayden? Where are you, buddy?"

"I'm otay," came the response.

"I'm okay, too. Thanks ever so much for asking," Celia said. "Nice to know where I fall on your list of concerns."

"Panch? What about you? Are you okay? Panch?" When he didn't answer, Link hurried over to the switch plate at the base of the stairs and restored the lights. What he saw, after his eyes adjusted, sent another wave of panic rippling over him. Panch's body slumped awkwardly over the top of the bed. All his muscles were limp and unmoving. Penny-sized puncture holes littered his body where the creature had bitten his arm and chest. Blood was everywhere. Next to the bed was the massive carcass of what Link assumed to be some kind of dog. He nudged it with his foot, but the beast didn't move. There weren't any visible signs of a fatal blow. Link marveled as the realization fully blossomed in his mind that somehow the camera had killed it.

Snapping him from his contemplation, Celia said, "Panch. Is he..." she began, not wanting to complete her thought.

Link leaned over and felt his friend's neck and breathed a deep sigh of relief. "No, he's alive. There's a pulse."

"Then make him wake up," Celia said. "We need to get him to the hospital."

"He's probably unconscious. I'm going upstairs to get some antiseptic. We need to clean those wounds. Use my sheets or whatever else you can find. Do what you can to stop the bleeding. Ayden, you stay with Celia and help her out with whatever she needs, okay?"

"Link, what just happened?" Celia asked, as she carefully wrapped Panch's arm in one of his sheets. "Was it the camera? Do you think it really worked? How could a monster that huge simply drop dead because of a camera flash? But that's what happened, right?" She glanced down at the beast's remains and took an involuntary step back.

"Did you get a good look at it?" Link asked.

"Not really. I think it was some sort of monster...a dog...I don't know. It was attacking us one minute, there were a bunch of flashes from the camera, and then it was dead. Do you think it's trapped inside a picture like that thing with those horrible eyes? Does the camera suck out their soul or something?"

Link knew all too well the horrible eyes to which Celia referred. They were the devilish, onion eyes that had haunted his dreams for months. "I guess. Maybe. I don't know. I'm sort of winging all this as I go. Just take care of Panch. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Celia reached out and grabbed his arm. "What if there's another one of those monsters out there?"

"I think if there were two of them, they both would have attacked."

"All the same, why don't you take the camera, just to be on the safe side?"

"What about you?"

"What, just because I'm a girl you think I can't defend myself? Besides, I have this guy to keep me safe, don't I?" She playfully punched Ayden on the arm. "He seems brave enough for the both of us."

Link watched his brother sidle up next to her and smile. "Fine. But don't be a pair of heroes. If you hear anything that's even the slightest bit suspicious, scream. I'll come running."

Link skulked through the kitchen with the camera raised and his finger poised over the button, ready to snap a picture. He rummaged through a couple of drawers but didn't find what he was looking for. Not even bothering to close them, he headed for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

The living room was an absolute mess. The back door had been smashed inward from the outside. The force had rocketed shards of glass clear across the room. Link grimaced. His father was not going to be pleased.

Continuing to the bathroom, he paused by the sink. The reflection he saw was frightful. His face looked worn and haggard. At least the swelling around his eye had gone down. He clasped the handle of the cabinet door and pulled. Unlike before, the door opened easily without the slightest hint of resistance.

He quickly retrieved the antiseptic and shut the door. When he did, his reflection winked. Wait a minute...He hadn't winked.

He was about to shrug it off when his reflection smiled a sinister, pointy-toothed grin similar to the creature Ayden from earlier. Before Link had a chance to raise the camera, the cabinet door ripped free from his hand and slammed into his head, knocking him backward. Link tried to regain his balance by waving his hands in big circles while he searched for something to grab, but his calf struck the edge of the tub, and he tripped headlong into the tiled backsplash. The last thing he saw before the room blurred into darkness was the plastic lining of the shower curtain as it fell over his head.

When Link awoke, he was no longer in the bathroom. Instead of the hard, porcelain tile, a soft cushion comfortably propped up his head. From the busted TV and floor of shattered glass that filled his vision, he assumed that he was lying on the living room couch.

"His eyes are open! I can't believe you, Link! All you had to do was find some antiseptic, and you manage to knock yourself unconscious. Nice work. What were you thinking? We were worried sick!"

"Celia?" Link moved his head gingerly as his eyes slowly brought the rest of the room into focus. "Where's Ayden?" Link began to panic. He raised his head only to be knocked back by a familiar stab of pain. He had to stop banging his head on everything.

"Rest, child. Your brother is fine. Save your strength. You will need all of it and more for what lies ahead. But for now, you must rest." Mrs. Kidacki emerged into Link's view. She was holding a tray with a cup of warm tea and a bag of ice.

"Mrs. Kidacki? What are you...you're not dead...we thought..."

"Eloquent as ever, I see." She smiled and handed him the bag of ice. "Use this, dear. It will help with the pain. You hit your head pretty hard. Do you remember what happened?"

Link wasn't certain whether he should tell her about the mirror. If he didn't, where should he begin? As he looked into the concerned faces of Ayden and Celia, he wondered if the night's events were some sort of illusion caused by all of the recent trauma to his head. "Where's Panch?"

"Don't you remember?" Celia said, sounding concerned.

"Remember what?" Link knew exactly what Celia was talking about, but he hoped with all his heart that he was wrong and that she was referring to some other memory.

"Mrs. Kidacki," Celia said, "did he forget everything?"

Before Mrs. Kidacki could answer, Link sat up. He tried his best to ignore the throbbing pain. "So it was real? All of it? Even the thing that attacked us? That was real, too?"

"Afraid so," Celia said. "But there's more...a whole lot more. Just wait till you hear what Mrs. Kidacki has to tell you. You're not going to believe it."

"And Panch?"

"Not good." She looked back toward Mrs. Kidacki. "I think I'd better let her explain it, though. I'm still fuzzy on the details."

"Does my dad know about any of this? He'll be worried if he..."

"Hush, child," Mrs. Kidacki cooed. "Be patient. There is much we need to discuss, but first drink some tea. I think it will help."
35

Death of a Friend

When Mrs. Kidacki had finished explaining, Link stared back at her. He wanted to say something profound, something wise, to convey that he understood all she had just told him, but her story had sounded so preposterous. On the flipside, no alternative explanation adequately covered the day's events either.

The tea was warm and tasted of honey and cinnamon. Mrs. Kidacki had been right. It did make him feel a little better. He rested his cup on the floor next to his feet.

"Celia, be a dear and bring Ayden into the kitchen for some cookies. He looks as though he could use something sweet." To Ayden she said, "I have plenty. Eat as many as you like."

Once Celia and Ayden had left the room, Link resumed his barrage of questions. Though Mrs. Kidacki had already explained what she knew, Link remained skeptical. She must have him confused with somebody else. Despite her certainty on the matter, there was no conceivable way that he was one of the Chosen. She must have him confused with somebody else. Such extraordinary things simply didn't happen to kids like him.

Finally making eye contact with Mrs. Kidacki, he said, "So you're sure that Panch will die no matter what we do? Those bites from the creature will kill him?"

"No, Lincoln. You misunderstand. I am afraid your friend is dead already. But it is true that there was nothing you could have done to save him once he was bitten." She looked at me sympathetically. "Skias are a nasty lot. But we'll address that later. For now, why don't you repeat what you've learned so far? It's imperative that you understand what you are up against if you are to have any chance of making it through this."

Wait a minute. He might not make it out of all this? Until now, Link had dreaded the possibility of pain and suffering, but for some reason he'd never contemplated actually dying.

For the time being, he tried to push all that aside and answer her question. "You believe that there are two parts of life, the spiritual and the physical. The spirit is our connection to the Spark, and the body is our connection to the physical world. In one breath, Apǒlǒgĕǒmai made all spirits and all life. These spirits were then forced to wait until they were granted a body. Once they get a body, they are 'born' and are then connected to the physical world.

"The spirits from the Spark cannot reunite with Apǒlǒgĕǒmai until after the body dies. But since the Skias are not allowed to have bodies, they can never truly be alive. That means they can never reunite with Apǒlǒgĕǒmai in death, so they can never reach Halcyon, which is kind of like heaven. I think I get all that. I'm not saying I believe it, but I get it. What I don't understand is what all this has to do with the monster that attacked us."

Mrs. Kidacki seemed to understand Link's struggle. "It was a dog, well, a Broken actually. The Broken are not truly living creatures. They are thieves. They are spirits, known as Skias when they have no body, that take the bodies of the dying, or recently dead, in order to inhabit them. Because the body they take wasn't intended for them, this makes the union imperfect. Broken"

"So they're like snails picking out new shells?"

"Sort of. You see, Lincoln, bodies are more alive than shells. Once the physical body dies, it's no longer connected to its intended spirit, so it becomes worthless. Even with a Skia inside, the body can never be returned to true life ─ which is what the Skia want."

A sudden, terrible realization made Link jump to his feet nearly knocking over his tea in the process. "The dog!" he said. "It's still here! They can come back!"

Before he could run off to check, Mrs. Kidacki calmly said, "Lincoln, it's all taken care of. Please, take a seat. I have already disposed of the body. I am glad to see that you are understanding things more clearly, but you needn't worry about the dog. He will not bother anybody again."

"But how can you be sure?"

"I am certain. Let us leave it at that and finish our talk. Time is not on our side."

Reluctantly, Link sat down. "Okay, I've got another question. Where do the Skia come from?"

Mrs. Kidacki nodded her head in approval of the question. "They began where all souls began: in the moment of the Spark."

"So then the Broken are just like us, only they don't have a body?" Link said.

"The Skias, or 'moving dark,' as Ayden calls them, are similar to people in that they are spirits, much as humans are before and after they are alive. However, unlike humans, they don't have a body and never will. As I said before, Apǒlǒgĕǒmai believed these particular spirits were too wicked to be given access to the world. However, since they are spirits, they are also eternal, which is why Apǒlǒgĕǒmai could not destroy them. Instead, Apǒlǒgĕǒmai condemned them to the spiritual realm. They exist among us, but they never actually live."

"But then what are the Broken?"

"Ahhh... That is precisely where it all went wrong. Long ago, some exceptionally strong Skias found a way to move physical objects. None had ever mastered it sufficiently to do any real damage, however. That is, until a spirit named Raythuse found a way to steal the bodies of the dying. Only when a Skia accomplishes this can they become a Broken. It's only a temporary solution, though. For once the intended soul has left, the body begins to break down. Eventually it becomes a worthless vessel, thereby reducing the Broken back into a Skia. Long story short, the Broken and the Skia are the same thing. The only difference is that a Broken lives inside a stolen body."

"Why are the Broken so keen on becoming people? They don't have such a bad gig. Float around a lot, watch a bunch of movies, just chill. Sounds pretty cool."

Mrs. Kidacki looked at Link for a while before saying anything, as if appraising his sincerity. At last she said, "Lincoln, think about what you are saying. There's nothing good about the path of the Skias. Their condition is the truest hell of all. They can do nothing; they experience nothing. They don't even have a means of communication unless they succeed in clothing themselves in someone else's skin. Instead of living, they are condemned to watch everyone around them take for granted the very thing they would gladly suffer eternal torment to attain. This is why their hatred of humanity has festered since the dawn of time. And this is why it will continue to grow."

"You really believe all of this?"

"Would it make any difference if I didn't?" Mrs. Kidacki's expression grew troubled. "You are in the middle of a war, a war that has been raging since the beginning of time. But all is not lost. Panch may be dead to this world, but that does not mean that he is beyond saving. When the Broken bit him, it bonded to him so that another Skia could enter his body from the Neverworld itself. This caused Panch's soul to be trapped in Neverworld in exchange."

"What about the camera? It trapped that shadow thing earlier, and it sucked up the dog. Isn't that the end of it? You don't suppose the dog thing was Raythuse, do you?"

"I doubt it. It was probably just an underling. As for your friend, you must rid yourself of the notion that everything ends. It doesn't. Material things, yes. But not the spirit. The spirit is eternal."

"So...what?"

"Think of life as a movie...a movie that you can pause. Panch's spirit is trapped in time. Your friend Panch is not dead in the permanent sense. At least not yet, though he will be soon should you fail."

"What? Is he dead, or isn't he?"

"For now, yes. He's trapped in Neverworld, stuck between the past and the future. As long as the Skia that took his place remains stuck inside that picture, Panch's spirit will remain there as well. Release the Skia, and you will release your friend."

"Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?"

"Would you have listened to me if I had? The question is not whether you can release him, but whether you should."

"Come off it. How can you even ask that? He's my friend. Even if he wasn't, I wouldn't leave him floating around in some Neverworld forever."

"Think about what you're saying, Lincoln. Do you honestly believe it is a good idea to let a Skia, such as the one in that picture, loose upon the world just so that you can free your friend?"

"The Skia would only be free for a second or two. I'd release it just long enough to free Panch. Then I'd take another picture and trap it inside again. What's so hard about that?"

"Millions of lives could be ruined if you're wrong. Millions. Are you willing to shoulder the burden should you fail?"

"Well, I may not be the best choice, but certainly someone should do it. What about you? You seem to know an awful lot about this stuff. Why can't you do it?"

"Lincoln, you are one of the Chosen, not me."

"Just because I found some stupid camera? I don't think so."

"No. You are not a Chosen because you found the camera. The camera found you because you are one of the Chosen." Mrs. Kidacki shook her head. "Believe what you like. Belief is irrelevant when it comes to the truth. If something is true, it remains true whether you believe it or not."
36

Reality Check

Celia entered the living room with a look of exhaustion, but Ayden's mood seemed to have improved considerably. "Does this kid ever lose a board game?" To Mrs. Kidacki she said, "So, is he up to speed?"

Mrs. Kidacki only smiled. "Each of us only listens to what we are ready to hear, Celia. Be patient. He'll understand when the time comes." Her face tightened. "At least, we'd better hope he does. All of our lives depend on it."

"So then what are we waiting for?" Link said.

The doorbell chimed. He glanced around at the others and said, "Don't suppose someone ordered pizza when I was out?"

"I called Tom and told him to come over," Mrs. Kidacki said. "I hope that's okay. I think we may need his help."

"Who?" Celia asked, just as Watcher walked through the front door.

"Are you kidding me?" Link exclaimed, "All this time, and none of you ever thought to lock the front door! Seriously?"

Celia ignored Link's outburst and greeted Tom warmly. "Watcher, thanks for coming."

"No problem, Celia. Please, call me Tom."

"Huh?"

Tom examined the shattered back door then turned to the group of grim faces. Addressing Mrs. Kidacki, he said, "So they've already been here? How many? Were they Rogues, or were they sent?"

"I believe they were sent," Mrs. Kidacki said. "I didn't know they were on to him yet, but I guess it was only a matter of time. Fortunately there was only one, but you know what that means."

"Who was here already?" Celia asked.

"What do you mean by 'you know what that means'? What does that mean?" Link asked.

"The Broken," responded Tom. "The Skias could never manage this sort of mess." He walked through the room, marveling at the destruction. "Man," he said as he shook his head, "good thing no one was standing by that door." He knelt down and picked up a particularly large shard of glass. A clot of grey fur clung to the tip, and tiny rivulets of blood had congealed near the base.

"You know about the Broken?" Link asked, astonished. Until recently, Link had always considered himself to be rather intellectual. He was beginning to question that assertion now. How could he have failed to spot a bunch of evil shadows and spirits that stole the bodies of dead people? Especially when all these other people seemed to know about them.

Link detested feeling stupid and avoided situations that produced this feeling whenever possible. Today, however, he had a sneaking suspicion that his latest display of ignorance was only the beginning.

"Mrs. Kidacki has been teaching me for years." Tom smiled affectionately at Mrs. Kidacki and gave her a wink.

"You two know each other?" Celia asked.

"Sure do. I wouldn't be a very good grandmother if I didn't know my own grandson."

"You're her grandson?" Link asked Tom in bewilderment. He replayed the words in his head and cringed. Maybe stating the obvious was also one of his not-so-superpowers.

Tom dropped the shard of glass on a pile of rubble off to the side and rose to his full height. Link had never before realized how big he was. This was probably because Watcher always seemed to be hunched over, scribbling away in a notebook.

Tom turned to Celia and said, "Nana told me that something attacked you. Any idea what it was?"

Celia shrugged. "Not really. We didn't get a good look at it. The lights were out, so it was hard to tell. But it sounded like some sort of giant monster. And then, when Link started taking pictures, I caught glimpses of something that resembled a dog."

"Chomper," Tom muttered. He shook his head in disgust. "I was hunting people who might have been turned into vessels, not animals. Ironic. I sprung that dog to save Link, and one of them nearly wound up killing him." He hung his head in dejection. "Sorry I let you down, Nana."

"Don't blame yourself, sweetie. You couldn't have known. We had no idea they would take the bodies of animals." Mrs. Kidacki's face was lined with worry.

A loud clap of thunder overhead made Link jump. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed and saw Watcher smirk in his direction.

"Are you telling me the monster in my room was nothing more than a mangy mutt? You've got to be joking. That thing was ten times the size of a dog and twice as pissed."

"That's not at all what I'm saying. Chomper may have started out as a dog, but it was a Broken that tried to kill you. Didn't Nana already cover all this?"

Mrs. Kidacki patted Link on the knee. "It's okay, Tom. Have patience. Link has a lot to think about. Give him a chance. I recall a time when you used to think I was crazy, too."

Addressing nobody in particular, Link said, "So is there anything else in this horrible town that is trying to kill me?"

"Lincoln, dear. Now that the Broken know where to find you and are aware of the power you possess, you'll face much nastier things than a lost puppy dog."

"Wonderful." Link tried to force out a laugh, but it wound up sounding more like a strange coughing noise. "Let me see if I can sum up the situation. Something 'much nastier' than an angry demon-dog is hunting me down so that it can reclaim some stupid camera. Meanwhile, Panch, my friend, is suspended in Neverworld and will die if we don't find a way to pull him out without also releasing a very dangerous Skia. And for some completely unknown reason, I'm the unlucky idiot who is supposed to save the world solely because I was dumb enough to look inside an old hatch? Seriously?"

"You got the idiot part right at least," Tom said.

"Look at it this way. At least you're no longer the sidekick. You finally get to be the hero. Isn't that what you've always wanted?" Celia said. "You should be happy."

Link mulled over the implications of her words before reaching a resolute conclusion. Never again would he complain about a boring life. "Remind me why we can't hand the camera over? There's got to be a way to make another, right? I mean what if the one I have breaks? What then?"

Watcher's face revealed his disbelief. "Link, just how hard did you hit your head?"

Taken aback by Watcher's blunt rebuke, Link grew defensive. "For your information, Watcher, or Tom, or whatever your name is these days, it's not like I'm qualified for this sort of thing. You keep acting as though my stupidity is surprising. Why? Does anyone here think I'm the best candidate for the job? Hmmm? Anyone?"

Ayden's hand shot into the air as he gazed at his big brother with the sort of blind faith that only a younger sibling could have.

Link's tone softened. "Thanks, Bug, but trust me. I'm not as great as you think I am."

Celia spoke up. "You saved both Ayden and me."

"Luck," Link admitted. "Besides, it was Ayden's idea, and I needed you to explain it to me. Plus, I didn't exactly help Panch. If I were smart enough to figure anything out myself, none of you would even be in this situation. I'm like the plague. All of you would do best to steer as clear of me as possible."

Link held up his hand and began ticking away each new fun fact with another finger. "First my mother dies. Then I lose all my friends. My family moves. Fade and his friends want to use me as a piñata. A crazy demon-dog wants to eat me and winds up killing, but not actually killing, Panch. I still haven't come close to figuring that one out yet. Mystery e-mailers want me dead. The cabinets in my house enjoy assaulting me. Then, if everything else fails to put an end to my miserable existence, my clueless father is going to kill me when he sees the mess I've made of this living room."

"The trees don't seem to like you much either," Celia said.

"Oh, how could I forget? Thanks for reminding me." Link tried to storm off but found Mrs. Kidacki to be suddenly in his way. She reached a hand to his face and looked deep into his eyes. "Lincoln, it's okay. We all must face our own disbelief. But maybe I can help you on your way. Please keep one thing in mind: real heroes seldom ask to be heroes. Usually, the honor is more a curse than a blessing, which is why only a fool goes looking to be one. Being a hero is the result of a choice to continue on in the face of unavoidable danger. Nothing more."

Link tried to squirm free from her grasp but found it impossible. She was remarkably strong for an old lady.

"I, however, am not asking you to be a hero; I'm merely asking you to accept who you are, who you were created to be. Okay, lecture finished." She released him from her grip. "Let me give you some proof. Or would you rather me leave you to confront the horde of Broken that is undoubtedly heading to your front door as we speak? Should we abandon Panch, your friend," she pointed to Link's bedroom, "in Neverworld, simply because you refuse to accept the true nature of things?"

Link felt his anger drain.

"Bring me the photos you had developed," Mrs. Kidacki said.

Link did a double take. "How'd you know about the photos?"

Mrs. Kidacki pushed the matter aside. "It's my job to know, Lincoln. Now please do as I say and bring them to me."
37

Mom?

Mrs. Kidacki shuffled through the first few photos without pausing. Her bony fingers moved with the skillful dexterity of a Vegas card dealer. Link took her inability to find the proof in the first several photos as a good omen and began outlining his I-told-you-this-was-all-a-big-misunderstanding speech when she suddenly found what she was looking for.

"Here it is!" Mrs. Kidacki said. She separated the photo from the rest and inspected it closely. Then she placed the other photos down on the end table and handed Link the incriminating evidence. "There you go, Lincoln. Is that proof enough?" She leaned back, a knowing smile on her face. "Tell me. What do you see?"

Link took the photo and returned her smile. "This is one of those blurry ones. You can't see anything because it's all hazy in front. See?" He held up the photo and said, "This isn't proof. It doesn't tell me anything."

