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When he got to the second floor, he could see them both in Charlotte
’
s bedroom, so he knocked tentatively, entered as they requested.

“
The lily poem was by Tennyson, yes or no?
”
Mr. Stewart said.

Theo had been dreading this moment, knowing it would come —he had tried so hard to write a great poem for Charlotte, but nothing matched the Tennyson. He had only done it because his love made him so deathly afraid to fail, and he had planned to tell her when the proper moment came. But this moment was many things, none of them proper.
“
It is mine,
”
Theo said.
“
I agonized over it.
”

Charlotte came to him then, stood by his side.

“
It is madness to lie—I can buy a hundred books by Tennyson tomorrow and prove it in every one—
”

Theo turned to Charlotte.
“
He lies.
”
He turned back to Mr. Stewart then, and was more than a little surprised to see him raising his fists as if to strike …

W. Nelson Stewart had not engaged in a fight since he was ten in Boston, but rage grabbed him so quickly now that he had no time to reflect on his lack of recent practice. The insanity of the young fool standing there denying what was so evidently true— he hadn
’
t expected it, hadn
’
t expected it remotely, didn
’
t know how to deal with it.

So he struck, crazily.

He had no real intention of hitting Charlotte but she had a half smile on her face and she was moving in front of his tormentor, protecting him, and he hit her more out of instinct than anger, but that didn
’
t make the blow any the softer. She staggered back and down to the floor and her hand went to her reddening face. Nelson was watching the effects of his actions, so he was taken by surprise when Theo attacked.

Attacked
was really overstating it—Theo moved in his direction and bumped him with his shoulder and Nelson, unaware, went stumbling back against the wall by the door, which was where Theo joined the battle again, but this time Nelson was ready.

He was overweight and sixty—he had lied to everyone about his age, always had—but he remembered enough to lash out at Theo
’
s face, and he missed, but he struck the shoulder, which took Theo
’
s balance away. Nelson moved forward then, tried another punch, and now there was blood pouring from Theo
’
s nose.

Theo turned, looked toward Charlotte, turned back, just in time for another punch that cut his lip. He fell back against the door, tripped down, tried to rise but Stewart had him then, had him with one hand, began slapping him with the other, till they both lost their balance and went to the floor, but now Theo, when he regained his feet, was outside the room in the second floor corridor and when Mr. Stewart appeared he was ready, butting the old man hard, sending him down, and when he was down Theo kicked but missed and fell against the banister, got his balance, tried to avoid the punch Stewart aimed for his face, couldn
’
t quite. Dazed, Theo stayed upright as Stewart grabbed him by the throat, hit him again, again, was about to land a third blow when he stopped, breathing unevenly.

He felt tremendous swelling in his chest, Nelson Stewart did, and dizziness too, so he grabbed the banister and held tight to it, hoping whatever it was that was happening would pass.

Inside the room, Charlotte, back on her feet, heard the ruckus outside and ran toward it. She saw her husband poised by the banister and she was never sure why she shoved him, was it his accusations or her fear that he might be right; in the long run, it didn
’
t matter, she shoved, and he fell back and over the railing, spinning out of control from the second floor corridor to the foyer floor below, the floor was marble, his skull was bone, no question which was harder
…

“
Is Central Park finished?
”
the bearded man wanted to know.

“
Except for the squatters,
”
his landlady said, after a pause.

“
Squatters?
”

“
Yes,
‘
tis a terrible thing, but they can
’
t seem to get them all out. There were hundreds of families in the beginning; only the hardy survive.
”

“
I
’
ve heard so much about it,
”
the bearded man said.

“
You should go, especially you.
”

“
Especially?
”

“
I meant considering your accent and all; they
’
ve planted over five million trees and shrubs, so they say, and many of them came from Scotland.
”

The bearded man nodded. He had been in his twenties before he came to America, and his early years in Edinburgh had formed his speech permanently.
“
I could walk there by dusk,
”
the bearded man said.
“
It should be nice then. I like cold weather, the walk itself should prove bracing.
”

“
Dusk on a sunny winter day,
”
the landlady said;
“
you could hardly plan better.
”

“
I
’
ll go then.
”
He stopped. He was a big man, six feet tall and two hundred pounds. The truth was, he had been six feet tal
l
for many years, but only recently had scaled in at one hundred sixty-five. He was not quick, not anymore, and better safe than sorry.
“
There
’
s no danger in the park at that hour?
”

“
Safe as a baby
’
s smile, Mr. Bell,
”
the landlady assured him …

Trude took the teat from Billy Boy
’
s mouth, dropped it with the other toys. Then, quickly, he moved the giant back into the period
between creation and birth. After that, he signaled to the control room to bring up the breeze and slow lapping waves.

It was two twenty now. There really wasn
’
t much time. It was two twenty, the thirteenth of February 1981, and according to his researching the papers of the period, Theo Duncan killed the older man at half-past two, also on the thirteenth of February.