When Mrs. Kidacki placed her spindly hand upon Link's shoulder, he felt a jolt of electricity surge through him. It didn't hurt, but his whole body tingled. "Lincoln Amoeba Hartkins," Mrs. Kidacki said, "at some point you must learn to look deeper. The surface of all things is but a lie told to the gullible and the ignorant. You must focus your attention beyond the blur. You must feel the essence of the picture."

Link sighed. Then he returned his attention to the photograph. This time he concentrated on looking beyond the blurring in the foreground to what lay beneath. Truthfully, he had no idea how to 'feel' a picture, but he figured he should at least appear as though he were trying.

Then, as if a dark veil lifted, his eyes found the necessary lens. For the first time, he truly saw the picture, the proof that Mrs. Kidacki had told him he'd find, the proof that the camera was meant to be his.

Behind the glossy grey blur, behind the swirls of distorted color, Link saw a woman. She was sitting on a park bench. Immediately familiar to Link, the woman in the picture was waving to a small boy, who was picking flowers by a murky duck pond.

"Hey, Link," Celia said. "Isn't that you? Ahh, you were so cute as a kid. Who's that woman you're with?"

"It's my mom."
38

A Journal

The small group of friends stood in a circle around the island countertop. Link felt a renewed sense of urgency. The mountainous burden of responsibility continued to build, but all he could think about was how badly he'd failed Panch. Impatient with the idle chatter of planning, he finally spoke up. "So what do we do?"

"There's not much written about the camera," Mrs. Kidacki said. "All we have are fragments from a few legends passed down from generation to generation. Tom has recorded the more prevalent ones, but I'm afraid even those only imply that it actually exists. Nothing speaks of it directly. It is impossible to know for certain how it works."

Link suddenly noticed that Ayden was no longer in the room. "Has anyone seen Ayden?" When it was clear nobody had witnessed his little brother leave, Link grew concerned.

"Maybe he went downstairs to check on Panch," Celia offered.

Link hurried to the top of the stairs and called down, "Ayden? Are you down there?" When there was no response, his heart fluttered.

Like a finely tuned military detachment, each member of the group volunteered to check a different portion of the house then quickly scattered.

Link still thought his bedroom was the most likely place Ayden would have gone. So, swallowing his trepidation about seeing his mangled friend, he once again approached the stairs.

Upon reaching the stairs to his room, he noticed Tom from the corner of his eye. Instead of searching for Ayden as he had promised he would, Tom was holding the camera up to the light and examining it. Even though Tom had arguably saved Link's life by releasing Chomper into the parking lot, something about the way he ogled the camera bothered him. "What are you doing?"

Surprised, Tom's fleeting look of guilt quickly evaporated into his usual self-confident composure. "Just wanted to have a look, that's all. This is like the Holy Grail of our times, yet here it is, sitting in my hands. I'm holding one of the most sought-after items in the spiritual realm. Amazing, isn't it? Simply amazing."

"A-hem," Link tried to tactfully pull Tom out of his reverie. He didn't want to offend him. At this point he could ill afford to lose anyone who might be able to help.

"Ah, yes, sorry. Here you are." Tom held out the camera, but when it came time to let go, he hesitated. As if embarrassed by his own reaction, he casually attempted to change the topic. "Any luck finding your brother?"

Link eyed him suspiciously. "If I'd found him, he'd be with me, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, I suppose he would. Well, I'd better go help with the search then. How about I check upstairs?"

Link watched him go before heading down to his room. He scoured his room while at the same time trying to detach himself from the gruesome nature of the scene around him.

Blood splatters covered the walls and the white linens on his bed. Despite the havoc the creature had wreaked, Panch remained peacefully resting. If it weren't for all the blood, Link might have believed his friend was merely sleeping.

Everything else in the room appeared unaltered since the attack.

"Ayden!" Link called, desperately hoping for a response. "Ayden, are you down here?" He strained to listen, but Panch's staggered breathing was the only response. It didn't add up. Ayden wasn't the sort of kid who wandered off, especially after all that had happened in the past week.

"Found him!" Celia called. "He's safe! He's up here."

If Link could hear her from his bedroom ventilation shaft, they must be up in the attic. He walked over to the heating vent and called up, "Be right there."
39

A Pissed-off Polar Bear

By the time Link arrived in the attic, everyone else was there. Celia and Tom crowded around Ayden, asking him questions. Though Ayden appeared to be fine, Link ran over and squeezed him anyway. "What were you thinking? Don't wander off without telling someone. You could've been hurt!"

Ayden usually responded to a scolding with contrition, tears even. He was a tough kid, as evidenced by his ability to deal with the monsters that threatened him at the dinner table, but he was very sensitive. In this case, however, Ayden didn't appear the least bit sorry for wandering off. Instead, his face glowed with the sweet radiance of some unknown victory. Had he smiled any wider, it might have looked unnatural. In his hands, Ayden held a leather-bound journal. "Mommy wite dis," he said.

Link recognized the journal immediately. It contained his mother's most personal thoughts, her private confessions. Link had known for a long time that his mother had kept diaries, but he had decided never to read them. He didn't want to risk reading something that would tarnish her memory. Painfully aware of everyone's stare, Link wrestled with what he should do.

Both Celia and Tom appeared perplexed as to why the journals would be of any assistance and were clearly beginning to grow impatient with the unnecessary delay.

Only Mrs. Kidacki seemed to understand the full extent of Link's internal struggle. "Tom, Celia, why don't you take our little nomad downstairs? Lincoln and I need a few minutes alone."

Celia nodded. She took Ayden's hand and said, "Come on, cutie. How about we play another round of Candy Land? You can't possibly win every time. Nobody's that lucky, not even you."

Ayden grinned and eagerly followed her out of the room. When he noticed that Tom was not following them, he said, "You pway, too?"

Tom looked with apprehension at his grandmother, who nodded her approval. "Go on, Tom. We'll be fine. Just be on the lookout for anything strange. It won't take long for them to figure out what has happened. We both know the Broken will return. And when they do, the camera must be long gone."

Tom turned to Ayden and said, "Go ahead and set up a game for three." Once Celia and Ayden were out of earshot, he turned back. "I don't like it, Nana. I think we need to leave now. It's not safe here. I bet this house is crawling with Skias."

"You mean there could be more Skias here? That would certainly explain the faces and all the strange voices."

"What faces?" Tom said, suddenly troubled. "What are you talking about?"

"Ever since we moved in," Link continued, "there's been something strange about the mirror in the medicine cabinet. But after the Broken attacked Panch, I went up to the bathroom to get some antiseptic for his cuts. The mirror in the cabinet started to make faces at me, and then it knocked me on the head. I assumed I was imagining things. I mean seriously, how does a door just shoot out like that?"

Tom shrugged. "It might be a Skia. But if it's already trapped inside the glass, it will stay there so long as nobody breaks the mirror. Besides, most Skias are harmless. It's the Broken we need to worry about. You're probably just imagining it anyway. People can't see Skias. We have no way of knowing where they are."

"That's not true," Link protested smugly, happy to finally know something that Tom didn't, "at least, not entirely. I've seen some pretty messed up stuff. And I've been having these dreams."

Mrs. Kidacki looked concerned. "Dreams?"

"Whatever. Dreams could mean anything," Tom said.

"Okay, smart guy. Then why did I see the Skia from the picture in my dream before we caught him?" Then before Tom could respond, Link pushed the point, "Besides, even if you don't believe me, how do you explain my brother? He saw them. And I'm not talking a quick glimpse, either. He's the reason we were able to trap that Skia in the first place."

"What?" The color in Mrs. Kidacki's face paled. "Are you telling me that Ayden can see the Skias even when he is awake?"

"Why? Is that good or bad?"

"Lincoln, if your brother can see them, that means... Dear Lord, it has begun already!" Scrutinizing Link with an accusatory stare, Mrs. Kidacki said, "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

Link was startled by the unexpected tremor in her voice, "I...well, I didn't know it was important."

"Not important?" Mrs. Kidacki turned to Tom, whose mouth hung open like a dead fish. "Go, Tom! What are you waiting for? Save him! I'll contact Max. Maybe he'll know what to do. I can't believe this is happening on my watch."

"But, Nana, don't you remember what happened the last time we tried to contact Max?"

"Doesn't matter. Just go! Now!"

An ear-splitting scream from downstairs interrupted their discussion. "Help!" a voice cried. It sounded like Celia.

"They're in trouble!" Link said. He clumsily stuffed his mother's journal into his pocket. Then both he and Tom raced past Mrs. Kidacki to the stairs. Link's legs felt all wobbly and uncoordinated. The high levels of adrenaline that pumped through his body forced them to work faster than his brain would allow. For the first few stairs, he managed to control them. But with only four steps left, Link's right foot snagged one of the treads, and he tripped, falling face first down the stairs.

Link instinctively curled his body inward to prevent himself from smashing the camera. Instead, the position pushed his arm back and pinned it against the banister. Then, it catapulted his hand up, forcing him to release the camera. The momentum sent him careening down the remainder of the stairs. His body came to an abrupt stop as he collided into the heavy front door.

Acutely aware of the pain, Link heard a second smash as the camera struck the wall before landing on a thick, braided rug.

Dazed, but still conscious, Link struggled to regain his feet. Tom, who was only a few steps behind him at the time of the fall, grabbed Link's arm and pulled him to his feet.

"You okay? That was quite a fall you―"

Tom's words were interrupted by another scream: this time it came from the kitchen. Link ran over to the camera and snatched it off the ground, all the while praying that the fall hadn't damaged it.

The two boys bounded into the kitchen and quickly located Ayden, cowering behind Celia. The pair of them slowly backed away from something in the far corner of the room.

Celia brandished a large, wooden rolling pin as if it were a sword. She tried to act tough, but her face was pale, and her hands trembled.

At first, the pots and pans that hung on the rack above the kitchen island obscured the assailant. But they did little to mask the overwhelming stench of decaying flesh. A wave of stink, reeking of death, nauseated the boys as they saw firsthand why Celia had screamed. Lurking on the far side of the kitchen, the most enormous polar bear Link had ever seen pressed its massive back against the sink.

The bear snarled and curled what little lip it had left. The hulking beast looked more dead than alive. The scant patches of bristling white fur did a poor job of concealing the decomposed flesh underneath. Empty ocular cavities provided obvious rationale for the bear's incessant snuffling of the air.

The bear's ravenous growls made it clear that it was not looking for new friends. This bear wanted death. It flexed its muscles and curled its fearsome, six-inch claws upon the cool kitchen tiles, making a horrible scratching noise. The bear waited, its body tight, like it was about to spring.

Suddenly, a discordant chorus of voices began swirling through the air. They came from everywhere, from nowhere. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of different voices, both animal and human, faded in and out of earshot. They undulated around the room in lazy waves. The voices alternated between loud and soft screams of agony, bounced off hard surfaces, and then ricocheted in all directions. It was as if the blind bear was using some sort of demonic echolocation to track its prey.

The hideous cacophony paralyzed Link with indecision. It crippled his capacity for thought and demolished any pillar of reason upon which he could devise a plan.

Without warning, the bear rose onto its haunches and roared a challenge of contempt, of rage, of taunting. At its full height, the beast had only inches to spare beneath the kitchen's vaulted ceiling. Fortunately for Link, the bear's ferocious roar jolted his sensibilities. He quickly raised the camera, aimed the shot, and clicked. When nothing happened, he clicked again. Still nothing. Now frantic, he checked the camera to make certain it was on before he tried again.

The bear returned to all fours with a thunderous crash. Its head pivoted into the direction of the clicking noises produced by Link's panicked attempts to resuscitate the camera. With the bear distracted, Celia hurled the rolling pin at the bear's head. As soon as she let go, she grabbed Ayden's hand and never looked back. The pair sprinted toward Link and Tom, who were busily pulling iron skillets from the rack. Instead of striking the bear as Celia intended, the rolling pin sailed harmlessly through the air. Then it crashed through the kitchen window before finally landing somewhere on the lawn outside.

The bear turned its head and sniffed, inspecting the loud noise as the small group fled into the basement. Link slammed the door at the top of the stairs. Once the bear figured out what had happened, it roared. If possible, it sounded even angrier than it had before.

Thuds from its massive paws reverberated around the room. The bear's enormous claws tore against the ground. They struggled to gain purchase against the tile floor, now slick from the blood and puss that seeped from its partially exposed organs. Link bolted the door to his room. He willed the lock to hold but knew instinctively that it wouldn't. He doubted any door was strong enough to keep that monster out.

"Tom!" he screamed. "Lean against the door! We can't let it in! There's no way out of here!"

For the first time that day, Tom had nothing pithy to say in reply. He hurriedly did as he was instructed.

Smash!

The door shook with the impact of the bear's weight, knocking Tom back. He barely managed to avoid plummeting down the stairs by grabbing hold of the handrail. He pulled himself back up and resumed his position with his shoulder propped against the door. There was a brief pause. The bear struck the door again. This time Tom and Link were ready, and they succeeded in maintaining their balance. Barely.

"Celia, hide with Ayden underneath the bed!" Link shouted.

Celia threw her hands upon her hips in defiance. "Why do I have to hide? Just because I'm a―"

"Celia!" Tom and Link both shouted.

The bear punched the wood again. This time the tip of one of its razor-sharp claws pierced the solid door, missing Link's shoulder by less than an inch. After withdrawing its claw, the bear swatted the door even harder. The force of its paw pummeled the paneled frame which shook as if it were made of balsa wood. Plaster dust erupted in a cloud of smoke from either side of the door. Link and Tom sputtered and wheezed as they struggled to catch their breath. Three claws punctured the door. The bear withdrew them and left behind a hole the size of a CD.

Apparently encouraged by this progress, the bear stuck its snout into the hole. It snapped at the boys but was unable to open its mangled jaws wide enough to reach them. Swathes of bloody skin stuck to the splintered wood and ripped free as the bear removed its gaping maw from the jagged opening. Undeterred, the bear tore larger chunks of wood from the ever-expanding hole.

"What should we do?" Tom asked. "We can't just stand here. That thing's breaking through!"

Link heaved his body up against the frame, careful to avoid the hole. "Where the hell would a polar bear come from anyway?"

"Nana told me to look for dead things!" Tom yelled. "I thought she meant people! I already said I was sorry."

The bear ripped another piece of wood off the door and was now able to stick its entire head into the gap. Still babbling excuses, Tom whacked the bear's head with the large skillet. The hit only rekindled the bear's homicidal rage. It gnashed its teeth in protest and pushed its bulk against the weakening door. Link heard the wood splinter as it bowed beneath the bear's weight.

"But a polar bear? Why would a polar bear be in my house?" Link said, as he took his turn thumping the bear's head with an iron skillet. Like Tom's earlier attempts, the bear treated the skillets as little more than an annoying gnat, buzzing around its head.

A large split, which began a few inches from the base of the door, began to snake upward for a few prolonged seconds. Tom and Link watched in horror as the door finally split in two.

With nothing between them and the bear, Link's life flashed through his mind. Though it was impossible to know for sure, due to the ravaged remains of the bear's face, Link could have sworn the bear actually grinned at him.
40

A Nosy Neighbor

Link raised the skillet for one final strike. He tensed his muscles, gritted his teeth, and braced himself for unbearable pain. The bear rocked back, ready to spring. Then, in the final moment before Link expected death to find him, the crack of gunfire ripped through the air. The bear lurched to the side. Undaunted, it remained focused on its original goal and had soon regained its balance.

No sooner had the bear resumed its approach when a volley of gunshots smacked into its flank and head. The shots pushed the massive beast against the already shattered door frame. The bear roared as its intestines spilled all over the floor. It tried to get up one final time but failed. It collapsed to the floor with a momentous thud.

Still clutching his skillet, Tom looked at Link and whispered, "Do you think it's dead? Again...I mean?"

The question hung in the air unanswered for a while before Link could regain his composure enough to respond. "I think so, but who―"

"You boys all right down there?" From down the hall, a young police officer, visibly shaken by the unusual encounter, peered over the hulking carcass of the dead polar bear. "Is everyone okay?" he called.

"I think so," Link said. He patted himself to make sure all his body parts were still there. "Thanks to you. How did you know we were in trouble? Did Mrs. Kidacki call you?"

"Mrs. Who?" The officer still held his gun out ready to shoot. His head swiveled madly in search of another bear. Over his shoulder he said, "I was dispatched to deal with a domestic disturbance. One of your neighbors, a Mrs. Devereaux I believe, reported that she heard a scream. She claims to have seen a rolling pin fly out your kitchen window. Do you know anything about that?"

Apparently noticing the stench that emanated from what remained of the polar bear for the first time, the officer's face contorted in a look of disgust.

Celia poked her head out from beneath Link's bed and called, "Is it safe to come out yet?"

Still jumpy, the semi-confused officer followed the sound of Celia's voice. He saw the blood-soaked sheets and blood splattered on the walls. He hurriedly unclipped his radio and called for medical backup. Then he cautiously proceeded to the stairs. He eyed the fallen bear then nudged it with the heel of his polished, black leather boots. It was clear he wasn't convinced the bear was dead. He stepped over the beast. Then he gingerly negotiated his way past the large pieces of jagged wood.

In the midst of the chaos created by the bear, Link had entirely forgotten about Panch, who was currently tucked under the sheets of his bed. His friend looked like a bloody cadaver prepped for an autopsy. The officer seemed to notice this as well. A sudden look of concern crossed his face, and he looked up at the boys.

Link blurted out the first thing he could think of and moved to follow the officer down the stairs. "It was the bear!"

"Sir!" The officer raised his gun. "Please, stand back!" Beads of sweat formed just above his furrowed brow. Trying his best to maintain his composure, the officer raised his free hand and yelled, "Everyone, stay calm! I'll handle this!"

"But officer—" Link said, backing up.

In an unnecessary display of authority, the officer said, "Don't go anywhere, sir! I'll do the talking, not you!"

Link tilted his head. He wasn't sure what the officer wanted him to do. He already had been backing up. Did the officer want him to stop moving or to move back faster? Was this one of those double negatives he'd heard about at school?

The young officer's fear was evident in his reluctance to remove the sheet that covered Panch's face. His trembling fingers curled around the edges. He inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself. Then, like a magician who made an object disappear, he jerked the sheet away from Panch's head. The officer touched the side of Panch's neck and searched for a pulse.

It was at that moment, the very instant the officer's finger tips touched Panch's skin, that Panch's eyes miraculously snapped open.

Panch vaulted into a sitting position as if his back had been spring-loaded. The suddenness of Panch's resurrection caught the officer completely off guard, as Panch narrowly avoided colliding with him. This caused the officer to inadvertently discharge his firearm into the opposite wall.

Unaffected by the surprise explosion, Panch exclaimed, "Dude, you're not gonna believe the dream I had!" Then, slowly absorbing the scene around him, he said, "Why is there a cop here?" He began to laugh. "Oh, I get it. I'm still dreaming, aren't I?"

Slowly coming to the steps, Tom and Link exchanged concerned looks. If Panch was free from Neverworld, it could only mean one thing.
41

I Forgot My Keys

Celia squealed with delight. "Panch! You're okay!"

"I was havin' this dream that I was in the middle of a wicked set of waves when this gnarly shark came out of the water and started barking at me and―Owww! Hey! What gives?"

For the first time, Panch seemed to notice his current situation. Tentatively raising his bandaged arm, he examined his body. Then he studied the police officer, who in turn stared back at him. It was hard to tell which of them was more confused.

The officer spoke first. "Sir, did that bear up there," he pointed to the top of the stairs, but his eyes remained fixated on Panch, "attack you, or was it a shark?"

"A bear?" Panch looked to Celia. "What's he talking about?"

"Yes," the officer said, "the bear."

"But where?"

"Up there."

"Up where?"

"Up there, at the top of the stairs," the officer said.

Panch strained his neck to take a peek. "You mean there really is a bear up there at the top of the stairs?"

"Yes, there's a bear up there at the―" Though his lips continued to move, the policeman stopped talking. He rubbed the back of his neck with evident exasperation and rose to his feet. "I need a vacation." He picked up his radio again. "Dispatch, this is Officer Dansby. Where is that medical team I requested?"

Link heard a scratchy voice click on over the static, "Sir, the ambulance is on its way. It should be there shortly. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes, could you send animal control over here as well? Tell them there's a polar bear carcass that needs to be disposed of."

Again, the voice of the dispatcher broke through the static. This time it contained a note of skepticism. "Sir? Did you say there is a polar bear that needs to be disposed of?"

"Yes, there's a bear."

"A bear? From where?"

Oficer Dansby's face burned red as he yelled, "Just send them over, all right? Is that so hard?"

"No, sir. Right away, sir."

He turned to Celia and said, "Ma'am, is there anyone else in this house? The two boys over there mentioned an old lady. Is she here?"

As if on cue, Ayden crawled out from beneath the bed and waved at the officer. Grinning ear to ear, he said, "Tanks, Mr. Powiceman."

Again, the officer tensed. He crouched low and extended his gun as if they were under fire. "Did you say tanks? Where?"

Celia jumped into the fray before the policeman suffered a complete nervous breakdown. "This is Ayden, officer. He's only four and not as eloquent as his brother Lincoln over there...the redhead holding a skillet." Celia waved at Link and waited for him to wave back before continuing. "Anyhow, what Ayden is trying to say is 'thanks.' He wants to thank you. As far as I am aware, there are no tanks on the premises." She looked over to Link for confirmation. He nodded.

It was strange. Usually Celia's words spewed from her mouth faster than the average ear could pick up. But for some reason, during crisis situations, such as bloodthirsty dogs or a raging corpse of an undead polar bear, she was arguably the calmest person Link had ever met.

"Very well," the officer said. He seemed to have accepted Celia as the group's spokesperson. "What's your name, ma'am?" He retrieved a small, leather-bound pad of paper and a pencil to write down her response.

"Celia Simpkowitz, sir," she said.

He jotted the information down. "Okay, Miss Simpkowitz. Are you a resident in this house?"

"No, sir," Celia said. "Ayden and Link live here. The rest of us are only visiting."

"Is there anyone else at home this evening?"

"Yes. Mrs. Kidacki. I think she's upstairs."

Link and Tom glanced worriedly at each other. They hadn't seen Mrs. Kidacki since they'd discovered the bear inside the kitchen. Why hadn't she come down after the shooting? Then Link realized something else was missing. Where was the camera?

Link started to run up the stairs only to have Officer Dansby call him back. "Stop! Where do you think you're going? I'm not done asking questions here. You can't leave...until...I say you can leave!"

"But officer, I―"

His sentence was cut short by the arrival of the paramedics, who stormed in through the front door. After calling out for Officer Dansby, they hurried past the fallen bear and headed down the stairs. "Are you the officer in charge?" one of them asked, while the others went to work helping Panch.

Officer Dansby puffed out his chest. Clearly he liked the idea of finally being in control of the situation. "Yes, I am," he said. "My name is Officer Dansby."

While the officer filled in the known details for the paramedic, Link and Tom snuck upstairs to search for the camera.

"Why on earth would you ever put it down? Are you stupid or just careless?" Tom hissed.

"It's not like I meant to lose it. Besides, aren't you forgetting something? A giant polar bear zombie just tried to kill us. Sorry if I was a bit distracted."

"Yeah, and you did such a bang up job with that one, didn't you? Let's face it. If that idiot cop hadn't shot the bear, we'd all be dead." Tom picked up a frying pan and began searching the baseboards that surrounded the island of cabinets. "And another thing, they're not zombies. They're Broken."

"Whatever." Who did Tom think he was? Link put aside his natural impulse to counter attack and focused on finding the camera. Of course, if the camera was busted, would it even matter if they found it? Though he still did not entirely comprehend the ramifications for losing it, he knew enough to realize he did not want the blood of the world on his hands. Somehow he needed to help set things right. Yet with each passing second, his hope of finding the camera began to fade.

"You don't think the Skia we freed could have taken it, do you?" Link asked.

"Freed?" Tom said.

"Let escape. Whatever."

"We?" Tom said.

"Okay! I get it. The one I accidentally helped to escape. Happy? Is there any way it could have taken the camera? If it's just a shadow, that is."

"Not if it was still a Skia. Without a body, they can't do much."

"You call that not doing much?" Link indicated the disfigured bear carcass on the ground. "That was a Skia, right? If that thing was taking the day off, I'd hate to see them at work."

"That was a Broken. There's a big difference. Didn't you listen to Nana at all?" Tom checked his watch and appeared to ponder something. Then he pulled out a cell phone and scanned the tiny display. He tapped the screen a few times then returned it to his pocket.

"Is that Mrs. Kidacki?" Link said.

"No."

"Who was it?"

"None of your business, butterfingers. Just keep looking. The camera is the important thing now."

"What difference does it make if the bear got shot? Can it die again?" Link knew that Tom's patience was growing short, but he pressed on.

"What?"

"The bear. It was already dead. What difference does it make if it gets hit by a couple extra bullets? Dead is dead. Or is it...undead in this case?"

"Think about it. And stop asking such stupid questions. What controls your body?" Though he was talking to Link, Tom continued to scour the floor.

"Your brain?" Link glanced back at the dead bear. Gunfire had ripped so many holes in its skull that it was hard to tell the back of its head from the front. "Oh, I see."

"So if their brain is destroyed, the Broken turns back into a Skia? But then..."

"Do you always rely on other people to do your thinking for you? Just find the camera."

Link knew he possessed shortcomings. He had been the first in line to point this out when Mrs. Kidacki had announced that he was one of the Chosen, but he couldn't help but feel that he shouldn't have to defend himself from someone who was supposed to be helping. "What's your deal, Watcher?" Link grabbed him by the arm and forced him to look into his eyes. "Like it or not, we're on the same team. So you think I'm an idiot. That doesn't change the fact that the world could end if we don't work together."

"I told you two to stay put!" Officer Dansby roared. "What are you doing up here?" He stepped over the fallen bear as if it were nothing more than a discarded suitcase. Oddly enough, yelling at people appeared to have a rather calming effect on him. Once he reached Link and Tom, he tucked his notepad away and glared at them as he waited for a response. "Well?" he said when none came.

"We're searching for Mrs. Kidacki, sir. We think something may have happened to her," Link said.

"Your friend down there is hurt pretty bad. Why don't you go stay by his side? I'll do a sweep of the rest of the house and see what I can find."

"Yes, sir," both boys said in unison, happy to be relieved of a duty they didn't want in the first place.

On their way toward the stairs, Link saw sunlight stream in through the front door. The storm finally appeared to be subsiding.

Just then, Mr. Hartkins burst in from the outside. He didn't even take the time to throw his keys into the ceramic dish. Seeing Link in the kitchen, he made a beeline straight for him. His breaths were short and shallow.

"Are you okay, Lincoln? What happened? What's that horrible smell? Is Ayden..." His gaze dropped to the mutilated polar bear. "Is that...a bear?"

In the middle of his rapid-fire questioning, two paramedics carried Panch up the stairs on a gurney. A third paramedic ran alongside of them, suspending a large packet of plasma in the air, which was attached to Panch through an IV drip in his arm. The small group wove their way through the wreckage and over the fallen bear with the agility of professional dancers. They squeezed past Link's dad, who had been forced back by the doorway, unable to move even to get out of their way.

Only Panch's pale face was visible as they went by. They had covered the rest of his body in linen blankets to keep him warm. Link tried to get his attention, but Panch appeared to have lapsed back into unconsciousness.

A fourth paramedic, who followed closely behind the others, approached Link's father. Her self-assured demeanor reminded Link of royalty. Her uniform was neatly pressed and looked as though it had never been worn. She formed a stark contrast to the young Officer Dansby, who once again appeared to be dangling on the precipice of a nervous breakdown now that he had stopped yelling at people.

"Excuse me, sir," the woman said. "Are you the father?"

Mr. Hartkins stared at the bloody boy being carried out of his son's bedroom on a gurney. Then he took one long look at the lady asking him questions. He looked over at Link. He looked down at the bear. He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He opened his mouth and said, "I forgot to put my keys away," and then he promptly passed out onto the hallway floor.
42

Just the Facts

The group settled into the living room. They gave a wide berth to the people from animal control still cleaning up the mess. Link had explained the situation to both his father and Officer Dansy to the best of his abilities but had chosen to omit a few of the crazier aspects of the story such as the dog attack, the camera, and the fact that at any moment another Broken might appear at their doorstep, eager to devour them. Link's dad nodded as if he understood. At least, it was clear that he wanted to understand.

"So what you're telling me," he said, "is that a polar bear escaped from the zoo, broke through the living room door, then tried to eat you and your friends? But our elderly neighbor, Mrs. Devereaux, saw Celia's rolling pin fly out of the kitchen window. So she called the police. And that was when Officer Dansby came into our house and rescued you all by shooting the bear before it broke down the door to your bedroom?"

Dansby beamed with pride at the retelling of his courageous act of heroism.

"Meanwhile, another neighbor, who also happens to be your grandmother," Mr. Hartkins said, pointing at Tom, "somehow sensed that there was danger and came to help. But now she is missing. Oh, and at some point that poor Pooch fellow was bitten. When did that happen again?"

"Panch, Dad."

"No. No, thank you I don't need any punch. You might want to ask our guests here, though. After such a harrowing experience, they're bound to be thirsty."

"No, Dad. My friend's name is Panch."

"I see. All the same, would anyone like a spot of tea? Juice? Some milk perhaps?"

Officer Dansby shook his head. "No, thank you. But I do need to ask you a few questions. Did you know anything about the bear, sir? What I mean is, to your knowledge, had there been any bear sightings in the area?"

"You mean in Pleasant Meadows?" Mr. Hartkins scratched his head. "To be completely honest, I didn't even know we had a zoo. How did nobody see this thing coming? Did anyone report it missing?"

"Not that I am aware of. You said that you were working with clients all day, and you are..." Dansby thumbed through his notes, "a realtor. Is that correct?"

"Yes, but I don't see how that―"

"Just answer the questions, sir."

"Yes. I am a realtor." Clearly struggling to process everything, Mr. Hartkins turned to Link and gave him a thumbs-up. "Great news about the Briddick house, though. Good thing, too. Looks like we'll need a bit of extra cash to replace a few things around here. I wonder if our home owner's policy covers us in case of a polar bear attack."

"Sir, I need you to focus." Officer Dansby was losing what little patience he had left. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Terribly sorry, Officer. Won't happen again."

Dansby seemed to sense that talking with Mr. Hartkins would get him nowhere. Instead of wasting any more time, he handed everyone a card. Though he faced Mr. Hartkins for his final speech, it felt as though he were talking to Celia. "Please call this number if you think of anything you haven't already told me. Doesn't matter the time. There's voice mail."

"What about my grandmother?" Tom asked, unable to mask the concern in his voice. "Don't you need more of a description or something?"

"Actually, you've given me all the information I need. A squad car is already patrolling the area. If she's in the neighborhood, we'll find her."

Then with a surprising display of tenderness, he said, "Don't worry, son. She'll turn up. She'll be home safe and sound before you know it. Probably just a little disoriented. As a trained professional, I am ready to handle this sort of thing, but it can really affect the untrained. What am I saying? You've already seen me at work. You know how good I am, so don't you worry. We'll have your grandmum at home sipping tea again before you know it."
43

Raythuse

Later the same evening, Link, Ayden, Celia and Mr. Hartkins huddled together in the mashed-up remains of the kitchen. Celia and Ayden found two stools that were still intact. The rest stood around the island.

Mr. Hartkins handed Celia a plate with two slices of pepperoni pizza. "Celia, I've phoned your parents, but there's no answer. Any idea where they might be? Is there another number where I can reach them? It's getting kind of late," he said as he peered past the silver strips of duct tape he had used to patch up the kitchen window.

"You're welcome to stay, of course, but won't they be worried? I'd hate for them to find out about the attack from the evening news. In a small town like this, a home invasion by a polar bear has got to be newsworthy."

Celia held a cool glass of lemonade in one hand and her pink cell phone in the other. "I'm not worried," she said as she pocketed the phone. "My mom knows where she can find me. As for my dad, he's out of town on business. I have no idea where." She reached for a packet of cheese and sprinkled it on top of her pizza. "I'm sure he told me, but he's gone every week. Always someplace new. I haven't paid attention in, like, forever."

"But what if your mother doesn't have our number? Will she be upset if she comes home to find you missing?" Mr. Hartkins asked.

"You honestly think my mom doesn't have your number? You have met her, right?" She took a bite of pizza.

"True." He nodded, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "You're probably right. I just don't want her to worry."

"She won't. Anyway, I left a message on her cell phone ages ago. She'll get it when she checks her missed calls. Her phone is always off when she's on the course. Says it has to do with golf etiquette or something. Don't know, don't care." Celia took a bite of pizza. "She thinks it's fine to whip out a phone and gossip with a friend while driving eighty miles per hour in a three-thousand pound piece of machinery, but heaven forbid somebody interrupt her backswing." Celia rolled her eyes. "What about you, Mr. Hartkins? Do you like golf? Personally, I think it's a lame sport for people who can't run fast enough to play anything else."

Link's dad looked uncertain about when to respond. Every time Celia paused, she would start talking again before he had the chance to say anything. Link found it amusing to watch somebody else deal with her for a change. He listened to Celia chattering away as if nothing had happened. She certainly was amazing.

Tom, on the other hand, hadn't said a word since Dansby's departure. He sat stoically on the living room couch and stewed. Occasionally, he took a sip of tea from his over-sized coffee mug. But mainly he just stared at the smashed remains of the television, a faraway look in his eyes.

Link found it hard to care what Tom was thinking. He'd been a jerk since the moment he had arrived. Still, to be fair, no matter how Link traced the series of events back to the beginning, he found only himself to blame. If he hadn't moved here...if he hadn't found the camera...if Tom had been the Chosen and not him...if he hadn't pissed off Fade...none of this might have happened.

Link gritted his teeth and sat down next to Tom on the couch, debating what to say. What do you tell a guy who has just lost his grandmother? After a while he gave up trying to find something relevant. "Anything good on?"

"Funny," Tom said and took another sip of his tea.

Link noticed for the first time how dirty Tom was. His jeans were badly ripped, his shoes were scuffed, and his shirt had a large, greasy stain on the side. Was that dried blood on his arm?

"Feel free to use the washroom, Tom. There are some fresh towels in the linen closet next to the towel rack."

"What's the point?"

Finally Tom was speaking a language Link understood − depression. After months of practice, sitting in almost the same place as Tom, Link knew exactly what to do: change the subject. "Who is Max?"

"They won't stop, you know. And they can be anything, anywhere. How do you fight that? You can't. That's how."

It was quickly apparent to Link that cheering people up wasn't one of his not-so-superpowers. And even though Link hated to admit it, Tom was right. They were all doomed. It was only a matter of time. Soon he too found himself staring at the fractured glass of the TV screen. Tom had been right about this as well. For some reason it was oddly comforting.

Then, without warning, Tom's melancholy shifted, and he flew into a rage. "If you weren't such a klutz, maybe we'd still have the camera. None of this would have happened if it weren't for you!"

"Knock it off, Watcher," Celia interrupted as she walked into the room. "It's not Link's fault. I'm sorry about your grandmother, but you're being a ninny. If you have to find someone to blame, blame Raythuse." She sat on the chair and placed her drink on the floor beside her. "Do you have any coasters, Link?"

Link looked around at what remained of the living room. "I don't think a tiny water stain would really matter at this point. Besides...Tom is right. What if Raythuse comes back? Maybe you should go to the neighbor's until you have somewhere else to stay."

Unfazed, Celia said, "Why do you assume Raythuse is a guy? Doesn't it depend on the body it chooses? I mean, say it picked a woman's body, should we rename it Rayetta, or Raye-Raye? Or is Raythuse the name no matter what? I guess one name would make more sense. If Raythuse kept changing bodies, it would be pretty confusing to change names as well."

"What am I talking about? Celia threw up her arms playfully. "Raythuse has to be a guy. Polar bear, mangy mutt, those aren't chic outer garments in any modern culture. So last century. Any self-respecting girl-Skia would know that. Assuming Raythuse was in charge of wardrobe, I think it's safe to assume he isn't a woman. Maybe if the monsters had attacked us in a nice leopard print, then maybe―"

"Do you ever shut up?" Tom sounded mad, but even he was unable to maintain a straight face as he listened to Celia prattle on. He leaned back and tried to hide his smile. It wasn't easy to stay mad at Celia for long, even for Tom.

Celia did the same thing she always did when someone was being mean she ignored them and kept on talking. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of silence whenever I choose to be quiet, just as I am perfectly capable of wearing shades of neon yellow. The fact that the good Lord blessed me with enough sense to avoid such things doesn't mean I'm not capable."

"You? Capable of silence?" Tom queried.

For the time being, the mood in the room relaxed. The future was bleak, and a part of Link still worried about what had become of Mrs. Kidacki and whether or not Panch would pull through. And yet, as he listened to the spirited banter between his two friends, he realized something. Something that, should he live long enough for it to matter, he would try his best to remember the next time despair threatened to swallow him whole. Isolation and anger, even if they were justifiable, did not contain an ounce of the healing offered by laughter and friendship. Maybe he wasn't the Chosen because of anything special he possessed within himself. Maybe the reason Link was a Chosen was because of the collective abilities of the people around him, the people he cared about.

Link felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down to find his baby brother.

"Where Daddy?" Ayden said.

"I thought he was in the kitchen with you."

What was up with people lately? Didn't anyone know it was rude to leave a room without saying something? Link was uncertain whether such behavior truly constituted a breach of etiquette, but after the events of today, he figured it should.

Interrupting a heated discussion about the gender bias of mythology between Tom and Celia, Link said, "Excuse me, guys. I'll be back. I need to talk with my dad for a minute."

Both Celia and Tom nodded curtly and continued their argument.

After finding nothing on the main floor, the two brothers headed upstairs. When they reached the top staircase, Link heard the faint murmur of their father's voice but could not hear anyone's response. Link assumed he must be talking on the phone.

He quietly pushed open the door to his father's room so as not to disturb his father's conversation. To his surprise, his father was not on the phone as he had expected. Instead, he was kneeling on the soft carpet next to his bed. His forehead rested on a checkered coverlet. His eyes were clinched shut, and he was speaking downward as if he were addressing a bug on the floor.

"Please, Lord. Don't take my sons from me. I'll do anything you ask of me. Just keep them safe. Please. Don't make them endure what their mother went through. Take me instead. I'll do anything you want. Anything."

Link took a step back, trying not to make any noise. This was definitely not a conversation he wanted to be a part of. All he had to do was close the door without his father noticing, and he could pretend that he'd never heard a thing.

He took another step but before he could reach the door knob, Ayden released his hand, ran over to their father, and draped himself around his father's shoulders like a shawl.

"Don't," Link hissed as he tried to catch him. But it was too late.

His father looked up, surprised. "How long have you two been listening?" There was no trace of accusation in his voice, only concern.

"Long enough," Link shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "You know more about what's going on than you're telling us, don't you?"

Link's father rose to his feet and lifted Ayden onto the bed. Then he sat down beside him and patted the empty space on his other side. "Come here, son. We need to talk."

Link did what his father said then waited silently for him to speak. A faint breeze wisped down from the ceiling fan overhead and caused him to shiver.

His dad seemed to notice and draped a thin throw blanket around Link's shoulders. "When your mother became ill, when she was suffering from whatever it was that afflicted her... Do you remember her crazy hallucinations? She kept insisting that dark shapes were chasing her. She couldn't sleep. Then, in the later stages, she had trouble eating and got really thin. Do you remember all that?"

Link nodded his head but did not look at his father. Instead he focused on an oil painting of an old farmhouse that hung over the bedroom dresser. He tried to will himself into the painting. It looked peaceful and dreamlike...if only. Despite his attempts to transport himself away from the present, Link's heart sank deeper and deeper inside his aching chest as his father talked.

"I took her to doctors," his dad continued, "but they couldn't find anything wrong with her. Aside from being a bit malnourished and sleep deprived, she acted lucid enough. At my insistence, the doctors ran all sorts of tests, and each of them came back normal. Physically speaking, she appeared to be a healthy, middle-aged woman. I asked that the doctors give her a drug test. Your mother was furious. I'm not sure what hurt her more, the fact that I didn't believe she was seeing those crazy things or my concern that she was capable of doing drugs."

Link didn't like where this was heading. He wasn't ready to face the possibility that the rumors about his mother had been true. "It's okay, Dad. I don't need to know all of this. I―"

"Until today, I didn't think so either, Lincoln. That was why we never talked about it. Your mother loved you and your brother more than the air she breathed, more than her beloved sunsets and all those silly houses. She loved you so much that she sheltered you from the torment and suffering she endured. She pretended everything was okay for your sakes. But it wasn't. We know that now."

"Dad, I really don't want to know about this stuff." Link got up to leave, but his dad continued.

"When the tox screens came back negative for drugs, I figured maybe she was crazy after all. That is, until today when I found a dead polar bear in my kitchen. I had thought maybe her paranoia was some sort of delusional fantasy brought on by schizophrenia. Her great-grandmother was diagnosed with schizophrenia, you know. So it made sense that your mom might have had it as well. All her talk about being watched by shadows...shadows that had faces of their own. And the eyes...she always talked about how scary the eyes were. Naturally, she had to be nuts. Shadows don't chase you. They just don't. And they certainly don't have eyes."

Link wished with all his heart that he could pull his ears away from this discussion. He wanted to run, to leave everything far behind, but deep down, he knew better. He knew this was not something he could ever outpace, no matter how fast he ran.

"One day your mom got better. Said she'd found a way to destroy the shadows once and for all. It was a miracle. I didn't understand it, but what difference did that make? All I knew was that the woman I loved was back in my arms again. Then, two days later, she was gone, killed in the fire."

He paused as he struggled to push through the last part. He lifted Ayden onto his lap. "I turned the house upside down in search of something, anything that provided a clue as to what had happened. The only thing I found was a name scribbled into one of her journals." He reached out a hand. "Could you hand the journal to me please, Lincoln?"

Link tried to act surprised by his father's implication. "What journal?" He knew he should never have taken one of his mother's journals without his father's permission, but it hadn't really been his fault.

Mr. Hartkins smiled. "It's okay. Frankly, I'm shocked it took you this long. I didn't exactly hide them. I figured you'd read them when you needed to...when you missed her enough not to care what you found."

Link looked down to where his father was pointing and saw the top of his mother's journal poking out of his pocket. "I saw it earlier, but I didn't want to say anything in front of your friends. Could you hand it to me please? I want to show you something."

Link handed the journal to his father without protest.

Mr. Hartkins took the old diary and began leafing through its pages. He stopped when he reached a page about three-fourths of the way through. Apparently finding what he was looking for, he ran his index finger down the inside of the spine to flatten the page. Then he handed it to Link.

Link stared at the words in disbelief. It wasn't possible. He stared at the page in wonder, in horror, and in shame. Secretly, he had always harbored suspicions that his mom was nuts, though he never would have admitted those suspicions to anybody. Now he knew that he'd been wrong.

The page was blank except for a few scribbled words and a series of numbers scrawled across the center of it. It read: Raythuse is coming, Harrington Complex 1317.

"How could Mom have known about Raythuse?" Link murmured. And that number...he recognized it immediately as the one given to him in the mysterious message that Jim Jim had sent to him. Was it a coincidence? Not likely. But how were they all connected? Suddenly, Jim Jim's warning about the dangerous shadows really made sense.

Mr. Hartkins shook his head thoughtfully as he rubbed his chin. "I have no idea, Lincoln. I don't know who or what he is. Lord knows I've tried to find out. When I first discovered this, I searched through books, newspapers, the web − you name it. At first, I wondered if she was having an affair, but that was just my paranoia talking. I finally shrugged it off as unimportant. I haven't ever heard the name again. That is...until tonight. Your friend Celia said it when she was talking to Tom. I did find out what the Harrington Complex is, though. As far as I can tell, it's some privately owned medical research facility in Baselton.