And according to his research on Bell, the Scot had taken a stroll into Central Park on the thirteenth, entering near dusk. Plenty of time for Theo to get there from Gramercy Park.

If Billy Boy could gain control.

And if that point was reached—
no,
Trude
thought, no, not anymore, there were no ifs existing in his universe now, only certainties—so when that point was reached,
Trude
’
s main decision was how much information to burden Billy Boy with at the start—should he know, for instance, that there would be murder in Central Park?

Best not,
Trude
decided. Give the murder command when Duncan was
in
the park, not before, don
’
t make the burden of transmission any greater than need be at the start. Just have Theo go to the place—take a weapon perhaps, no harm in that—just don
’
t tell him what it will be used for.

Trude
leaned close to the giant, spoke his
“
freedom
”
speech in all but reverential tones, made assurances that magic was Billy
’
s and Billy
’
s alone, spoke in awe of the greatness that was
Winslow’s
alone, promised William he would be immortalized forever for his genius.

…………………………………………………………………

…………………………………………………………………

…………………………………………………………………

Fuck,
Trude
almost screamed. Two thirty had come and two thirty had gone and
nothing.
Trude
tried to keep the anxiety from his voice as he preached the greatness of Winslow the traveler.

But in his heart,
Trude
thought only of Elisha Gray. The great inventor, the great unknown telephone inventor, the man who was forever the pathetic runner-up. Trude knew that feeling. Well. He had done so many brilliant things in his career. But never quite first.

Billy Boy was covered with sweat now. That was something. And he was breathing terribly deeply. And with the perspiration now came pain. Pain was better than
“
something.
”
Pain was a wonderful sign.
Trude
picked up the pace of his preaching, deepening his voice, making his rhythms strong. He was like a minister now, and in fact, he was praying. Praying for control and after that, the glorious death of Alexander Graham Bell. I don
’
t ask for much, God, Trude thought. Just a little blood. So much has been spilled in Your name, spill some now in mine …

Eric sat watching in the control room. He had no real idea of the actual specifics of what
Trude
was doing, but he was impressed with the general setup. The sounds were remarkably real and lulling.

He was not alone in the room. There was a nurse, there was a small man who ran the console that made the sounds. And of course, there were The Fruits. As soon as he had been introduced to them back in his apartment, and learned their names were Apple and Berry, he instantly dubbed them The Fruits in Blue Suits. Fruits for short. They were top quality standard government equipment. The kind that guarded the President or started uprisings in Guatemala.

And they were not going to be easy for him. They had guns, were undoubtedly not unacquainted with their use. If he was ever going to make a move on Billy Boy, and he planned very much on doing that, and as soon as the opportunity came, he was going to have to deal with them.

Or try to.

It wouldn
’
t hurt to know where this room was in relation to the rest of the setup. Eric stood, stretched, indicated he wanted to go outside. The Fruits looked at hi
m, then at each other, then nod
d
e
d. Eric walked out into the corridor. It was two thirty-five. He glanced for a moment out the nearest window. Hours earlier it had started to snow.

Now it was becoming a storm …

From his window in Orient Castle, Phillip Holtzman studied the increasingly violent weather. The snow was getting so thick as to sometimes obscure his view of the Atlantic waves entirely.

Phillip fidgeted terribly, fingers drumming on the sill.

“
There now, Mr. Holtzman,
”
his nurse said gently.
“
Nothing to worry about.
”

The fret lines along Phillip
’
s forehead deepened.

His nurse tried to lead him by his cane hand away from the view, but he shrugged her off, studied the murderous waters.

Phillip
’
s nurse wondered if she should buzz for someone.

“
They
’
ll never land,
”
Phillip said then.
“
They could just circle for hours.
”

“
There now.
”
Soothingly.

“
Edith hates the landings,
”
Phillip explained.
“
Most people, they get bad at the takeoffs. Edith was never like that. The landings, though, they bothered her.
”
He squinted down toward the driveway in the front of the building.
“
Where
’
s the car? How can I get to the airport if the car
’
s not here?
”

His fingers were wild now.

“
You yourself said they
’
d probably circle for hours,
”
his nurse reminded.
“
So there isn
’
t any hurry.
”

“
But I
’
d
be
there, don
’
t you see? And she
’
ll feel better knowing I
’
m down on the ground waiting.
”
He started to make his way toward the door.
“
Don
’
t try and stop me.
”

“
You
’
re just in a robe, you can
’
t go to the airport dressed like that.
”

“
Don
’
t try and stop me,
”
Phillip said again, and with effort, he lifted his cane above his head.

Doctor Horn appeared then.

“
You either,
”
Phillip said, brandishing his cane again.

Doctor Horn stepped away, opening the door wide.

Phillip made it that far, stopped, went outside into the corridor, stopped again, another few paces, slower, another longer pause.

“
Let him alone,
”
Doctor Horn said.
“
He
’
ll be exhausted before he reaches the downstairs. Get him then.
”

“
The weather brings this on,
”
the nurse said.