"Now it's your turn. What's going on? And I mean what's really going on, Lincoln, not some story you create to keep your old man in the dark. I want the truth
44

The Gift of a Neighbor

Link peered through the front door to the porch beyond. Eerily reminiscent of the scene earlier in the day, when people from a wide range of city departments had filed into the house, a small group of women now waited outside.

This time, however, the woman in front was pressing the bell instead of barging in. She was a tall, slender woman with big hair and even bigger hoop earrings. She was so engrossed in the conversation with her friends that she paid no attention to whether or not someone answered the door.

If these women were Broken, they sure didn't look like it. Link felt fairly safe allowing them in. What could they possibly do, attack him with hairspray? He opened the door and the small cluster of women welcomed themselves inside. Every one of them handed Link a jacket or a shawl, though none of them acknowledged that he was anything more than a coat rack.

Who did these women think they were? Right as he was about to give them a piece of his mind, the one who had been pressing the doorbell called out in a high-pitched shrill voice of simulated delight. "Cici! Oh, my precious, Cici! Let me get a good look at you." Even as she hugged Celia, she never once stopped talking.

"What happened? I mean, I know a big, icky bear attacked you, but whatever did you do? How did you get away? Good heavens! I simply can't imagine what it must have been like!" Still talking, she apparently caught sight of her own reflection in the hallway mirror. She primped her hair a few times and lifted her face to check her makeup. "Will you ladies just look at my darling Cici? She's so brave."

She backed up a few steps to make a show of admiring her. Then she placed a hand on her shoulder and clucked like a proud mother hen. "I knew you were a brave girl." She glanced over her shoulder at the group. "She is a Simpkowitz after all, but mercy! A bear? Your father will be so proud when he finds out. So proud."

The woman, who Link guessed had to be Celia's mother, scrunched Celia's cheeks between her thumb and forefinger, causing Celia's lips to pucker. "So proud, yes, he will. He'll just be―"

"Mrs. Simpkowitz," Mr. Hartkins interrupted. "Mrs. Simpkowitz?" he said again, still trying to pry her manic focus away from Celia.

Spinning around dramatically, Mrs. Simpkowitz said, "Good heavens, darling. Don't call me that. It makes me sound so old. Mrs. Simpkowitz is my mother-in-law. Joseph, you silly gentleman, you. I told you the last time we met that my name is Yvonne. But all my friends call me Star. They seem to think it suits me better. Can you blame them?" She looked back at the small group of women who all nodded their heads in vigorous agreement.

"I apologize," Mr. Hartkins said.

"Apology accepted."

"Star?"

"There you are, love. Well met. Doesn't that sound much better? Star." She paused for effect. "Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Taking it all in stride, Mr. Hartkins said, "Yes, quite smoothly. Very good. At any rate, who are all these women?"

"Egad, sweetie! I thought you'd remember. Silly me, always assuming things. Let me reacquaint you with some of the most important members of the neighborhood council." As Star pointed to each person, she said their names. "This is Sissy. This is Missy. This is Mitzy. Over there, that's Betsy and her sister Sarah. The one with that gorgeous new Wembley Batton purse is Jenny, and, as you already know, I am Star."

Celia nudged Link in the gut with her elbow and whispered. "Remember the NGP I told you about?" She waved her arm in front of her. "You're looking at them."

Mrs. Simpkowitz continued her monologue, oblivious to the fact that Celia had said something. "Wonderful!" Star exclaimed. "So glad all of you could make it tonight. Especially you, Mitzy Devereaux. Thank you so much for keeping a watchful eye over this house today." Star paused dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "Who knows what might have happened if those trusty binoculars of yours had been broken?"

Mrs. Devereaux flushed at the mention of her name.

Mr. Hartkins searched for an opening to speak but was clearly having a great deal of difficulty. Link quietly laughed. He knew all too well the frustration his father must be feeling. Like mother, like daughter.

When his father had waited long enough, he interrupted, "Ladies! Excuse me, ladies." It took some time, but the talking eventually died down. Some of the women appeared rather surprised to find a man in their midst. "Ladies. Thank you for your attention. I was wondering if I may I be so bold as to inquire about the nature of such an unexpected pleasure as your company?"

Star pretended to blush. Her sentiment may have been real, but it was hard to tell beneath all her makeup. "Such a charmer, isn't he? Why certainly you may inquire, Joseph. This is your house, isn't it? Let me explain. We are here on behalf of the neighborhood to address the recent bear epidemic. What better way to rid our town of unwanted polar bears than to promptly form a committee to address the issue? Right, ladies?"

All the other ladies eagerly murmured their agreement.

"After all," she persisted, "I'm sure you know what they say about bears?"

Puzzled, Mr. Hartkins responded, "No. Until today, I don't believe I've ever heard anything said about bears. Oh, wait. I did hear once that if a grizzly bear attacks you, the best thing to do is play dead. But seeing as it was a polar bear, I'm not sure that would apply in this case. So, please, enlighten me."

Star was taken aback. Apparently, she was unused to people who did nod along to everything she said. "Well, it's not really what they say that matters. It's what they mean."

"Well then, what do they mean?" Mr. Hartkins asked.

"What they mean is that we have a problem here that needs to be addressed. Wouldn't you agree? Bears breaking into houses? I'm sure I speak for everyone when I call this a very serious problem."

"Serious," the ladies chorused.

There was a loud crash as the front door slammed shut. They all turned to see Susan Greta nudging her way through the knot of women like a salmon swimming upstream. "Don't listen to a word they say, Joseph. They're all nuttier than a pecan pie." She glared at the women, defying them to disagree.

"Nobody asked you," Star quickly responded.

Mrs. Greta ignored her and knelt down beside Ayden. "Are you okay, dear?" she cooed. She gingerly cupped his chin in the palm of her hand. Then she raised his head so that she could look into his soulful eyes. "I heard about what happened. I came over as soon as I could."

Ayden beamed, happy to finally have a bit of attention.

"Always the sweetie, aren't you?" She tousled his hair. "How about you guys?" she said, speaking to Link, Celia, and Tom. I heard what happened to Panch, poor thing. And, Tom, I heard about your dear nana. Don't you worry. Your grandmother is tough as nails. If anybody was fool enough to tango with her, it's them we should worry about."

Link, Celia and Tom all smiled politely despite the sudden climate change in the room. There had been an undeniable temperature shift the moment Mrs. Greta entered the room. The other ladies were clearly not happy about her unannounced arrival. The women's scornful stares spoke much louder than their plastic smiles. Link wondered why anyone would dislike Mrs. Greta. What was there to dislike?

Star was the first to break in, "Susan. So kind of you to join us. You shouldn't be such a stranger to our little meetings. Though, I imagine it would be hard for someone like you not to be strange. Sort of like asking a fish to no longer swim." A few of the ladies giggled. "But honestly, I know we've had our differences in the past. That doesn't mean we couldn't have a sunny future. It's just―"

"Can it, pretzel top, or Star, or whatever your harem of nincompoops is calling you these days. Don't act for a second like I don't know what you Judases think of me. So let me assure you, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. But I wasn't about to let a personal squabble be more important than my friendship with my new neighbors. Maybe you guys should form a committee to investigate that word sometime. You know...friend. You might be surprised at what you find."

She turned her back on the women, completely ignoring their open-mouthed indignation.

For the first time that evening, Star was speechless. In fact, she was in such a huff, Link was surprised she hadn't hyperventilated.

Mrs. Greta removed a small bag from her purse. She looked deep into Link's eyes. "I know what you are," she whispered. Then she winked at him playfully. "Kaylee saved this for me. I believe your brother is going to need it." She handed him the bag. "To tell you the truth, I always sort of suspected it would be you."

Then she grew serious. Deep lines spidered their way onto her face, like cracks meandering through a broken windshield. Pointing to the bag, she said, "Lincoln, keep this hidden. You mustn't use it unless you have to. Think of it as the very last stop in the last room of your last resort. Use it at any other time, and...well, we won't let ourselves think about that. But mark my words: sometimes there are things far worse than death. Keep that in mind when you choose your moment. I have faith in you."

"But−" Link began.

"You'll know it when it comes. You'll feel it deep inside," Mrs. Greta interrupted.

"How?"

Her smile faded. "Because you'll be the only one left."

Link opened his mouth. His head was full of questions. Did she know that he was a Chosen? What had she meant about him being the only one left? Where would all his friends be? "But, I...what..."

She quickly held her index finger to her lips and shushed him. "Now is not the time. Look through the lens if you want the truth. Then look to your friends for the proof, but never let the lights go out before dawn, or that will be the end of you."

"Susan? I don't mean to break up this lovely reunion, touching as it is, but can you get on with it? We do have incredibly pressing neighborhood concerns. Surely, even you must be aware of the magnitude of the events that transpired earlier today. Or are you still too wrapped up in your little bubble of make believe bunny rabbits? I suppose it's nice to know that some things never cha―"

Mrs. Greta spun around on Star as fast as a viper strike. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. The venom in her stare, the loathing and contempt she released from every fiber of her body was enough.

Then, Susan Greta's face changed once again. It reverted to her more familiar, motherly gaze. She smiled a deep, heartfelt smile and shook her head as she looked down at Ayden. For a brief moment, her eyes grew misty with emotion. She appeared to be on the verge of tears. "This one's special," she said, all of her attention focused on Ayden. "Celia, please take care of him. In the end, I believe his safety will fall to you."

"What about me?" Link said, flustered by the fact he was not to be his brother's protector.

"Dear boy, the fate of the world lies with you. Isn't that enough?"

"But..." Carefully holding the bag, Link said, "How did you―"

"Another time. Soon, I hope. We'll all sit down with a fresh loaf of pumpkin bread and have a long talk."

Then, with a deep breath, she cleansed her face of kindness and swung back to confront the women of the NGP. "Good night, ladies," she said. As she strode past them, she didn't even glance in their direction until she reached the front door. But before she stepped back into the night's charcoal clutches, she turned briefly and said, "Trust me. I use the word ladies in the loosest sense possible."

Tom looked at the bag and whispered, "Is that what I think it is?"

Link only nodded. Once again, the camera had found him.
45

All Packed

Early Sunday morning Link surveyed the wreckage that had once been the living room. He marveled at the extent of the damage. Splintered wood, chunks of drywall, and loose bits of molding with nails that poked through the edges were the least of their problems. All the debris could be swept up and thrown away, but it was the structural damage to the walls that worried him. Would he ever be able to get into his bedroom again? He'd seen how long renovations could take.

Thank heavens there had only been two Broken. Any more might have taken down the whole house. Then again, Mrs. Kidacki had said that it was only a matter of time until more would return. Just the thought of it made his leg begin to bounce with nervous anticipation.

He took some solace in the fact that Tom was resting peacefully on the living room couch. If he wasn't worried, maybe Link was overreacting as well.

"Can you believe those women last night?" Link said, hoping to divert his mind with small talk. "For a minute, I thought the good citizens of the NGP looked angrier about Mrs. Greta's intrusion than they did about the polar bear."

"Probably were," Tom said, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Did she do something to them?"

"Ask Celia."

"Speaking of Celia, did you listen to her mom?" Link said, ignoring Tom's obvious disinterest. "I bet that's why Celia talks so fast. If she didn't, nobody would ever hear her. Two women like that under one roof? No surprise her dad attends so many out-of-town conventions. Probably the only way he gets time to hear himself think."

"What do you want, Link? I'm trying to rest." Tom rolled over onto his side so that his back now faced Link.

The doorbell rang.

Tom never moved. For someone who was supposedly concerned about the end of the world, he was awfully relaxed.

Link stepped over a small pile of nails that he had pulled from the door frame earlier that morning and hurried to the front door, making certain it wasn't another polar bear returning from the grave. He knew it was a stupid precaution. After all, why would a polar bear take the time to ring the bell? The last one certainly hadn't.

The first thing he saw was one of Celia's pigtails. It bobbed up and down as she waited on the front porch, unable to stand still even for that long. Link swung open the door and said, "Welcome back, Celia. And might I say, you are in for a rare treat. Today, I have invited a lioness to visit us for lunch. She should be here shortly. Said something about needing to pick up a few friends first."

"Not funny," Celia said. Her face was unusually grim. For one of the first times he could remember, Celia did not appear to be in the mood for jokes. "If anything else plans on attacking us, it better be small, furry, and adorable. No ravenous dogs, no polar bears, and nothing else big and scary. I want to be able to stop it with an angry stare, not ten rounds to the back of the head."

As Link ushered her inside, he pointed out a few piles she should avoid along the way. "So, I take it you had a good chat with your mother last night after you left?"

Celia tensed. "That woman is impossible! She never shuts up. And I mean never. Can you imagine what that's like? Do you have any idea? Do you? Do you?"

Link wasn't sure if he should answer.

"Just picture yourself listening to that irritating voice for two hours straight and imagine what sort of mood you'd be in." Celia rested her bag by the hall table. Then she said, "I swear, the only time that woman ever thinks of anybody other than herself is when she's thinking of ways to criticize them. Why can't she listen to someone else for once? Would that be too hard?"

When there was a pause, Link said, "Good thing we didn't tell her about the dog." Link giggled inwardly as he watched Celia fume. It was nice to see Celia angry for once. Link had been starting to wonder if it was even possible to make her mad.

"First off, the dog thing wouldn't have mattered. She never would've believed us." Celia waved her arms like she was conducting her own symphony of frustration. "I probably would have been grounded for lying. Are you going to ask if I would like a drink, or what?"

"Oh, sorry." Link double-checked the front door to make sure it was bolted. Then he hurried to the sink and said, "Can I get you a drink?"

"No. And another thing... She acted like the polar bear was just more gossip, like I was some oddity for a freaking grown up show and tell. I could've died." Celia suddenly folded her arms and sniffed the air. "What's with the candles? Is it some sort of religious thing?"

"Not that I know of," Link said. "It's just lemon basil scent. It's not the best, but it's a whole lot better than burning hair and spoiled meat."

"Do they make that in a scented candle?" Celia grinned.

"Sure do. Go smell my room."

"Why, Link, I hardly think that would be appropriate given the circumstances. Do you?" She smiled at Link's discomfort and playfully rested her hand on his. It was only for a second, but Link felt an undeniable jolt of warm tingles where her fingertips had touched his skin and experienced a sudden shortness of breath.

Regaining his composure, Link said, "So you're telling me your mom could believe you'd been attacked by a polar bear in my kitchen, but she wouldn't have believed the part about the dog or Raythuse?"

"Did you actually watch the news last night?" Celia asked.

"No. Dad doesn't believe in it."

"He doesn't believe in the news?"

"He usually believes the news. He just doesn't believe in listening to it. He says it focuses too much on the negative. I guess it messes with his positive mojo or something. Why? What did I miss?"

"Nothing. They didn't even show the bear. The whole thing was basically an interview with the hero of the hour, Officer Dansby."

"Hero?"

"He did save us, Link. If it weren't for him, we would have been bear kabobs."

"Yeah, but hero? Did they float any ideas about why the bear was dead and still walking?"

Celia hopped onto the kitchen counter. "No way. Even if they wanted to, they couldn't. Nobody in their right mind would believe a dead polar bear came back to life and broke into someone's kitchen. If, for even a second, people thought such a thing was possible, there would be mass hysteria. We're talking complete pandemonium, Dawn of the Dead-style freak out. People would be lining the streets with everything they could carry in a hurry to leave town. The freeways would be backed up for miles with traffic, and riots would break out all over the city. Have you never seen a zombie movie? Hello."

"You watch zombie movies?" Link was stunned.

"Why wouldn't I? Because I'm a girl? Is that it? Don't get me started, Link. I'm not in the mood for your narrow-minded male chauvinism." She swiped her finger across the countertop and examined it. "Ever thought about dusting?"

"Dust?" Link still couldn't believe that she liked zombie movies. Didn't people who liked zombie movies wear all black? Celia never wore black if she could help it. Link watched her lips move as she continued to talk. Had they always been so soft?

"Earth to Link. You're doing it again," Celia said.

"Doing what?"

"You're staring at me, but you're not saying anything. It's kind of stalkerish." She opened a cabinet and retrieved a glass. "I can give you a school picture if it would help. Does your ice maker still work?"

Suddenly aware that her lips were not just moving, they were talking to him, he snapped into the present and tried his best to play it off. "I was just thinking about something."

"Obviously. Mind sharing?"

"Panch," he lied. "I was just thinking about Panch and our plan to rescue him. That's all."

Celia eyed him suspiciously. "You're acting kind of weird today. And given your usual behavior, that's saying something. You sure you're all right? Is your head still bothering you?"

"I'm fine. Just a little cross-eyed from a lack of sleep." Link walked over to the refrigerator and punched the ice dispenser just long enough for a single cube to fall into his hand. "Still works. Did I tell you that Panch's parents called us last night?"

"And..."

"And his condition hasn't improved any. He's been unconscious ever since he woke up and talked to Dansby. The hospital wasn't sure what to do for him, so they decided to airlift him to the Harrington Complex over in Baselton."

"What's wrong with the hospital here? I'm sure you probably told me this morning, but by the time you called, I had already begun tuning things out. It's a bad habit I know, but you heard my mom last night. Can you blame me?"

"You'll have to ask Dad. He was the one who talked to them. It had something to do with poisons. The zoo officials panicked when they figured out that the dead polar bear had broken out of their lab. Talk about a PR nightmare. The only explanation the zoo officials have offered is that some sort of heavy sedative must have made the bear appear to be dead."

"Let me guess," Celia said, growing more agitated by the second. "They think some of the poison in the bear's body might have entered Panch's bloodstream when the bear bit him. That's logical, especially when you consider how toxic a polar bear is. Who are they kidding? Do you think we should tell them a dog bit him and not a bear?" She poured some milk and quickly downed it before pouring another glass.

Link shook his head. "It doesn't matter where they think the bite came from. You're right. The whole thing is ludicrous. But when you think about it, doesn't the truth sound even more insane? Before today, which story would you be more likely to believe? The alternative involves an evil soul that robs the dead of their dying flesh, so he can take over the realms of Apǒlǒgĕǒmai by securing powerful talismans that alter both time and space. Wouldn't you rather believe your son was sick because a polar bear bit him?"

"I guess we do sound nuttier than squirrel poop, don't we? It's kind of amazing your dad believes us." She jumped off the counter and peeked into the living room. "Is Ayden in here?"

"He's watching TV upstairs. Anyway," Link continued, with a dramatic pause, "the zoo is owned by an umbrella corporation based in Baselton. There is supposedly a cutting-edge medical facility there. It may be a long shot, but Panch's parents agreed with the doctors that it offered the best possibility of uncovering some answers."

"So why does your dad believe us?"

"Who knows? He just does." For some reason, Link still wasn't sure what to think of his mother's journal yet and until he was, he didn't want to tell Celia about it.

"There has got to be more to it than that, Link. What are you not telling me?"

"Ayden found this," he said with a sigh. He held up his phone.

"He found your phone?"

"No. Look at this." Link turned it around to show a picture he'd taken with the phone's camera. It was a snapshot of his mother's journal entry.

"Raythuse is coming, Harrington Complex 1317? I don't understand. Where did you get this? Was it from one of those e-mails that you showed me?"

Knowing Celia wasn't going to let this one go, Link said, "It was an entry in my mother's journal. She made it shortly before the fire."

"I'm confused. How would she know about both Raythuse and the Harrington Complex? And what do those numbers mean?"

"There's more." Link exited the camera and touched the internet icon. Then he pressed the link to Facebook and searched for the message he'd received from Jim Jim.

Celia looked at him in shock. "That's the same number. Who is Jim Jim?"

"I'm not sure, and I still don't know the significance of the number," Link confessed. "But that can't be a coincidence." He exited the message, touched the screen a few times, and handed the phone to Celia. "Early this morning, I got another message from Jim Jim. Read it."

"Lincoln, you must attack Raythuse at the Harrington Complex!" Celia read out loud. "It is your only chance. The Revelare has confirmed the Ennustaja's vision. You must act now, before it is too late! Use the camera." She scrolled further down the page, but she had reached the end of the message, so she returned the phone to Link.

"Before you ask, I did a lot of Googling. Turns out, we aren't the only ones who know about the Broken and Skia. Rumor has it that a secret organization, going by the name Ordeum, has been battling these things since way back in history. There aren't many references to the Ennustaja, but from what I can tell, they are similar to a prophet. Only, instead of delivering the message they see, they speak through somebody known as a Revelare."

"How is it more people don't know about all this if you could just Google it?"

"There's a lot of information on the internet that nobody would give a second thought to. Besides, unless I was specifically looking for it, I could have spent my entire life surfing the web, and I never would have come across it."

"But even if this is true, are you telling me that we are going to attack Raythuse based on some crazy coincidences and a fortuneteller?"

"No. We are going to save our friend. Celia, if this whole thing really is crazy, there won't be any harm in going to visit him and doing what we can to make him better.. But if there is even the slightest chance that Raythuse is hiding in the same building as Panch, we need to do something. Panch could be in danger."

Celia grew very serious. "Rushing in to attack Raythuse seems awfully risky. Even if we assume our hunch is correct ─ that once the camera was mended Panch returned to Neverworld ─ wouldn't that also mean the Broken that had been trapped in the film would have returned to Neverworld as well? Even if by some miracle we trap Raythuse, wouldn't taking a picture of Panch release both the Skias as well?"

"I don't think so. I think it would only release the one that bit Panch. But at this point, I'm not sure of anything," Link confessed. "The real question is whether or not we have any other options. The way I see it, we can't risk not going."

"What if this is a trap? What if Raythuse is Jim Jim, and he is baiting you? Do Panch's parents even know we're coming? What if they won't let us in to see him?"

From the top of the stairs, Mr. Hartkins poked his head over the banister and called down, "Link, you all ready? I'd like to hit the road before 10:30. Celia! Glad you could make it. I didn't know you were already here. Go ahead and put any stuff you guys want to bring for the drive by the door. I'll put it in the car as soon as I get a chance."

"I'm all set, Dad. I packed Ayden's stuff as well."

"Great. I'll be down soon," Mr. Hartkins called. Then he disappeared back into his room.

"Ayden is coming? I can't believe your dad is okay with that."

"Actually, Dad thinks we are just going to visit Panch. I've filled him in about the Broken and all that has happened, but I left out the part about the message. He'd never agree to take us if he knew our plan, so make sure he doesn't find out. This needs to stay between us."

"What about Tom?"

Link nodded. "You can tell him, but that's it. Are you ready?"
46

Dead Moushe

Inside the constricted confines of the company car, Celia, Tom, Ayden, Mr. Hartkins, and Link simmered in the hot afternoon sun. The car's air conditioner had given out half an hour into the trip. Link and Celia had each tried to cool off by rolling down the windows, but this had offered little relief. The temperature outside the car was just as hot, if not hotter, as it was inside the car.

Link examined the map once again. The distances on the map hadn't changed since the last time, but he couldn't stop himself. If only they could somehow hit a time warp. He doubted such a thing was possible, but these days one never knew. Link squinted as the sign for Kimbersome Road came into view.

Perspiration beaded his forehead, and the skin under his legs began to stick to the vinyl seats, making a farting noise every time he moved. Link wondered if it could get any hotter. At least they were traveling northeast. It was bound to cool off eventually.

Suddenly, Link remembered the question he had meant to ask Celia earlier. He pivoted his body so that he could see her better. "Hey, Celia."

She looked up. Her haggard face revealed that she felt every bit as miserable as Link, but even the heat lacked sufficient power to erase her smile. "What's up? Besides the temperature I mean."

"Why does your mom hate Mrs. Greta so much?"

Celia cocked her head to the side and shifted her gaze. "Do you hear that?" she inquired.

"Why are you changing the topic?" Link asked.

"I'm not changing the topic. Well, I am...but listen." She held up her finger. "Do you hear a low humming noise? It sounds like buzzing."

Link listened. At first he thought Celia was being paranoid, or simply trying to avoid the question, but then he heard it, too. "Yeah. So? Probably just a car or something. So what's the deal between your mom and Mrs. Greta?"

Celia appeared unconvinced by Link's explanation of the noise. "I'm sure there's a lot more to the story than what I know." Celia kept her head tilted as if listening to both Link and the noise outside. "But from the snippets I overheard from Mother, it has to do with the death of Jeremy, Mrs. Greta's four-year-old son."

"Mrs. Greta had a son?" Link asked, a bit nonplussed by the new information. That would explain why she had all of those toy trains and why she seemed so partial to Ayden. But for some reason it was hard to picture her with any kids other than Kaylee.

"Mrs. Greta used to be the head of the NGP," Celia resumed, "long before my family lived here. In fact, she was the one who invited my mother to join. For a while they were good friends. All that ended after Jeremy died. Mrs. Greta claims that a bunch of rabbits attacked him in the backyard. She swears she saw the whole thing from her back window. By the time she reached him, Jeremy was already dead."

"Rabbits?" Link asked dubiously.

"Let's not forget we were attacked by a polar bear," Tom argued.

"Good point."

"Anyway," Celia resumed, "nobody actually believed her. Mrs. Greta started saying crazy things, insisting that our block was infested with demon spirits. In fact, I remember one time she actually called a neighborhood meeting about it. Meanwhile, the police were investigating her for the murder of her son.

"The story of her son's mysterious death was plastered all over the local papers for months. It was a horrible mess, and the NGP grew worried that the bad publicity would devastate home values in the neighborhood. So they voted Mrs. Greta out of the committee and elected my mother to replace her. The charges were dropped, but it didn't matter. By that time, everyone's mind had already been made up."

Mr. Hartkins, who appeared astonished by the information, said, "That's awful. And to think I allowed her to babysit Ayden. What kind of father am I? I allowed Ayden to be watched by an acquitted killer."

"Mr. Hartkins," Celia said, "she wasn't charged. Mrs. Greta didn't do anything wrong. She was no guiltier than you would have been if that polar bear had finished us off in your kitchen."

"Still," Mr. Hartkins said, "I really should do a background check from now on, just to be safe."

"So, if we assume that the demons she was talking about were the Broken, is that how she knew about the camera?" Link asked.

"Who knows? To be honest, before this week I was one of the people who thought she was crazy. No offense, Watcher, but I thought the same thing about Mrs. Kidacki. I had no idea she was your grandmother. As it turns out, I was wrong on both counts."

"I'm cold." Ayden broke in, voicing his displeasure with the current temperatures.

"Don't you mean hot?" Celia corrected.

"I'm cold," Ayden said, even more adamantly than before.

"You can't possi―"

"Give up now, Celia," Link said from the front seat. "We've tried to convince him that he has hot and cold mixed up for months now. Once Ayden gets something in his head, it's almost impossible to change his mind."

The car pulled up to a red light and eased to a stop. When the light turned green, Mr. Hartkins pressed the accelerator. The car lurched, and everyone was thrown forward against their seatbelts as the car hit something that felt like a speed bump.

"It's kind of like the whole mouse thing," Link said.

"The what?" Celia asked.

"Moushe!" Ayden called from the back.

"For the last time, Ayden, it's not a mouse. It's a squirrel. Squirrels are the ones with the big bushy tails. A mouse has a thin, fleshy tail. Squirrels like nuts. Mice like cheese. They're totally different. Can't you―"

"Moush wook mad!" Ayden interrupted. This time he pointed out his window at something to the rear of the car.

"A mouse can't look mad—" Celia began to explain.

Tom tugged on her shirtsleeve, and said, "Celia."

"A mouse is an animal," Celia said. "They don't―"

"Celia!" Tom raised his voice louder, finally gaining her full attention.

"What is it?" she asked, displeased to have her explanation interrupted.

Tom pointed in the same direction as Ayden. Behind the car were three squirrels. The tiny creatures were traveling at a break-neck speed, doing everything within their power to keep up.

"What the?"

Though Link was unable to see the squirrels from his vantage point, he could clearly see the panicked look on the face of his little brother. "Dad, I think you need to drive faster."

"Why would I go faster? The speed limit is only twenty-five." Mr. Hartkins looked in his rearview mirror and saw the squirrels in hot pursuit. "Surely those little fellas can't keep this pace up for long. They'll die of exhaustion long before they ever catch up to us."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Link said.

"What?"

"They're probably already dead," said Link.

"Oh."

"Mr. Hartkins, not to be rude," Celia said. "but I think you need to speed up a little. They look like they're gaining."

"That's impossible! They're squirrels."

"Moush!"

"Not now, Ayden. Don't worry, kids," Mr. Hartkins said. "They're just squirrels." Through the rearview mirror, Link's dad gave Ayden a look of warning and then continued. "Squirrels are loveable little creatures that gather nuts. Even if they are back from the dead, what could three of them possibly do to all of us? Besides, we'll be on the interstate soon. There's no way they can keep up there."

"Link, why don't you use the camera? Now's as good a time as any to see if it works," Tom said.

"I can't. You heard Mrs. Greta. She said I shouldn't use it unless there was absolutely no other option."

"Do you have another option in mind?" Tom asked hopefully.

"Not yet," Link admitted, "but Dad's right. They're just squirrels. How dangerous can they be?"

"They're not just squirrels. They're Broken squirrels," Celia corrected. "How else could they be running so fast? Look! They're definitely gaining on us."

Mr. Hartkins glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Well then, why don't we stop and ask them?"

"What?" Link, Celia, and Tom asked in unison.

Mr. Hartkins tipped the brim of his hat. "Don't worry kids. I know what I'm doing...I think. Somebody tell me when the squirrels are a few feet away from the car."

"But...Don't slow down. What are you doing?" Celia protested.

"Almost. Not yet... Now!" Tom yelled.

"Hold tight!" Mr. Hartkins said as he slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed in protest, and everyone lurched forward against the restraints. As they all were pulled back into their seats, there were three large thumps against the back of the car. After the second impact, a thin crack crept up the rear window. Tiny drops of blood splattered onto the window directly beneath the point where the crack began.

Mr. Hartkins turned to the kids and said, "Stay here." He calmly retrieved an aluminum bat from beneath his seat and swung open the car door. Sauntering out toward the fallen squirrels, he walked with a sort of steely-eyed determination that Link would not have expected from his father.

Mr. Hartkins neared the back of the car. He lifted his bat above his shoulder and prepared to swing should the necessity arise. Everyone in the car watched with breathless anticipation. Once he rounded the taillight, he lowered the bat to his side. Then he casually pivoted and returned to his seat. Before entering the car, he stopped. "I almost forgot. Hold on kids. I'll be right back." When he reached one of the squirrels, now mangled beyond recognition, he squatted down next to it and said, "How were you running so fast?"

He paused dramatically as if waiting for a response. When none came, Mr. Hartkins returned to his seat and shut the door. After stowing his bat, he inserted the key into the ignition and started the car. He threw it into gear and pressed down on the accelerator. Once the car was moving again, he turned to Celia and said, "For some reason, the squirrels didn't have much to say. But don't worry. If we come across another one, I'll make sure to ask it the same question."

The car full of kids looked at Link's dad with admiration. Link couldn't help but be impressed by his father's decisive action and felt a surge of pride.

From the back seat, Ayden broke the stunned silence. "Moush" he said defiantly, though much softer than before.

"No," Mr. Hartkins corrected. "Not anymore. I believe you mean dead moush."

Ayden smiled, pleased to have won the argument.
47

Someone Has to Go

"We need to stop here and refuel. We'll run out of gas if we try to make it to Salida," Mr. Hartkins announced to the weary group of travelers as he exited the interstate. It felt like they had been driving forever. Wiscoby, more a refueling station than an actual town, doubled in size the instant anyone stopped to refuel.

Mr. Hartkins drove the car around the lot a couple of times, patiently waiting for the customer at the last pump, the one closest to the street, to finish.

Nobody asked why he did this, but Mr. Hartkins spoke his mind anyway. "In case something goes wrong," he said, "I want to position the car for the fastest possible getaway. Not that I think anything will go wrong. It's just to be safe."

Link wasn't sure whom his father was trying to convince. His decisive action with the squirrels made him the natural selection for leadership of the group. Besides, he was an adult − an adult who had believed them after they had explained what had really happened with the dog and the polar bear. That kind of trust had to count for something.

Ordinarily, Link chafed under the leadership of others, but not this time. He was sick of making decisions. Constantly thinking for the group was exhausting, and he was thrilled at the prospect of no longer needing to do it.

"Mr. Hartkins?" Celia asked tentatively.

"Please, Celia, call me Joseph."

"Okay. Joseph? May I go to the bathroom?"

Mr. Hartkins thought about the request for a moment before responding, "All right, but we all stick together. And when I say stick together, I mean nobody strays farther than a couple of feet away. Nobody wanders off by themselves under any conditions. Understood?"

Everyone in the group nodded.

"I can't take my bat into the store or we'll look like we're trying to rob the place. So we need to take strength in our numbers. Does everyone still have the pepper spray I gave them?"

Everyone but Ayden, who was far too young for such things, removed the small spray canisters from their pockets and showed them to Mr. Hartkins. Link placed the camera strap around his shoulder and let the camera dangle limply by his side. According to Mrs. Greta, he was only supposed to use it as a last resort. And Jim Jim had implied that he'd need to use it against Raythuse. Link knew that using the camera before the right time could carry the additionally dangerous consequence of freeing a trapped Skia. But for all he knew, this convenience store would be the Hotel Dead End. Besides, he hadn't wanted to bring it up in front of his dad, but how much damage could pepper spray possibly inflict upon the walking dead? Assuming they even got close enough to use it.

Once they had all exited the car, Tom said, "Do you mind if I call Officer Dansby? I want to see if they have any news about Nana."

Mr. Hartkins scanned the parking lot for anything suspicious. After a few seconds, he turned back to Tom and said, "Fine, but make it quick."

Tom removed the card from his wallet. He punched in the first couple of digits but stopped half way through and pressed end. He said to Mr. Hartkins, "Would you mind if I stepped back inside the car for a bit of privacy?"

Link wondered why checking on his grandmother was something that he couldn't do with them around and noticed that his own misgivings about Tom's request were reflected in the distressed eyes of his father.

Mr. Hartkins glanced at Celia with an unspoken question in his eyes about whether or not she could wait. He had learned the hard way with Ayden that the window of time needed to make it to the bathroom was seldom as wide as he would have hoped.

Celia grimaced and rolled her eyes. "Fine, go. We'll wait outside. I can hold it. Just hurry, Watcher," Celia pleaded. "I knew I shouldn't have had so much lemonade before we left. I always do this to myself. It just tasted so good. I still say straws are evil. How's a person supposed to gauge how much they've had to drink when they can't even see what they're drinking?"

Tom responded with stifled hostility. "I told you not to call me Watcher anymore. My name is Tom." He slammed the door to the car, placed the phone to his ear, and turned his back on Celia and the rest of the group.

Celia bent in close to Link and whispered, "What's up with Watcher?"

Link had no idea. As far as he could tell, Tom was simply being Tom. Link had come to expect this sort of thing from him over the last few days. He shrugged and removed the car's gas cap. "Isn't he always like this?"

It was true that during the first few encounters in school, Tom had seemed nice enough. But ever since the Broken had attacked Panch, the only shift in Tom's mood had been from brooding to angry and back again.

"No," Celia said. "He never talks much, but something is wrong. I've felt it the whole way here. You don't feel it?"

There was definitely something about Tom that rubbed Link the wrong way. It made him feel uneasy. Maybe Tom just needed time to process everything. Link knew firsthand how disorienting the loss of a loved one could be. "I don't know," he said, filling the car with gas. He watched the pump as each number clicked over to the next. They moved so fast, yet it was taking forever to fill the tank. It was kind of like life. He looked at Ayden, who was holding Celia's hand, and smiled.

After a few minutes, Tom emerged from the car. His face was stoic. Link couldn't get a read on whether he had received good news or bad.

"Bad news?" Celia asked.

"No news is more like it," Tom replied.

"Haven't they found anything?" Mr. Hartkins asked.

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not talk about it," Tom said.

Link shook his head in disbelief, screwed on the gas cap, and hung the pump back in its slot. Then, in attempt to be more considerate, he said, "What sort of leads do they have? Did they find anything new at her house?"

"I told you I don't want to talk about it. Why's that so hard for you to understand? Do I need to use smaller words?" Tom snapped.

"Boys!" Celia chided. "Perhaps you forget why we are huddled around this car instead of sitting inside it." With a strained intensity, she said, "I have to use the restroom. I don't have time for arguments. Let's go, before I do...right here in this parking lot."
48

Is There a Good Way to Die?

Sammy's Pitstop was a dingy hole in the wall. The orange and puke green checkered linoleum floors were in desperate need of a mop. Link looked at the rows of disheveled goods. Had anyone ever bothered to organize this place?

The greasy man behind the counter occupied himself by watching a small, thirteen-inch, black and white TV that was propped on the counter next to the old, iron register.

Somehow he managed to ring up the customers without once removing his eyes from the screen. Link wasn't sure what was more amazing: the clerk's uncanny ability to multitask or his complete indifference to the customers.

Celia was about to walk into the ladies' room when Mr. Hartkins said, "Wait! You can't go in there alone."

"Well, you can't exactly all follow me in either," Celia replied.

A bit red-faced, Mr. Hartkins said, "I didn't mean that we should go in with you, but perhaps Ayden should have a quick peek around. Make sure the coast is clear."

"Oh, all right, but hurry," Celia said, starting to hop back and forth.

Mr. Hartkins swung open the door, and Ayden peered into the bathroom.

"Do you see anything?" Link asked.

"I see potty. I see sink. I see―"

"Ayden, that's not what I mean. Do you see any bad things? Do you see any moving dark?"

"No."

Without another word Celia ran into the bathroom. She gently pushed Ayden out of the bathroom and shut the door.

After a few seconds had passed, Mr. Hartkins knocked on the door and said, "You okay in there?"

Other customers looked over at Tom, Ayden, Link, and Mr. Hartkins, huddled in a tight ball around the entrance to the ladies' room, with a hint of concern. Link imagined what they must be thinking and was thankful he didn't see anyone he recognized. "Dad," he whispered. "Keep it down. She'll be fine."

Even the skuzzy man behind the register had lifted his eyes from the TV for the first time since they had entered the store. "Hey, you." The man called. "What do ya think you're doing? Hanging round the little girls' room? You some kind of weirdo? We don't serve weirdoes."

Link looked at the store's motley clientele. He couldn't say that he agreed with the clerk's last assertion. If the bald man who wore a pink winter coat and held six cans of cheese spray didn't count as weird, nobody did.

When Mr. Hartkins didn't reply, the clerk said, "Mister? You hearing me?"

In the same genteel manner Mr. Hartkins had utilized during the unannounced NGP meeting, he said, "She's got a bad case of the runs. I told her the burritos looked a bit funny. But heaven forbid you tell your teenage daughter what to do."

This seemed to placate the man. He mumbled something unintelligible then resumed watching his television. Link eyed everyone in the store with apprehension. Though he knew any one of these customers could potentially be a Broken, he wasn't sure he would have the necessary resolve to kill a person if it came to that. A dead polar bear and a homicidal mutt had been one thing, but killing a person? Even if it was only a Broken dressed up in a person's skin, could he try to kill someone in cold blood? There was a time shortly after his mother's death where he'd thought he could. But now that it was a real possibility, he wasn't so sure.

"Celia?" Mr. Hartkins called again.

From inside the bathroom, Celia called back, sounding a bit exasperated, "I'm coming! Hold your horses."

It was in that moment that Link spotted an enormous man who had been concealed somewhere in the chip aisle. He held a bag of pork rinds in one hand and a 64-ounce cup of soda in the other. Link was mystified. How could he have failed to spot a behemoth like this? The man wore tight blue jeans and a black button-down shirt beneath a black leather vest. His shirt was neatly tucked into his pants, which allowed his oversized, silver belt buckle to catch a glint of sunlight from the store windows. He approached the group with heavy, menacing strides.

Mr. Hartkins straightened his shoulders and tried to appear bigger than he actually was. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked as he wedged between the approaching man and his sons.

"Can I help you?" Mr. Hartkins repeated, doing his best to sound intimidating.

The man stared at Link. With his thumb and forefinger, he withdrew a folded piece of paper from the front pocket of his pants. He tucked the pork rinds under his arm and carefully unfolded the paper. Then he held it up to inspect. His eyes meandered across the group, stopping momentarily at each member of their odd group before moving on to the next.

The bathroom door swung open and Celia bounced out with her eyes to the ground. Still toweling off her hands, she said, "Okay, guys. All done. The crisis has been averted. We can all hit the road now." Her eyes finally lifted from the paper towel. "Holy crap!" Celia's hand edged its way to the back pocket of her shorts where she'd concealed the small canister of pepper spray.

The man squinted and his jaw jutted forward in disapproval as he said, "I wouldn't do that, missy. Keep your hands where I can see them."

"Okay, well, it's been a unique pleasure, Mr...Mr..." When the man did not offer his name, Mr. Hartkins continued. "Well then, Mr. whoever you are, I'm afraid we need to be leaving. We are in a bit of a hurry." He herded the group to the side of the man and made as little eye contact as possible.

The kids had only taken a few steps when the man's hand snatched the front collar of Mr. Hartkins's shirt. He yanked him closer until the two stood face to face, a mere foot or so between them. "You'll go when I say you can go," the man snarled.

Celia called over to the grungy clerk sitting behind the counter. "If you aren't going to help us, could you at least call the police?" she pleaded. "This man is harassing us."

The clerk, still more interested in the TV show than what was happening in his own store, calmly responded, "Who? Trax? Nah. The way I see it, you get him on your case, you're the ones on the wrong side of the law."

Trax released Mr. Hartkins and brushed smooth the front of his shirt. In a forced effort, Trax's facial muscles twitched and contorted into a sickly expression that resembled a smile. "Let's go," he said.

"We're not going anywhere with you," Mr. Hartkins said indignantly, still trying to exit the store.

Without warning Trax rammed his fist into Mr. Hartkins' face, catching him completely off guard. The impact of the blow sent him flying backwards into the wall. After the collision, Mr. Hartkins seemed to melt to the floor until finally coming to rest in a motionless heap of limbs. Blood trickled down his face from both nostrils and an open gash on his upper lip.

Stunned by the unexpectedly violent sequence of events, nobody moved. Then, Celia and Ayden broke through their shock and bent down to check on Mr. Hartkins. Though unconscious, he was still breathing.

"He's still alive!" Celia exclaimed.

"If I'd wanted him dead, I'd have shot him." Trax swept aside his leather vest to expose a large pearl-handled revolver he wore holstered to his hip. "Let's go, you two." He motioned for Link and Tom to pick up Mr. Hartkins. "I need both of you to carry him." To the clerk he called, "Can you put this on my tab?" He indicated the soda and the pork rinds.

"No problem, Trax," the clerk said. "See you next week." He waved, but had already turned his attention back to the tiny TV.

"Where are you taking us?" Celia asked.

With remarkably fast reflexes for such a large man, Trax whipped the pistol from its holster and held the barrel level with Celia's face. "Did I tell you to ask questions, or did I tell you to move your daddy and follow me?"

Both Link and Tom sprang to work. They heaved Link's father up and propped his flaccid body between them. Link stared at the clerk with loathing. How could the man sit by and watch all this happen?

A plump, middle-aged man walked into the front of the store and grabbed a bag of candy from one of the racks. He seemed to notice the pleading look in Link's eye and redirected his walk in their direction. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.

Link's heart fluttered with hope. It was about time somebody did something to help. He was about to ask the man to phone the police when the man's face erupted into a smile. He began to chortle with laughter as he gave Trax a hardy slap on the back. "So what've you got here?" he said. "A bunch of troublemakers I'm guessing. Well, keep up the good work, Trax. Hey, you still up for a few rounds at Marko's later?"

"You know it," Trax said, as he holstered his gun.

"Fantastic. I'll tell Marsha you're coming. I know she'll be excited. I can see you're working, so I'll let you get back to your business. See you later, terminator." The man snapped his fingers then made the shape of a gun with his hand and pretended to shoot.

Had the whole world gone mad? Link looked for his little brother and found him next to Celia, holding her hand. Link wasn't sure if it was bravery or the failure to fully comprehend the dire nature of their present predicament, but Ayden appeared unaffected by the most recent twist in events.

Meanwhile, Link and Tom struggled beneath the cumbersome weight of Mr. Hartkins. They did their best not to slow down, but this became harder with every step. Link pushed through the discomfort. He didn't want to risk another violent outburst from Trax, who casually walked a few paces behind them.

When they reached the parking lot, Trax pointed to a shiny black Hummer with flashy, polished rims. The strain of moving dead weight caused Link to stagger. He wasn't sure they were going to make it.

"Get in," Trax said. He removed the keys from his pocket and pressed a button on a small remote. The truck beeped twice and lights flashed as all the doors unlocked. He pointed at Ayden and Celia. Then he used his gun to indicate where he wanted them to sit. "You two first," he said. "Then use the cuffs that are already there to handcuff yourselves to the metal bar on the backseat." Trax monitored Celia and Ayden from the front seat of the truck. When he was satisfied that they both were secured, he pointed to where Mr. Hartkins was to sit. Through the combined effort of both boys, they succeeded in manhandling Link's father into position next to Ayden and Celia before locking his wrists with the cuffs.

"Good." Addressing Link and Tom, Trax said, "Now it's your turn."

Link was more than reluctant to strap himself into the back seat of this maniac's truck, but what could he do about it? He was trapped. And since the camera had no effect on the living, he was also defenseless.

"It's not a good idea to make me mad," Trax said, seeming to sense Link's hesitation. "I'm not nearly as nice when I get angry."

Link finally mustered up an acorn-sized dose of courage and asked, "Are you going to kill us?"

"Son," Trax began, "you wouldn't be worth a dime to me if you were dead." He removed identification from his back pocket while keeping the barrel of the gun trained on Link. "I'm a bounty hunter. Now get in the truck and stop asking stupid questions. I'm supposed to bring you in alive, but my boss didn't say anything about whether or not you had to be conscious."

Link noticed the man had said 'my boss,' not 'the police.' Link stepped into the Hummer and found his seat. He was about to cuff himself to the bar when he heard a familiar rumbling sound off in the distance. It was a deep-throated buzz that hummed like a gigantic bee. Link cringed at the notion of a ten-foot bumblebee coming to attack him. He didn't know if there were any good ways to die, but he was positive that being impaled by a four-foot stinger would not be one of them.
49

A Possessed Maniac

Just as the volume of the buzzing peaked, the rumble suddenly stopped. Link watched as an old man on a motocross bike teetered into the gas station and parked next to a pump. Link recognized him. It was the same guy he'd seen outside his house a few days ago. The geezer now wore a fluorescent green racing jacket, but his gray hair, shriveled features, and hunched shoulders were unmistakable.

"Hey, isn't that Max?" Celia whispered from the backseat of the car.

Link looked at the man for a second time. Was this the same Max that Mrs. Kidacki had talked about contacting before she'd disappeared? It couldn't be. This guy couldn't help them. He was so...old.

"I'm giving you to the count of three, boy," Trax growled.

"One..."

Link fumbled with the handcuffs. His shaking hands played havoc with his ability to swing the latch closed.

"Two..."

Why couldn't he get the stupid thing fastened?

"Thr―"

There was a loud grunt. Link squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to picture what Trax would do if he had to come back and help. He had to give his body credit. This numbing deal was amazing. Link didn't feel a thing.

Then, another idea crossed his mind. What if he were paralyzed? What if Trax had come back and hit him so hard Link would never walk again? What if another dead polar bear, or even a giant bee, for that matter, broke into his house and found him in a wheelchair? What would he do then?

"Yo, kid," an unfamiliar voice said. "This ain't the time to be messing around."

Link opened his eyes to find Trax slumped over the steering wheel. His mammoth arms draped over the dash like a pair of wet rags. A slow stream of blood trickled from the side of his head. "Is he...dead?" Link's gaze darted beyond the fallen bounty hunter. A man Link had never seen before held a crowbar in one hand and offered assistance with the other.

"Let's go, kid. We need to get out of here!" The man anxiously peered over his shoulder every couple of seconds, apparently scanning the horizon for something he did not want to see.

"Roland? What's taking you so long?" the old man Celia had called Max called.

"I'm coming!" he said. He turned back to Link and spoke in a kinder, more sympathetic voice. "Look, kid, I know it's a lot to take in. But we need to get out of here now."

Link barely listened. He was too busy trying to find a way to open Ayden's cuffs. "I can't leave without my family," he said.

"Look at me!" the man demanded. When Link refused to turn around, the man grabbed the back of his shirt and forcefully yanked him from the truck. "Look at me!" he said again. "They're coming for you! YOU! Not them. They don't care about anyone but you. You'll only put them in danger by staying. Raythuse will stop at nothing until he has this." He pointed to the camera around Link's shoulder. "Are you going to wait around here and give it to him?"

Link raised the camera strap over his head and held out the camera, offering it to the man. "Well, if this is what they want, let them have it." He shoved it toward the man, urging him to take it. "Go on," Link said. "It's all yours. That thing has done nothing but screw up my life since the day I found it."

Tom's eyes widened. "I'll take it," he said. His hands darted out toward the camera, but the rescuer's hands were faster. He slapped Tom's hands away.

"No you don't!" The man snapped. He turned back to Link. "Kid, whether you like it or not, this is your responsibility. Now pull yourself together. We have to go. Now!"

Roland cuffed both of Trax's wrists to the steering wheel then confiscated his gun. "We've already notified the authorities. They'll be here soon to help your family. Let them sort it all out."

"But−"

"Link, either you stay here and watch them die, or you come with us and draw the Broken away from your family. It's your call, but you need to make it quick. By not deciding, you're going to get us all killed."

"Go!" Celia said. "Get out of here. Save Panch. I'll take care of Ayden." Her smile was forced, but Link appreciated the effort. He looked at Ayden, but Celia drew his attention back to her. "Link, just go. We'll be fine. Everything's going to be all right."

In that moment, triggered by the very words he had come to loathe, Link knew, wholeheartedly, that Celia could not have been more wrong. Things were not going to be all right. Not this time. Even if they worked out in the end, his life was never going to be the same again. And now, because of his selfish wishes to be different, everyone he loved most was being forced to pay the price.

Link leaned into the back and kissed his brother's forehead. "You stick by Dad and Celia, okay? I'm going to need you to be brave. This will all be over soon."

Ayden puffed out his chest and said, "Supewhewo."

"That's right, little man. And don't you forget it." With pleading eyes, he turned back to Celia and whispered, "Keep them safe for me." Without waiting for a response, Link followed Tom and Roland, who were already running toward the motorcycle parked on the other side of the Hummer.

Max pulled up alongside them and said, "You're with me, kid. Hop on back, and make it snappy. If we're lucky, maybe we'll get a couple of miles away before they kill us."

"Tom," Roland said, "you're with me."

Link remembered how slowly Max liked to ride around the block. Unless the mighty Raythuse had chosen a slug for his next body to inhabit, they were in trouble. Why Mrs. Kidacki had thought it was a good idea to call Max was a mystery to him.

Seeing no other option, Link obediently swung his leg over the back of the bike. When Max warned him to hang on, Link halfheartedly cooperated even though he doubted such a measure would prove necessary. If at any point he fell off the bike, he could likely catch up by simply walking alongside the old man and jumping back on. But as soon as he grabbed Max's waist, the man throttled the bike into full gear. Smoke billowed behind the back wheel as Max peeled out of the parking lot. In a blur, the pair rocketed off into the street, Max driving like a possessed maniac, and Link praying desperately that he wasn't.
50

Whom to Trust

By the time Link and his rescuers had reached the Harrington Complex, rush hour traffic had subsided. The sun burned brightly, but its enthusiasm for the day waned as it slipped lower into the sky.

Having pulled up in front of the hospital complex, Link dismounted the motorcycle. He felt bow-legged. How had cowboys managed to travel cross-country on a horse?

"What do you think has happened with the others?" Link asked. No longer needing to yell over the noisy buzz of the motorcycle, he found it hard to modulate his voice. Though he tried to speak softly, it came out as a scream.

Since their escape from the bounty hunter outside Wiscoby, they had driven non-stop to Baselton. While on their manic journey north to the Harrington Complex, Max had informed Link that he and his son, Roland, had received word from Mrs. Greta the previous night that Link and his friends were planning to make the trip to see Panch. She thought they might need help.

Since they knew the end destination, he and Max had planned to stay far enough behind the group that they did not tip off their presence to any Broken that might be trailing. The precaution had nearly backfired when Link's dad had unexpectedly exited the highway for gas. After Max and Roland realized they had lost them, they had circled back and painstakingly searched the last couple of exits.

Max's explanation had made Link consider how much the old man knew. Though Tom, Celia, and Link had all agreed to tell the adults that they were only coming to visit Panch, it had seemed odd to Link that Mrs. Greta had known they might need additional help. This made him wonder what other information she might have withheld from him.

Link nearly jumped when he realized that Max was staring at him with the same grim-faced irritability that Link remembered seeing from the kitchen window. "They'll be fine," he said. "Don't you get it? The only reason they were in danger in the first place was because of you." Max stated this observation as a fact, not as a point of debate.

The reverberations of Max's words shook Link to the core, not because they were mean, but because they were true. Aside from Ayden, he had never once stopped to think about the danger he had put the others in. How could he have been so careless with the lives of all the people he cared about?

Max faced Roland, who was busily retrieving a few items from a leather rucksack. "In case we get separated, I'll take this punk. You watch after the other brat. Remember, time is critical. We need to get to the kid before they do. I just hope it's not too late."

"Why are we in such a hurry?" Link said. "There's no way they managed to catch up with us. I dare say you were driving a smidge faster than the posted limits."

"What makes you think Raythuse isn't already here, waiting?" Max stared bullets into Link's skull. With a frightening intensity Link never before would have dreamed possible from such an old man, Max ambled up to him.

"Let's get one thing straight," he said. "I don't like you. And I sure as hell don't like your brainiac friend over there. If you ask me, something ain't right about this whole deal. But we all will be better off with Raythuse out of the way, and we need you for that. So until then, you do as I say. I so much as catch you blinking without my approval...I'll shoot you myself. Am I making myself clear?"

There it was. Max did understand the real reason they were here. "Have a bit of a trust issue, do you?"

With reflexes that only Mrs. Kidacki could have matched, the old man hoisted Link off the ground and threw him to the curb with such ferocity that Link momentarily feared for his life. Stunned by the suddenness of it all, Link remained sprawled on the ground, uncertain whether he should get up or stay where he was.

Before he had time to blink, Max stood over him. His faced burned bright with fury. He bent down from the waist and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me tell you something, boy." His breath smelled of cigar smoke and his words dripped with condescension. "Friends make you weak. All they do is let you down. Don't kid yourself. Once your adorable little posse of rugrats fully understand the extent of the danger you've placed them in, they'll hate you for it." What then started as a laugh turned into a deep, hacking cough. He cleared his throat and spit a large glob of phlegm onto the street. "Trust issues?" he said. "You better believe it. I don't trust anyone that isn't blood. And even then, I sleep with one eye open. Why do you think I'm still alive? Now get up! We've got work to do."

"If I'm not supposed to trust anybody," Link said, "then how do I know I can trust you?"

Max scowled and said, "You don't."

Link got to his feet and dusted off his shirt. He checked the camera to make sure it hadn't been damaged. What was wrong with this psycho-geezer?

"Link?" Tom said. "What are you waiting for?" He stood in the doorway, waiting.

Link entered the building, and the pair of them followed a long, winding corridor that was lined with tinted windows. Link whispered, "Thanks a lot for your help back there, Tom."

Tom appeared confused by the comment. "Do you mean when you tripped? What do you think I am? Your nanny?"

"Tripped? Is that what you call being thrown to the ground by an angry old man?"

"Angry old man? What are you talking about? Max didn't do anything. I saw the whole thing, Link. You got off the motorcycle. Then you tripped over the curb. Not that it's any surprise. You can't even make it down a flight of stairs without falling. Why should a curb be any different?"

Link was used to Tom disagreeing with him, but this time was different. He could tell by Tom's expression that he really believed Link had tripped on his own. But how could that be?

The corridor emptied into an impressive atrium with brown marble floors and expansive ceilings supported by thick columns. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls and decorative kiosks full of lush tropical plants helped soften the otherwise rigid architecture.

As he neared the reception desk, Link began to second-guess himself. Was he doing the right thing? What if his plan failed? His experiences over the last week had been nothing short of a giant wrecking ball, demolishing his carefully constructed house of hard-fought sanity and order. And what if Max and Roland had a different plan than his? What if they weren't even trying to capture Raythuse? Were they even on his side? Link was miles out of his depth here, and he hoped his friends wouldn't be the ones to pay the price.

Max approached the reception desk and fell into a short line of people. Behind the desk, two women gave the visitors the information they required to find the right floor and room.

One of them was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She had long, bouncy blond hair and perky sunshine in her voice. The older woman standing next to her was tall with dark brown hair pulled back and fastened with a long silver pin. The way she wore her tortoise-shell glasses on the end of her nose forced her head to tilt back, creating the impression that she was looking down on everybody she helped.

Both wore uniforms that consisted of a pinstriped, navy blue business suit, a pearl-white button-down blouse, and a red silk scarf. Link noticed that all other people coming and going were dressed formally as well. He looked back at Max's fluorescent green racing suit and wind-swept silver hair and noticed how out of place he was. How out of place they all were. For their sakes, he hoped neither woman would make an issue of it.

Too late. Zoning back in, Link saw Max waving his arms about.

Link hadn't heard the woman's actual words, but gauging by Max's sudden outburst of anger, something had made him mad − again. "What do you mean we need to wait?" he shouted. "What we need is to get into the room so that we can see him! We don't have time to just wait here, you pretentious, backwater cow!"

The older woman responded to Max's verbal lashing with an unwavering pretense of calm and maintained a cool smile. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she said. "Until I receive word from the floor's administrator confirming you as an expected visitor, I'm afraid you will need to wait. Standard procedure. I assure you it's nothing personal. I will, of course, continue to phone them on your behalf."

"Don't you−"

"In the meantime," she cut Max off before he could get started, "why don't you take a seat in our waiting area?" She pointed down the hall. "We have free refreshments if you're thirsty. I'll have Claude show you the way."

Two beefy security guards emerged from their post next to the elevators. One approached Max while the other slid closer to the women behind the counter. Until now, Link had not noticed them. While scanning the room for danger, he had never thought to take the building's security guards into account.

Link watched as a man in a black business suit flashed an ID card and passed through the security station on his way to the elevators. Link counted five guards in all. Two manned the station and three others were positioned throughout the lobby, so sneaking by them seemed to be out of the question. The numbers from his mother's journal and the message from Jim Jim floated back into his mind with a possible connection. Could 1317 be a room number? If so, that would probably mean that Panch was on the thirteenth floor in room number seventeen.

Max still seethed, apparently unused to not getting his way. But the lady behind the counter paid no attention to him and was already helping the next person in line.
51

In the Bathroom

The white, impersonal walls and rows of wooden chairs atop a tan carpet gave the waiting room an ambience of sterility. The dying light from the late afternoon sun filtered in through a series of windows on the far wall. Small metallic end tables with an assortment of magazines sat evenly spaced between every fifth chair.

"We need to get up there, Roland," Max said, still fuming. "You know we don't have time for this sort of delay."

Roland removed a small sack from the side pocket of his pack and gently untied the string at the top. "You're doing it again, Max. Stop allowing your anger to control you. They're here already. You and I both know it. Let's just pray they haven't found the kid yet."

"He's not just a kid," Link protested. "His name is−"

Before he could finish, Max's hand covered his mouth. "Shhh. Not yet." He motioned Link to watch what Roland was doing.

The room around them grew brighter, as if the lights had suddenly shifted from sixty to three hundred-watt bulbs. But it wasn't the lights overhead that had changed. The extra wattage had come from Roland's bag. Soon his entire arm was bathed in it.

Roland pinched a few white granules together, held them close to his lips and whispered. The tiny granules burst from his hand in an explosion of shimmering powder and swirled through the air. Within seconds the dust spread in every direction, multiplying until the entire room appeared to be soaked in diamond dust. For a brief instant, Link saw a blinding light. It flashed twice. Then the dust was gone, vanished as if it had never been released.

Max removed his hand from Link's mouth. "I know his name, you moron. I just didn't want them to know it. You may think that you can just waltz in there and point that camera at your friend, but it isn't going to be that simple. They will try to stop you."

Link looked around. Who was he talking about? The room was empty. "Who?" Link said. "We're the only ones here."

"So they'd like us to think," Max said as he pointed to a large oak framed mirror hanging on the wall. "But you can never be too careful. They're sneaky little bastards."

Link eyed the mirror warily but saw only a reflection of the room. "I don't understand," he said. "Is it a two-way mirror?" But Link realized the answer as soon as the question left his lips. Skias could inhabit mirrors. He had learned that lesson the hard way. Without thinking, he rubbed his head where he'd been struck by the medicine cabinet. "Are they here?" he asked.

"They're in the building. I can tell you that," Roland said. "They aren't here in the waiting room, but it won't take them long. Once they sense your presence, they'll be swarming this place like flies on a fresh turd."

"What was that dust?" Link asked. "What did it do?"

"Simple answer, for now, it will make sure we're alone."

"But how does it−"

"No time for explanations, Link." Roland said. "First, we need to find where they're keeping your friend. Then we need to figure out a way to get there."

"What about the stairs?" Link said. "There has to be a set of stairs in case one of the elevators breaks down or there's a fire."

Tom shook his head. "No good. The stairs are behind the security station between the elevators."

"I say we just take down the guards," Max grumbled. "Be a lot more fun than sitting here on our butts, waiting for the Stenden dust to wear off."

"I counted five guards," Link said. "How are we supposed to take on that many armed security guards?"

Max eyed Link contemptuously then suddenly vanished. He reappeared at the opposite end of the waiting room and waved. He held up three fingers. Then two. The instant he folded down the last finger, he reappeared directly in front of Link, holding a gleaming blade to his throat.

"But...How?"

"Knock it off, Max. You know that if you try that in the lobby, they'll know we're here. If Raythuse is already with them, everything we've worked for all these years will have been for nothing."

From the corner of his eye, Link saw the younger of the two receptionists walk into the women's restroom. Addressing the whole group, he whispered, "I think I've got an idea." He stood up and walked toward the restrooms. Roland rose to his feet as well, but Link looked back and said, "Wait here. I know what I'm doing."

"Get back here, boy!" Max demanded through gritted teeth.

In truth, Link had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that he had just experienced an unexpected moment of clarity. He felt convinced that he was supposed to get a drink of water from the fountain and that he needed to do this by himself. Whether or not testing this hunch was worth getting sliced open by Max was debatable, but he had to try.

Roland reluctantly eased back into his seat. Max's scowl looked a bit more dubious. But despite his earlier threats, he did not even scold Link for his refusal to follow orders.

Nevertheless, the two continued to monitor Link's every move, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger.

The water fountain was located in a small alcove that separated the men's restroom from the women's. Link bent over the spigot and pressed the smooth metal button with his thumb, greedily slurping down a refreshing stream of water. The relief was instantaneous and invigorating. He hadn't realized how parched he was. Something warm and energizing began to bubble up inside of him, something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

After he had taken a few more sips of water, the young woman emerged from the bathroom. She froze the second she saw him, apparently recognizing him from earlier. She smiled then glanced over her shoulder toward the reception area. Instead of leaving the doorway of the ladies' room as Link had expected, she took a slow step back and motioned for Link to follow.

Max and Roland sprang to their feet, but Link calmly signaled for them to wait. To his amazement, both men obeyed his request, though they clearly looked unhappy about it.

Once inside the bathroom, the woman moved her foot and allowed the door to swing shut. Under a bank of fluorescent lighting, Link got a better look at her. She was every bit as beautiful as he had first believed her to be.

It was partly because of his conviction that he was deeply ensconced in some ridiculous dream that he managed not to immediately become a blubbering idiot in her presence. Of all the unlikely things that had befallen him during the past week, this moment struck him as the most unbelievable. A beautiful girl, probably eight years his senior, had just instructed him to follow her into the ladies' room. It was then, buried somewhere deep inside his subconscious, that he realized something. The other thought that was keeping him functional was the morbid realization that if this was really happening, the only reason she would have pulled him into the bathroom was to kill him without any witnesses.

She didn't seem like a Broken; she was gorgeous. Could dead people be pretty? Link tensed as the woman reached into her front pocket and withdrew four laminated identification cards. She handed them to Link. "These are for you," she said, "but you need to hurry. Your friend is on the thirteenth floor in room 1317B. Peggy, the other woman behind the counter with me, has a fifteen-minute break. She's not the type to be late. If she returns before you're upstairs, you'll be waiting in the reception area until morning. Maureen and I will be manning the registration desk when you come by. She knows nothing about this, so just act casual. Claude, the floor manager for thirteen, is off duty for now, but I'm pretty sure he's working a double shift tonight. Either way he won't be back for at least twenty-five minutes. That should give you plenty of time."

He had actually been right about Panch's room. Link couldn't believe his good fortune. "Why are you helping us?" he asked.

"Truthfully, I have no idea. I mean...I could get fired, and I don't even know you. I just had a feeling that I should help you. And sometimes you just have to have faith that you'll know what to do when the time comes for you to do it. Besides, I think you're kind of cute." She flashed him a mind-numbing smile.

Yup, that sealed it. He had to be dreaming. Just then the bathroom door smacked him in the back of the head. From behind the door, he heard Max's familiar voice. "What's taking you so long?"

Initially concerned by the intrusion, the receptionist quickly recovered when she recognized the old man trying to gain entry. She said to Link, "I'm going to return to the desk now. Follow me in two minutes. Remember what I said. Act casual, like you belong."

She smiled again and opened the door the rest of the way. "Good luck with whatever it is you need to accomplish," she said. Then she vanished down the hall, leaving Link to deal with Max.

Tenderly massaging the back of his scalp, Link held up the ID cards and handed three of them to Max.

Two minutes later, the small group headed toward the atrium with their new passes. Max drew close to Link and whispered, "You ever defy me again, I'll kill you myself." Then he patted Link on the back.

Uncertain whether to take Max's words as a compliment or a threat, Link nodded and continued walking.
52

A Score to Settle

The inside of the elevator was lined floor to ceiling with mirrors. The effect was disorienting as competing images of Link, Tom, Roland, and Max overlapped each other at staggered intervals. Link raised his hand and watched the countless number of Link look-alikes do the same.

"Stop fooling around and press the button," Max growled.

"Hey, watch this," Link said. "I learned a little trick online. It lets you go to any floor without stopping." Link pressed the button for the thirteenth floor and the button to close the door at the same time. The solid steel doors slid shut. Link grinned. At last he knew something that the others didn't. All that time he'd spent surfing the net had actually paid off.

"This had better work," Max said.

"Trust me," Link said. "It hasn't failed me yet. Look." He indicated the progressing numbers. "We're already to the sixth floor without a stop. I told you I knew what I was doing."

Link felt a sudden lurch as the elevator slowed on the eighth floor. Everywhere he looked, he saw the irritated stares of his companions. Thanks to the mirrors, there were thousands of them. He found himself suddenly grateful he had never been yelled at by his dad in one of these. Talk about scary. One angry father was bad enough. Link shuddered to think what a thousand of them must be like.

"So it didn't work," Link said. "No harm done."

The doors slid open to reveal a small pathway that led to some sort of check-in station. The woman behind the desk looked up with a slight look of disdain. "Wow," Link said. He turned away from the floor to face the others. "Considering how many stations this place has to help you, you'd think they'd be more helpful."

He forced a chuckle at what he knew was a lame joke. From the mirror, Link watched as the face of the red-haired receptionist slowly twisted into grotesque proportions. "Not good." Panicked, he spun around only to find everything looked completely normal.

Roland seemed to sense Link's concern and turned to examine the reflection. "Close the doors, Tom," he said. "Now."

"I'm trying," Tom said.

Roland nearly ran Tom over in his frantic attempt to stab the button.

"What's your problem?" Tom said, slowly backing into the corner.

"Why won't these things close?" Roland pressed the button again and again. "Come on."

Max calmly reached into his bag and removed his blade.

Angry voices erupted outside the elevator as the doors started to shut. But everything appeared normal. One nurse smiled and chatted briefly to a passing orderly. A nurse sat behind a desk, typing something into a computer. It was only when Link looked back into the mirrors of the elevator that he saw it. The hallway's halogen lights flicked out one by one as a menacing shadow slithered toward the closing elevator doors.

Link's heart raced. All he could do was wait; there was nowhere for them to go. Each second stretched painfully into the next as he watched the shadow grow larger. The doors began to shut, but they were taking forever. Link fingered the switch to his camera and debated whether or not he should turn it on. He heard an ungodly squeal. The shadow howled in fury and sped up, closing the gap at impossible speeds. The doors weren't going to close in time.

Max stiffened and looked ready to charge, but Roland touched his arm and said, "No, father. This is my fight. We have a score to settle. Just save the kid and get them to safety."

Roland raised a handful of Stenden Dust into the air and shut his eyes. Then he stepped out of the elevator into the onslaught of oncoming darkness.

"No! What are you doing?" Link cried. He clutched at the air in a useless attempt to pull him back, but Max held him fast. Again, Link marveled at the old man's strength. The last thing he saw before the doors slid closed was a brilliant flash of red and blue flames that spewed forth from Roland's outstretched hands. There was a loud explosion. Then everything went dark.

Within seconds, the building's emergency power kicked on. The elevator started ascending but slowed as it approached the tenth floor. This time, before the doors could open, Max pulled the elevator's red emergency stop button.

"Why are we stopping?" Tom said.

Max didn't answer. He hoisted himself onto the handrails in the corner and balanced against the back wall of the cab. Then he reached up to the ceiling. Once he had a firm hold on the edge of the illuminated plastic paneling, he said, "I'd move to the side if I were you." As soon as Link had stepped out of the way, he leaped off the railing. The force of his momentum ripped the thin panel free from its brackets, causing a hailstorm of sparks to erupt from the light fixture. One of the busted lights nearly hit Tom as it crashed to the floor.

"Are you nuts?" Tom said, still looking at the mess that Max was making.

Link watched Max pause for a second as he appeared to consider what he should do with Tom. It was only for a second, but Link knew that Max's patience was gone. He made a mental note to keep his head down and do as he was told.

Max used his knife to remove the small thumbscrews that held the hatch to the ceiling. Once the panel was open, he lifted himself onto the top of the cab. All Link could do was watch in awe at the old man's agility. His nursing home must have one heck of a physical fitness program.

The elevator lurched again. Then it started to climb with Max still on top. This was hardly a time to go elevator surfing. If they reached the top floor Max would be squashed. "Max," Link called, "we're moving again."

"Of course we're moving, nimrod," Max replied. "Who do you think is doing it?" The elevator came to a stop as Max poked his head back through the elevator's emergency hatch. "I'm bringing her up to the twelfth floor. Just hang tight and don't get in the way."

It didn't take long before the elevator slowed to a stop again. Like a nimble monkey, Max dropped through the ceiling and landed in a crouch. The elevator shook for a moment then steadied.

Max reached into a pocket and withdrew a pistol. Link recognized it from a video game he liked to play. It was a Beretta 92 standard issue sidearm for law enforcement. Was Max an ex-cop? Whatever he was, it was clear that he expected more trouble.

Link looked down at his own hands − empty. The only weapon he had, if you could call it that, was the camera. Big help that would be against anything other than a Broken.

Tom, who must have realized the same thing, said, "What about me? Don't I get a weapon?"

"No," Max said.

Link suddenly remembered the pepper spray his father had given him. He pulled it out and aimed at the door.

"Good call," Tom said, quickly pulling out his own canister.

Max looked at Link and shook his head. He took hold of the canister and spun the nozzle away from Link's face. "Still wonder why I'm the one with a gun?"

Link blushed. "So what's the plan?"

"The plan," Max said, "is I kill everything that stands in our way; you stay behind me and try not to blind yourselves with your little cans of breath freshener. We take the stairs up to the thirteenth floor. They should be to the right. When I say three, Link, release the emergency stop, open the doors, and we all walk slowly to the stairwell. If we're lucky, we won't attract attention. Any questions?"

Link raised his hand as if he were in school. "How will we know whether or not the people are Broken? What if they're just ordinary doctors and nurses?"

"You won't. If there's any doubt, spray first, question later. Pepper spray isn't permanent. Death is. On my count: One... Two... Three!"
53

Think Happy Thoughts

The heavy, steel doors slid open to reveal an empty corridor that branched in three directions. Wary of what they might find, the small group cautiously exited the elevator. Instead of additional security, Link was surprised to discover that the floor appeared to be vacant. A sign on the wall informed them that this particular level was under construction.

At first glance, everything appeared normal. But Link knew better than to trust appearances. He glanced over his shoulder into the elevator to examine the hallways in the mirror's reflection. Everything still looked normal. The long, carpeted hallway and key-lock entry doors, every one of which was closed, gave Link the impression of being inside an abandoned hotel. Aside from a maid's cart left outside one of the rooms, the halls were empty.

It wasn't the emptiness that worried Link the most; it was the absolute silence. The only discernible noise was a low-pitched hum that came from the building's air conditioner. Where was everyone? If this area was being renovated, shouldn't there at least be construction workers around? Maybe they had the day off because it was Sunday, but even then, there should be tools.

Max, who appeared to share Link's apprehension, held both his gun and knife at the ready. They started down the west corridor in search of the stairs. An icy draft blew from one of the ceiling vents, causing Link to shiver. Wonderful.

Link looked at all the closed doors ahead and cringed. Several years of violent video games had taught him to be wary of seemingly empty hallways, especially ones where all the doors were closed. Link began to second-guess his decision to come. Why was he even here? Because of the scribbled notes of his deceased mother and a message from someone on Facebook he'd never even met? Because of a camera? To save his brother? To save Panch? Would he really have to confront an enemy that he hadn't even known he had a month ago? Could things possibly get any more messed up?

The ground rumbled beneath their feet. A massive explosion rocked the building from somewhere far below. The lights flickered briefly. Then they shut off completely, leaving the group in darkness.

"Take hold of my pack," Max called.

Link heard a snapping sound and saw the vibrant glow of light sticks being placed on either side of Max's bag. An ugly shade of fluorescent green now illuminated the hall. Max threw two more sticks onto the path ahead. The color reminded Link of the night vision setting on his video camera.

"Why are we making ourselves targets?" Tom whispered. "Won't the light draw everything toward us?"

Link could tell Tom's hands were shaking by the vibrating shadows on the wall.

"They can't see shades of green, Mr. Know-It-All," Max said. "Besides, I think any chance we had of surprising them is over. Trust me, they know we're here."

Link tried to force his mind to think happy thoughts, but it wasn't working. Thinking of fresh cookies only made him wonder what had happened to Mrs. Kidacki. Images of fuzzball puppies morphed into ravenous dogs trying to kill him. Even the blissful sanctuary of his early-morning jogs rapidly deteriorated into thoughts of Fade and angry foliage seeking payback. He shook his head in irritation. Had he always been this bad at finding happy things to think about? How had Ayden handled seeing the Skias all around him on his own? Poor little Bug. Link chided himself for leaving him behind. What if he'd made the wrong decision?

Another chill swept over his skin, pulling out goose bumps in its wake. Careful not to press the release on the pepper spray, he vigorously rubbed his arms. This hallway was insanely cold. What was this place, the cryogenics wing? At least it wasn't raining. Now that would be miserable.

He smiled despite his mounting sense of dread. One point for the new-and-improved, positive Link. Now, if only this never-ending corridor would just end already.

Without warning, the building's emergency sprinkler system switched on, raining all over his newly discovered optimism. Link looked up. "Typical. Why am I not surprised?"

"Shhh," Max hissed. Somehow his face looked even scarier bathed in the sickly green of the light sticks. But it didn't prevent Link from moving closer to him. He knew it was undignified to be huddling up against the old man, but at this point, he could not have cared less.

Water streamed down Link's face and soaked his clothes. His shoes had begun making an odd squishing sound that reminded him of an angry duck. And all those stupid attempts at positive thinking had only succeeded in making him hungry fir cookies.

He hadn't known what to expect from his future as a Chosen, but sloshing through an empty hallway having to suppress a girlish squeal at every unfamiliar noise hardly struck him as the definition of a hero.

Max pushed his way down the hall then veered right. Thank heavens somebody knew what they were doing. At last, the bright red glow of an exit sign cut into the sea of green around them like a cherry bobber in a polluted lake.

By Link's count, there were only four more doors to pass before they would reach the safety of the stairs. Well, not safety exactly. But they would definitely be safer there than they were huddled in the middle of the hallway.

On the other hand, if the Broken were hiding, they would probably be doing so behind the last door, not the first. If Hollywood was any indication of reality, he knew exactly what would happen. First, everyone would believe the coast was clear. Then one of the less important characters would say something like, "I think we're going to make it."

Only then would legions of undead spill into the hallway to prevent any hope of escape. Though Link knew he was being ridiculous, it didn't stop him from nearly strangling the pepper spray in his hand.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the last door. Max took hold of the handle.

"Looks like there was nobody home," Tom said.

Max snapped two more light sticks. He tossed one of them a flight up and the other a flight down.

Link spun around to face the hallway, expecting to find...well, he wasn't sure what he'd find. But he knew it wouldn't be good.

"What are you waiting for? Did you drop an earring?" Tom teased.

Link was so relieved to finally be wrong that he wasn't even insulted by Tom's quip. Maybe they would make it after all.

But no sooner had he turned back to follow Max than, he heard the eerie sound of laughter. It echoed down the hallway they had just traveled, and a door creaked open about ten feet away.

Tom's smirk vanished. Link tensed and prepared for the worst. All three peered out of the stairwell into the darkness beyond. After a few seconds had passed and nothing had happened, they all headed up to the thirteenth floor.

"Happy thoughts," Link kept repeating to himself. "Just think happy thoughts."
54

Time to Run

By the time they reached the next floor, the lights had been restored. The sprinklers had stopped as well, not that it mattered by this point. Link could not have been any wetter if he had just exited a pool.

If they were lucky, Panch's room would be the first door on the right once they exited the stairs. That way they could probably nip out of the stairwell and into his room without anyone seeing them. Link crossed his fingers and waited patiently behind Max, who slowly opened the stairwell door.

"Hmmm. I was afraid of that," Max muttered. He raised his gun. "Looks like we have a ways to go." He looked back at Link and Tom. "We'll need to pick up the pace. You two need to keep up."

Without another word, Max began running down the hall. This had "bad idea" written all over it, but Link wasn't about to fall behind. He sprinted to catch up to Tom, who was already a few steps ahead of him. Link spotted one of the room numbers as they ran by: 1302B. Clearly, if he ever made it out of this wretched building alive, it was not going to be because of good luck.

To Link's surprise, the addition of lights had done little to alleviate the overall creepiness of the empty hallways. Why would Panch be on an empty floor? It didn't make sense. None of this did. And yet, Link knew that 1317 had to be the right room. It just had to be.

They arrived at the elevators in a matter of seconds. Link silently enjoyed watching Tom struggle to catch his breath. His morning runs had been good for something, it seemed.

A large whiteboard rested on a stand next to the nurse's station for the room numbers and patients' names to be written in large block letters. Link might have taken this as a stroke of good fortune had it not been for one peculiar fact. "Why is Panch's name the only one listed? All I see is Frances Henderson. Shouldn't there be other patients?"

Max's grip tightened on his knife. "I told you they'd be expecting us." He placed the blade into his mouth then walked over to the sign and removed it from the stand. "Find a weapon."

"Like what?" Tom said.

Max brought his foot down on the aluminum tripod that held the whiteboard and broke off one of the legs in an impressive stomp. "Here," he said, tossing it to Link. "Ever play baseball? Just remember to aim for the head."

"Tom, go get−"

Max's words were interrupted by the high-pitched ding of the elevator. The group spun as the steel doors began to slide open. Max raised his gun level with the opening. Link lifted the base of the broken tripod leg up to his shoulders. Tom continued franticly scouring the nurse's station for anything he could use as a weapon.

To everyone's surprise and great relief, it was Roland who staggered out of the elevator. His pants were ripped and blackened and appeared to have been singed around the edges. There was a large gash across his forehead. Rivulets of blood dripped down his face and onto his shirt. "They're coming," he gasped. "We need to hurry."

"Tom, grab Roland's shoulder. Link, walk beside him and give him support!" Max yelled. "We need to get to Panch's room now!"

Together, Tom and Link helped Roland maintain his footing as they ran down the hall after Max. Then they fell into line behind Max, who appeared to be more anxious than ever to reach Panch's room. They had only passed two rooms before they heard the elevator ding once again.

A blurred chaos of simultaneous events followed. The doors to the rooms they had already passed, along with several more in front of them, crashed open. Mobs of mangled corpses spilled into the hall. A shadow, dark and menacing, exited the elevator. The hallway lights switched off, plunging everything into a deep shade of pitch as the anguished wails of the Broken slowly surrounded them.

Still propping up Roland, Link readied himself to swing the tripod. But with no light he was afraid he might hit one of his friends by mistake.

"Hold your position, men!" Max commanded, as he sent light sticks sailing into both directions. The Broken appeared not to notice. Barely visible, their shadowy limbs twisted to unnatural angles as they staggered forward.

Link watched, breathless, as the horde approached.

Though the Broken's movements were slow and awkward, Link could make out twisted faces that had once been human. Patches of flesh stretched across their skulls like shredded bed sheets.

Link noticed one of Broken hesitate, followed by a few more. Though he had no idea what had made them stop, clearly, something had scared them. Roland's arms began weaving in and out of the air in a strange blur of glittering patterns. The motions had a sort of rhythmic ripple that bent the air around them like a fish stirring water.

By now, all the Broken had stopped in anticipation of what Roland would do next. Without warning, vivid currents of red and blue flame crackled to life. Brilliant waves of pulsating light enveloped Roland's hands and began to grow larger by the second. It was beautiful.

A terrible voice, unlike any Link had ever heard began to rage from somewhere deep inside the bowels of the elevator shaft. "Kill them!" it screamed. "Kill them!"

Immediately, the horde overcame their fear and closed in for the kill. As they did, several explosions of light ripped apart the air. Rocket shots of basketball-sized fireballs ruptured the first wave of attackers, turning them to ash.

As Roland recharged, Max took over, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets − every one through the eye of another enemy and each shot quicker than the last. With systematic efficiency, they changed over again and again while slowly backing down the hallway. Link grew dizzy just trying to stay out of their way. But no matter how many they destroyed, there were always more to take their place.

The gunshots stopped, and Link spun to see Max throw a gun onto a heap of shell casings on the floor. Where in the world had he been hiding all of those? Link didn't have time to think about it. He hoisted his makeshift bat to swing just as the door to his left swung open.

Link glanced back at his attacker, preparing himself to fight back, when he realized it was Tom. Standing just inside the doorframe, Tom said, "Quick, get everybody inside."

Link stared in confusion. Where had the door come from? It hadn't been there before. He was sure of it. He felt Roland at his back, still swinging his arms. The air was electric, but the stench was almost unbearable.

Max shoved Link into the room. Then he helped Roland fend off a couple more Broken that had somehow eluded both bullet and electrocution, but were close enough to be a danger. Then they both hurried into the room and slammed the door shut behind them.

Once inside, Link saw Panch. He was lying lifeless on a hospital bed, hooked up to a variety of machines by a series of wires and tubes. Link wondered if he was dead.

Across from the bed, a woman dressed as a nurse was slumped over in one of two rolling vinyl chairs. Link wasn't sure who she was, but he knew it wasn't Panch's mother. Her face rested on top of her knees, and a metal spike protruded through her lower back like a skewer. A puddle of red pooled by her feet.

Where were Panch's parents? Did they have any idea what was going on? Had they been here but managed to escape? If so, what kind of parents would leave their son behind to face all of this? Remembering the difficulty they'd experienced at the front desk, Link wondered if Panch's parents had even been allowed up here to visit him.

Max heaved one of the large pieces of machinery in front of the door. Roland hurled the unoccupied chair toward the window. Link knew they were on the backside of the building, where it was unlikely there would be people below, but it was still shocking to see the chair explode through the glass then plummet to the ground.

"What if someone was down there?" Link asked, still disoriented by their abrupt descent into chaos.

"I hope they moved," Roland grunted. He grabbed the heels of the dead lady and rolled her out the opening, chair and all.

"Why'd you do that?" Link screamed. Suddenly noticing the way Roland eyed his sleeping friend, Link leapt between Roland and Panch. "Don't even think about it!"

"Move aside, you fool. The lady was already dead. Raythuse left her here. She was a Trojan horse. If I didn't throw her out the window, a Skia could have used her body to kill us from inside the room. Unless your friend is already dead, he has nothing to worry about. But if he is dead, he goes out the window like the lady. Last thing we need is to give those monsters an easy way in. We were set up?" Roland checked Panch's neck for a pulse. Apparently finding one, he left Panch's side and approached Max. "Do you think it'll hold?" he said, nodding to the back door.

Max's face contorted with rage. "I told you we shouldn't have listened to her. This was a trap from the start. I knew it."

"Be serious," Roland soothed. "You know she had nothing to do with this mess. We had to come here. You know that, too. It was the right move. It's what separates us from those beasts out there."

Before Max could answer, Link heard a loud crash against the door. A disturbing chorus of screams echoed from the other side. Similar to the time Link had opened the strange e-mail, the room around him began to drip with noise. Some voices sounded human, though the words were spoken in an unfamiliar tongue. Others sounded like barnyard animals, crying with fear on their way to the slaughterhouse. Link lifted his camera.

"No!" Roland shouted. "Put that down! It isn't time!"

Link was about to ask what could possibly be worse than being trapped inside a room on the thirteenth floor with a bunch of blood-thirsty Broken when he heard a horrible screaming. It was coming from the shattered window. He swiveled to find Max dangling Tom out the window by his feet.

Consumed with rage, Max screamed, "What do you know about all this, you little rat? Don't think for a second I haven't been watching you this whole time! I knew it was you! I knew it!"

"Help!" Tom pleaded. "Link, help! This guy's insane!" He lifted the canister of pepper spray and aimed it at Max's face.

"Go ahead," Max said. "I dare you. Give me a reason to drop you."

Link moved quickly to help his friend, but Roland stepped in between them. "Link," he said, "it was a trap. You see that, right? Think with your head, not your heart. Who could have orchestrated all this? I know it wasn't me. It definitely wasn't my dad. And it wouldn't make any sense if it was you. The only person who could have done it was Tom. Think about it."

Another loud crash thundered outside in the hallway. It sounded as if the Broken were ramming something against the door, but for the time being, it held.

"He's not a Broken," Link protested. "He can't be! Look at him! Does he look like a Broken to you? Let him up, or I'll use this camera." Link raised it to emphasize his threat.

"Where's his grandmother, Link?" Roland said. "Have you seen her since the bear? The fact that somebody is not a Broken doesn't mean they aren't helping them. Who knows what they offered him in return. But if you use that camera now, the Broken win. Is that what you want?"

Link tried to compose his thoughts. Who had Tom really been calling back at the gas station and after the bear attack? Roland was probably right, but Link just couldn't bring himself to believe it. Tom had to be on their side.

Plagued by indecision, Link struggled to separate the demonic voices that raged in his ears from his own voice of reason. Overwhelmed by the effort, he had a sudden impulse to jump out the window and end it all himself. Unable to take the unwelcome visitors in his head any longer, he began the short walk to the window. He needed to end this. And he needed to end it now before anyone else got hurt.

"Stop!" Roland pleaded. "Don't let him win! Fight it!"

All Link could hear was the voice in his head. It was telling him to jump. He peered over the edge at Tom's look of horror. He could see the pavement below. It looked soft and inviting, like a hug of pillows. One more step and it would all be over.

Suddenly a hot flash of pain seared through the back of his eyes and ripped all his senses from him at once. It happened so fast that Link didn't have time to react. Tom had sprayed him, but why? It was all he could do to breathe in between terrible fits of coughing. He felt something rip free from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut against the agonizing burn of the spray, but somehow he could still see through his eyelids.

The room, now bathed entirely in hues of red, appeared exactly as it had when he had last looked. The only difference was that he now found himself alone. Everyone had disappeared. The unexpected crack of gunshots rang out. They sounded close, but he couldn't see anyone shooting.

Slowly, he pulled his senses back and tested each one, trying to open his eyes last. The pain was still too much, so he quickly shut them again and concentrated on his new kind of sight. As he regained dominion over his thoughts, all the demonic voices gradually died away.

With all the noise, Link expected the door to begin bulging inward the way it had when the polar bear had broken through his bedroom door. He wanted to look away, but he turned to face it nonetheless. He would not die with his back to the fight. In what seemed like an instant, Link found himself surrounded by fearsome shadows like the one he'd trapped inside the picture. He glanced over to where the machines that Max had propped against the door still stood. How had the Broken entered the room without moving the equipment? That was when he realized that these particular demons must not be Broken at all. They were Skias. But if that was true, then how could he see them? Had Tom put something into the spray? He wasn't sure such a thing could be done. But if it could, a Watcher would be the one person who could do it.

Link could only stare back at them open-mouthed as the wraithlike Skias surrounded him. Where were Max and Roland? Where was Panch? Nothing made any sense! He slammed his fist on the closest wall out of frustration. One minute he was trying to save Tom. The next, he was alone inside the same room.

Link spun around uneasily, preparing himself for the inevitable attack, but for some reason, the Skias never came. They simply hovered around him ominously, flitting about the room.
55

Beginning of the End

Link lashed out at one that came particularly close, but his fist punched through it like it was made of air. He had just begun to swing at another one when he was greeted by the voice of the devil. It had an oily drawl, smooth and slippery. It appeared to be coming from something in the shape of a man, but it wasn't a man. The creature's shape was spectral and confused, impossible to define. The edges of its enormous dark red cloak appeared to shift as if it were suspended by alternating currents of air rather than an actual body. Grotesque and hypnotic, the thing in front of him reminded Link of the shadowy creature that had tormented Ayden. The only difference was the eyes. Instead of the brilliant white from his nightmares, these eyes were deep yellow with intense flames that burned brightly in the pupil.

"So, this must be the famous Link I've heard so much about," it drawled. "Real shame about your momma, boy. I hear a fire is an excruciating way to die. Her fault, though. Shouldn't start something you can't finish. Speaking of fires, any idea where the rest of your family is?" There was a harsh rattling that sounded like somebody stepping on dried leaves. Was this thing laughing? "I do. That little brother of yours is so...sweet. He'll be most delicious."

"What did you do to my family?" Link said, still trying desperately to open his eyes. The burn was agony, and he scratched and rubbed them with his fists. Where was everyone? Why had all the others abandoned him?

"Let's just say, it's going to be much harder to get your daddy's signature for field trips."

"You're lying. They're nowhere near here. You don't have a clue where they are, do you?" The moment Link said the words, something snapped deep inside of him. He'd finally had enough. He was sick of people thinking they could push him around just because they were bigger and stronger. No more. With complete clarity, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He ignored the painful throb in his eyes and lowered his hands form his face. This was it. This was the time Mrs. Greta had told him about. It was finally time for him to use his camera. All he needed to do was distract this monster long enough to take a picture, and it would all be over.

"I know who you are," Link said defiantly. He stuck out his chest and straightened his back. "Thought you could scare me into giving up? Well, you're wrong. I'm not scared of you." Link opened his eyes wide, embracing the burn.

"You think you know who I am, boy?" a voice thundered. "Well, go on then. Out with it! In fact, let's make it interesting. How about we play a game? You guess my name, and I'll kill your entire family. But I must warn you, guess wrong and I'll kill your entire family and steal the body of your baby brother as my next vessel. It is as good an offer as you are going to get. Do we have a deal?"

Link felt the air rush out of his lungs. Not Ayden. His stomach churned, both from fear and the stench of drying blood and singed rotting skin. How was he supposed to be a Chosen if he was nothing but a spineless coward? What was his problem? He clenched his teeth and stuck out his jaw.

"Doesn't matter what you decide," the specter continued. "You are all going to die. The only questions remaining to be answered are how much you will suffer, and how long your suffering will last." He chuckled. It was a dry humorless laugh that hurt Link's ears. "Well, go on, boy. I'm waiting. What's...my...name?"

Link summoned all his courage, and said, "You're just a poser. You're a wannabe. A has-been." He spit out each word with all the contempt he could muster. He felt his courage start to rise. He could do this. He had to do this.

"Oh, you flatterer, you. Your mother thought the same thing. Then she burned all those people. Burn, piggy, burn. Then run, run away."

"You leave my mother out of this. You're nothing but a pathetic little Skia, scared of his own shadow! No, wait. You don't even have a shadow because that's what you are. So tell me, little shadow, where is your master now? Surely, you aren't the one in charge."

Link watched the creature's face undulate in waves, never maintaining a solid form. The only way Link knew his insults had found their mark was because of the tensing of the creature's gloved hands. The anger seemed to percolate for a brief instant before the thing lashed out, losing all composure. "How dare you!" he thundered. "You think this is a joke! Do you have any idea the power I possess? You know full well that I am Raythuse! In one night, I've accomplished something all twelve Skia legions have been unable to achieve for centuries! You're nothing but a maggot compared to me! An ant to be stepped on! When will you filthy fleshborns learn? You're only purpose is to feed me and my minions!"

Raythuse spat on the floor, spraying bloody worms to the ground. "Apǒlǒgĕǒmai has protected his worthless playthings long enough. It all ends here. But first, all of you must suffer! Mark my words. Before the end, I'll teach you what it means to scream. Before I am done, you will beg me to kill you!"

It was working. This was Link's chance. Raythuse was distracted by his own anger. Link slowly raised his arm. All he had to do was reach his camera. He inched his arm up in tiny, hopefully unnoticeable, increments toward the camera.

"I am the rightful ruler of Halcyon!" Raythuse screamed. "Not Apǒlǒgĕǒmai, and certainly not your pathetic group of Chosen misfits. The Ordeum are nothing to me. The light is over! It is time for darkness to rule! And I am that darkness! For I am Raythuse! Now that I've found the camera, I'll be unstoppable." Raythuse laughed uncontrollably at the prospect of his impending triumph.

Link knew the time to act was now, while Raythuse was preoccupied with unleashing yet another string of obscenities. He lifted his arm back as fast as he could and grabbed hold of the camera. But before he had the chance to use it, an unseen force hurled him back through the air.

His head smashed against the open door of Panch's room before he finally collided with the building's outside wall. Upon impact, the arm he had used to grab the camera twisted and was crushed beneath the force of his own weight. Link felt sick as he heard it snap in several places. He felt the bones shatter inside his arm, pierce his skin, and poke into his back.

How had it happened so fast? One second Raythuse stood more than ten feet away. The next he had been standing over Link's broken body, somehow holding the camera.

Agony assaulted Link's senses from every direction. Raythuse had been right. The pain Link felt was so intense that he found himself hoping death would take him soon. Writhing upon the floor, he barely managed to cling onto consciousness. He knew he needed to get out of there somehow, or this would be the end of him.

When he first tried to get up, the room began to spin like a roulette wheel. Once again, Link struggled to get to his feet. This time his efforts were rewarded with a devastating kick to the head.

Dizzy and still reeling from pain, Link unsuccessfully tried to focus his eyes. Blood filled his mouth, and bile crept up the back of his throat as he searched for the camera. Link wanted to get up and run, knowing he needed to escape, but his body was broken. Even his fingers no longer responded to his commands.

As if in slow motion, Link looked beyond the carnage and saw Raythuse laughing.

Link brought his gaze back to Raythuse's wicked stare. Time began to speed up, returning to normal. In that instant, Link knew for certain that he was going to die.

In an act of sheer desperation, he closed his eyes and prayed. Surprising even himself, he did not pray for his own safety. He knew that was no longer possible. Nor did he pray for his friends and family to be spared. That, too, seemed beyond hope. Instead, he uttered two words. As Link tried to hold back his need to scream for long enough to get the words out, he said only, "Forgive me." Barely able to breathe, having spent the last of his energy, Link let go and waited for the darkness to swallow him up forever.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" he demanded. "I'm your God now. Apǒlǒgĕǒmai will soon be dead! But not you. You're not allowed to die. I won't let you. Once I steal your spirit with this camera, you'll be able to experience this moment forever. Won't that be wonderful? Isn't that exquisite?"

Raythuse raised the camera and lined up the shot then paused. "Silly me. I'm being rude. Perhaps you would like to watch one of your friends die first." Raythuse plunged his hand into the emptiness of Panch's bed and ripped free a dangling shadow in the shape of his friend. Then he hoisted the lifeless shadow high into the air. With his other hand, he lifted the camera. "Did you really think you could hide this from me?" he asked, holding it aloft in triumph.

As Raythuse laughed, the chorus of voices began anew. Everyone, everywhere, all screaming, all laughing. Link's ears felt as though they were on fire like his eyes.

Then as suddenly as they had begun, the voices became silent. Everything fell silent except the terrible sound of Raythuse's voice. His words rattled from within Link's mind, as if Link himself were the one thinking them. "I want to remember your face when I kill you. I hope you are watching this, Apǒlǒgĕǒmai. You coward!"

Still clinging to the fading tendrils of light, Link watched helplessly as Skia enveloped him in darkness. The last thing he saw was a bright flash of flames as Raythuse pressed the button. The room suddenly erupted into a wild blue fire that ate away at the red background. The energy the light released was both blinding and short-lived. Link found that he was too tired to fight anymore. He had lost. Slowly, he began to slip beneath the oncoming waves of darkness. Oblivion felt oddly warm and inviting because he was tired, so very tired. Before long, everything went black.
56

The Reunion

Link awoke in slow motion. He knew he was dead, but he hadn't expected the afterlife to be so blurry. At least the red background was gone. Was he in Neverworld as Raythuse had promised?

Gradually, the room around him came into focus, and Link's heart panged in despair at the sight of friends and family. Had Raythuse killed all of them as well? He tried to raise his hand, but it had been immobilized in a cast that had been bandaged to his chest.

"Dude! You're awake," Panch yelled. "Sweet! Hey everybody, Weasley is back!" There was a noisy bustle as the small group of people went into a frenzied celebration of emotion and cheers.

Still confused, Link looked around the room. "Am I dead?"

There was a moment of silence before the group burst into another fit of hysterics. Upon hearing the raucous laughter, two nurses barged into the room. One of them raised her voice above the din of celebration. "Please! Everybody! We need you to leave the room. We have to run a few tests. He's not out of the woods yet."

Link felt something wrap around his leg and squeeze tightly. The pain he experienced made lifting his head nearly impossible, but he didn't need his eyes to know who it was. With his good arm, he reached down and tousled his baby brother's hair. "Hey there, Bug. Didn't I tell you everything would be okay?"

The nurse repeated her instructions, more forcefully this time, and insisted that everyone leave the room. Link felt Ayden's arms squeeze even tighter in protest.

"Ma'am?" Link said.

The nurse looked down at Link, seeming to notice him for the first time. Despite her professionalism, Link could tell she was as excited as everyone else to see him finally wake up from his coma. "Yes, dear?"

"I know it might be against regulations, but would it be okay if my little brother stays? I could use a superhero to keep me company."

With a small grin, the nurse replied, "I suppose... If he's a superhero, we don't have much choice, do we?"
Three Months Later

Link's house smelled of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie. He inhaled deeply, allowing the heavenly aromas of Mrs. Greta's cooking to wash over him. He had always loved Thanksgiving, but he was especially fond of it this year. Surrounded by friends and family, Link savored the delectable scent of life.

Ever since the Harrington Complex, Link's worldview had been radically transformed. In one night, much of his anger had simply evaporated and been replaced by a humble gratitude to be alive. It was remarkable how life, no matter how unfortunate it was, became a wonderful blessing when compared it to eternal death.

It was ironic that his newly discovered appreciation of life had been the catalyst that had enabled him to finally surrender his mother. Though he would never forget her − could never − he finally felt as though he could begin to move forward. It felt like it was time to carve out a new path for himself; no more wallowing in the ditches of his past. Now that Raythuse was trapped in Neverworld, he could rest easy for a while.

Link passed the potatoes to Celia and then winked at his little brother. Ayden grinned and continued to greedily devour a sizeable piece of pumpkin pie. Link turned to Mrs. Greta and said, "Let me get this straight. You're telling me that you reversed the camera lens. So when Raythuse tried to take my picture to lock me inside Neverworld, he wound up trapping himself there instead? And how did Panch break free from Neverworld?"

"Think of the lens as a portal to Neverworld, Link. When Raythuse opened the gateway to his own prison, he simultaneously allowed other prisoners to be set free."

"You mean the ones we trapped were set loose?"

"Possibly. At this point, we can't be sure. But on the bright side, only the ones trapped by that camera could have escaped once the portal opened. Besides, we mustn't lose sight of the fact that we captured Raythuse, one of the most powerful Skias this world has ever seen. Who cares if one or two of his underlings escaped? They are nothing compared to the mighty Raythuse."

"But you predicted all this would happen. How did you know Raythuse would use the camera? Did you know that I would fail? Is that why you reversed the lens? And why could I see the Skias after Tom sprayed me?"

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Greta said. "You're being far too hard on yourself." She shoveled a bite of bean casserole onto her fork. "You didn't fail. Panch is here. The camera is safe. Raythuse is trapped. I'd call that a success, wouldn't you? As for your other question, we don't have the answer yet, but we're working on it. Whatever it was in that spray, it somehow stripped you of your ability to see people by granting you the power to see Skias. I know it is hard to believe, but Max and Roland never actually left your side. It only appeared that way, because you couldn't see them. But they could still see you. Once the Broken finally forced their way in, they were the ones who kept you alive long enough for the reinforcements to arrive."

"Reinforcements?"

Mrs. Greta nodded. "Yes, reinforcements. A full detachment of Ordeum soldiers. They not only suppressed the Broken, they cleaned up the entire floor before the hospital staff could discover any of the bodies. But none of that would have been possible without your heroics, Link."

Link wasn't sure how to describe his actions, but he certainly wouldn't call them heroic. It felt more like the group had succeeded despite his efforts than because of anything he'd done. "I still don't understand how you knew all this. Are you psychic?"

"Heavens no. Don't be ridiculous. There is no such thing. Besides, I am only a Revelare. Kaylee is the Ennustaja. She is the one who can see the possible paths that the future might take. I merely translate her pictures into words. Because of the curse placed on the Ennustajas long ago, she is unable to communicate what she sees to anyone but me. But now is not the time to worry about such things. What it amounts to is this: on the evening I gave you the camera, I told you everything I knew to help you achieve the best possible outcome."

"You mean there could have been other outcomes? We could have lost?" Celia said.

"Oh my, yes. Everything changes. The future is never static. The choices we make today, well...." Her voice trailed off. "We needn't think about such depressing things now. This is a celebration."

As this was the first time he'd been able to convince Mrs. Greta that he'd recovered enough to talk about that night, Link couldn't let the matter drop. He still had too many questions that he needed to be answered. "I still don't get how you knew I would wait to use the camera. What if I'd messed it all up before Raythuse even found the camera?"

Mrs. Greta finished her bite of beans and wiped the corner of her mouth with a lace napkin. She folded it neatly and rested it by her plate. Then she looked up at Link. "I didn't, love. But I had faith in you − in your goodness, your willingness to do whatever was necessary to save this little guy." She placed a hand on Ayden's shoulder. "I knew from the moment I met you that you were the right choice for this task."

Kaylee grunted her disapproval but said nothing as she rose to leave. She glanced over at Mrs. Greta then walked into the other room to join Max.

"You must forgive her," Mrs. Greta said. "I believe her time as an Ennustaja has taken its toll on her disposition. She has seen far too much, I'm afraid. Some things a child her age should never be forced to see."

Link didn't fully comprehend what she meant, but after everything he'd witnessed over the last week, he could only imagine.

"Dude, Raythuse took the picture. He came in, I went out. It was all tag-team, boogie-man style. Seriously, just let it go. You're totally killin' the vibe in here. Hey, Max!" Panch called into the other room. "Can you get in here and knock some sense into this kid?"

When the phone rang, Link watched Roland walk into the other room to answer it.

"Dude, Max, you hearin' me in there or what?" Panch called again.

"Shut your piehole! I'm busy watching the game!" Max yelled back.

Panch laughed so hard he nearly spit the mashed potatoes he'd been enjoying into Celia's face. "That old geezer cracks me up. Piehole. That's classic."

When Roland returned, he handed the receiver to Link. "I think you will want to take this." He patted Link affectionately on the shoulder before returning to the living room to join his father.

Link looked over to his dad. "Do you mind if I answer this?"

Mr. Hartkins smiled then gave a quick nod before helping himself to another helping of squash casserole.

Link excused himself from the table and walked into the kitchen for a bit of privacy. "Hello...hello?" he said, straining to hear the voice on the other end.

Finally the reception cleared a bit, and he heard the unmistakable voice of Mrs. Kidacki. "Hello, Lincoln."

"Mrs. Kidacki!" Link exclaimed. "You're alive!"

"For the moment, yes. I need to speak with you. Are you alone?"

Link looked around. "Yeah, I'm in the kitchen. Everyone else is either in the other room eating or in the living room watching the game. What's going on? Where've you been? Are you safe?"

"You're sure nobody can hear us?"

"I'm sure. What's going on?"

"Listen, Lincoln..."

"Is this about Tom? Have you seen him?"

"No, I haven't. Please, just listen. I don't have time to explain. They may be listening to this call."

"Who?"

"I need to tell you about your mother before they find me. I promised her I would. I gave her my word."

"My mother?" Link struggled to maintain his calm.

"She's not dead, Lincoln. The Ordeum have her hidden. She wanted me to tell you this once you were ready to hear it − when you were ready to listen, to understand. She never wanted it like this. She thought that leaving was the only way to keep all of you safe. She was wrong. We know that now."

"Alive? The Ordeum? Does that mean she's safe?"

"For now."

Emotions whirled around Link's insides like a hurricane. At first he was overjoyed, but soon this gave way to the realization that she had abandoned them, and he grew angry. Then again, did he have any right to be upset? Hadn't he done the same thing when he had left Ayden, Celia, and his dad back at the gas station? He was suddenly struck by another question that he had to know the answer to. "Did my mother start the fire?"

"We are all learning as we go, Lincoln. Things that seem right at the time do not always turn out that way in the end."

"You're not answering my question. Did my mother kill all those people in the bakery? Was that her fault?"

For a moment, Link thought they had been disconnected. "Mrs. Kidacki? Are you there?"

At last, Mrs. Kidacki said, "Those were not people, Lincoln. The rest is something you will need to discuss with her."

"Where is she? How am I supposed to talk with her if I can't even find her?"

"She has been in touch with you, Lincoln. But know this: because she loves you, she will stay at a distance until she knows for sure that it is safe for her to return."

Link remembered the mysterious messages he'd been receiving. Was it possible that his mom had been Jim Jim? Then he realized the other implication of Mrs. Kidacki's words. "What do you mean 'until it is safe to return?' Is she still in danger? Are we in danger?"

"Oh, Lincoln, we are all in grave danger. Do not think for a second that you are safe just because Raythuse is trapped. There are others. There will always be others. The Broken are not the sort to give up...ever." There was a loud crash followed by a bone-chilling scream. "Mrs. Kidacki? Are you there? Mrs. Kidacki? What should I do? Mrs. Kidacki?" There was no response.

The line was dead.
Epilogue

The autumnal chill had fallen swiftly upon the cozy town of Peaceful Meadows. The once-beautiful plots of flowers and well-manicured lawns had all withered brown from cold, a casualty to the oncoming winter. Bare skeletons of tall sycamores and oak trees stood like sentinels guarding the town, like majestic kings from another age. Under the covering of newly fallen snow, the only remaining vestiges of natural color were a few rotting pumpkins left over from Halloween.

The cold winds that always seemed to ratchet up the closer it came to Thanksgiving whipped about the houses with a variety of sounds and frequencies – high-pitched whistles and low moans, sometimes melodic and at other times discordant and dark. And on this one night while Link and his friends were busy reveling in the joy they felt, knowing they were alive and among friends at a time when everything seemed right with the world...it watched. After alighting upon a spindly branch, high above the snowy rooftops, a solitary raven looked on intently as the unsuspecting Hartkins family merrily feasted below.

The bird shivered as the meager remains of its feathers did a poor job of buffeting him against the treacherous chill of the evening air. Miserable, but alive, the bird squawked. Then it launched itself into the frozen clutches of the night, waiting for the right time to return and free his master, the right time for revenge.
Acknowledgements

I want to say a special thanks to all the people who made this book a reality. My wife Tara and three sons have supported my quest to follow this ridiculous dream of writing books for years. I'd also like to thank all of my friends, family, and students for graciously listening to my stories and serving as my faithful beta readers. From my patient parents, all the way to my amazing principal, Don Stump, I have been truly blessed by all the encouragement I've received along the way. Lollie, Krippa, Britta, Susan, Linda, Kim, Jane, Sarah, Shannon, thank you for helping me edit. Lastly, I would never have published anything, if it weren't for the tireless efforts of my good friend, Dale Johnson. He designed my covers and did all the formatting out the goodness of his heart.

Being an indie writer generally means doing a hundred other things to help ends meet. Most of us have families and fulltime jobs. So if you enjoyed this book, please do me the greatest of honors by taking the time to rate it. We may not have the hefty budgets of large publishers to promote our stories, but we do have something even more powerful. We have all of you amazing readers. For this reason, the last people that I would like to thank for making this book a success are you, the readers. Thank you for helping me spread the word.
